By Jerri Willmore

For WSA

If there�s one great thing

to happen in my life

If there�s one great day,

if there�s one great height

Let it be the time of peace

Let it be the time of right

If there�s one great thing

to happen in my life.

-Big Country

The rain had fallen on the geodesic dome, causing the sunlight to splinter there. Prismatic sunbeams, through the clouds, shone onto the soccer field below.

Suzanne Hayes noticed none of those things. Lanky and with long dark hair, she stood watching for the ball to come her way. The star player of the Golden Eagles- of her girl's school in Portland Oregon- she was very good at kicking balls. She just wasn't that good at catching them.

A cloud blocked the sun at that moment, breaking her concentration. Her face, faintly Asian, frowned.

"Damn it."

There was a scuffle. She banged into another girl, her sweat causing her to slide off. She'd always perspired more than the others. She then hit the ground hard, and a sharp pain stabbed her belly. Do I have gas?

She then knew.

You weren't supposed to have relationships- especially serious ones- before the age of 30. And you weren't ever, ever, supposed to get pregnant. A licence was needed for that.

It was 2475.



James Riggs always remembered the first time he noticed Suzanne. He'e served her coffee earlier, and now glanced over at her. He saw her sitting in the booth by the window, staring into space. Outside it was an unusually cold winter.
She was pale, with small features and large slanting gray eyes.. Her hair was thick, deep brown and very long. She wore a dark green and black plaid jumpsuit; it made her look whiter still.

She noticed his gaze, and said, "would you like me to order something?"

He didn't answer. But she noticed he had a boyish face, with long brown curly hair tyed back. She liked him at once.

She'd just come into the Dive Inn Seafood Resturant and Caf� to kill time. It was her day off from school and she'd used it to go to Beaverton. (a small town close to Portland.) Here it was rather kitchily decorated, Seven Seas stlyle- she noticed a Tiki mask on the wall. On a whim she pointed at it.

"My father's Polynesian" she said.

"I never would believe it. You're so fair�" Indeed.

He had an accent- she couldn't place it.

She laughed. "oh, he likes to think of himself as that, but he's only half-Polynesian. My grandfather John Hayes comes from Edinburgh, n Caledon. Scotland. Married a Tahitian girl from Papeete. Also my mother's very pale, blonde. I'm Suzanne, a Tahitian name. It was owned by France, way back when�"

She wondered why she was mentioning all this, and turned red. She did that often. "I come from Birmingham," he said, "South Caledon. England."

They liked the way the other one spoke. She had a slight lilt to her voice, like everyone in the Pacific Northwest these days. He had an English accent, of course.

It was after dark when she left, putting on her long, black fur-lined coat. He watched her go and step out the door. There was something about her, he thought- something he couldn't quite put his finger on.

"See you," she called over her shoulder. She stepped out, hugging herself a little against the cold.

Centuries before, people had learned how to stop aging at around 20. Most were happy with this, but the world was a bit overcrowded. In 2444 (later referred to often as "444" with the immortal crossing himself) something happened to change all of that. Some unknown madman- or group of people- set off nuclear bombs in all of the world's major cities. The atmosphere was cleaned up, and most of the radiation removed. But about half of the world's population were dead. And people who, ordinarily, would never consider having children were now pressed into doing so.

Pito Hayes was an officer in one of the great hovercrafts which worked the Pacific Ocean. He got custody of the girl when he and Sarah separated. He took her with him Honolulu, Tokyo, Singapore, and so on. Many of the places they visited were partly in ruins from the bombs. Also they went to Polynesia to visit relatives; and while there once, something bad happened to Suzanne. He kept a close eye on her after that.

At 10 she was sent to the boarding school where she would remain untill turning 30. (Immortals took longer to mature than mortals, in some ways at least.)

She continued to visit the resturaunt weekly. She and the waiter (in his 70s) would flirt, and eventually he told her about himself. He'd actually owned the resturaunt before the bombs. Afterward he sold it and flew to Birmingham to be with his family. After making sure they were all right he returned, walking across one of the great sea bridges (she was impressed) then taking a train across the country. Now he was working to buy it back. They soon fell in love; though during the months of their affair, she wondered just what it was he saw in her.

Now she was to have an operation, after learning it was a girl. It was to be extracted, painlessly, and it would be shipped far away, to find it's new home in another woman's womb. You weren't supposed to track the child down afterward, but it could be done. (She would have to wait untill it turned 30- but didn't she have a long life ahead of her?)

She said to the guidance councellor, "I'm not upset at all. I'm sure Caledonia will find a happy home."

"Caledonia?" "It was either that or Polynesia", she admitted, "I flipped a coin."

It was a week later that she rode her motorized bike down the bike road that ran between Eugene and Portland (having spent the afternoon with her boyfriend at his house.) It went very fast; but it was safe. The roadway was padded.

She felt a sudden need to use the bathroom and ducked into a little kiosk.

It soon became apparent more than her bowels were moving. She started to scream. The toilet then flushed, of its own accord.

Caledonia found her new home, in the Oregon sewer system.



A self driving car was sent to pick up the devastated Suzanne and bring her home. Once there she was stunned to see a group of reporters around the entrance. For she was the first female in over 200 years to miscarry.

In her room she fell onto her hammock bed, then her gaze fell on the poster on the opposite wall. It showed her and her teammates, and above the logo of her soccer team, an eagle about to alight on a soccer ball. Then she knew.

She took the poster down and then tore it into shreds.

Her birthday, March 24, came and went. She'd been in bed a week, and barely noticed someone opening her door and inserting a package. She went to and opened it, stared at the musical instrument inside. It had strings; but when she plucked it she heard almost no sound. It was metal, of an almost maroon-dark red. With it was a card from James. "This had been in my family for years�."

She was a singer as well as an athlete, having played a ukelele her father had given her on the ship. She could play some Scottish and Polynesian songs backward. Later she'd sung at parties, sometimes her own songs as well. Parties immortals threw often involved people playing instruments and singing. She played an acoustic guitar and she had a good voice, people said.

She'd planned on playing pro soccer, but there was no way she could continue with it. She was sure the accident on the field had caused the loss of her child. There'd been a delay of a week, but still�.

Later she pored through a photo album, the picture of herself as a five year old girl struck her. She had chin-length hair and a serious expression, That must have been after it happened.

She sighed, went over to the instrument, and picked it up.

"Do you know what this is?" she said to her pal Carla later.

Carla Limbardi lived in the room next door. Very quiet and shy she was, small and round, with curly red hair usually worn tyed back.

"It's an electric guitar. How on earth did you get it? I'm sure no one has even touched that thing in over 400 years. It belongs in a museum"

"Why doesn't it make any noise if it's electric?"

"Don't you know? It doesn't pull electricity out of the air. You would need new equipment, cords and speakers- and even a generator in order to play it. You could have those made for you, but even so�"

"I would like to hear what it sounds like, at least. Don't you own a set of drums yourself"



Later- much later- they were playing their instruments. Suzanne loved the sound hers made. When they were done she said to Carla, "I think we should form a band."

"You serious?"

"We would be allowed to take time off from school. Don't you want to see California?"

"I would, yes, thought of the name?"

"The Tide."

"Corny."

"I know."

"Is that from your father, or your boyfriend's seafood restaurant?"

"Neither. It is from one of the first memories I have... could be the first one. I was around 5 years old. I was with my father at the beach, Bora Bora I think it was. He had to leave and said he'd be right back, but friends kept him. I took my matt right to the water's edge and fell asleep. I woke up with water on me and around me, sucking at me, I choked on it. I sat up and screamed. I thought I was going to die. I almost did."

"Your father ought to have been much more careful" "He was, after that."

No one at the school wanted to be in the band. They might have gone on as a duo, were it not for someone Suzanne met in a downtown Portland coffeehouse one day.

"She's a former professor of music, would you believe that? Before the bombs. Marie Baker. She's in her 90s and makes electric guitars from scratch. She's also quite the nostalgia buff for the 20th century".

"And she wants to work with us?"

"Yes. She will be seeing us soon."

Carla and Marie met in the sitting room for the dorm the girls shared. Marie was around Suzanne's height-5'8- and like her thin and small featured. Her hair was light blonde with bangs, the back part up in a bun.

"She should be here any minute."

"I have to ask. Isn't she the same Suzanne Hayes who lost a child a couple months back?"

"She's infamous for that, yes."

I heard she had an accident which caused it. But that wasn't normal, was it.?"

"I know. It bothers me too."



Suzanne and her new friend stood on the banks of the mile-wide Willammete River, a couple of days later. They watched people swimming, sailing and sunbathing, many nude.

"I'd go in," said Suzanne, but I'd be much too cold."

"Not for me, Marie said,

"Tell me, said Suzanne, "how did you get into music?

"It was because of something called Singathons. You wouldn't remember, that was long ago. Thousands of people would gather in a field, many with insruments. The sun would go down, and words would appear in the sky. We'd sing, eat drink and sing some more, all night. But it ended when�."

"I know. I wish that it didn't happen." "If it didn't you wouldn't have been born."


Suzanne and Carla lay with their eyes closed and the sun on their faces, in the middle of a clearing in the woods near Portland.

"You know what I am thinking?" Suzanne said. "No, what?'

"I know why Marie is crazy about the past. I am too. People must have felt things more intensely then, as they died so young. Now, it is just too bland."

"That's an utter load or horsesh- " Carla began, but she never got a chance to finish, as the shadow from tMarie's head fell on them. They were to commence rehearsing.

Marie came to Suzanne's school to see her often. She brought audio and video recordings that were centuries old, and the women would watch them long into the night.

They heard many songs from the 20th century, and Suzanne said her favorite song was "Rain in the Summertime."

"Just like the way it sounds," she said.

She also asked- "Why is it almost all of the singers are men? And when one is a women, there are only men in her backup band? That isn't how it is today."

Marie looked at her blankly. "I don't know."

And they left it at that.

Late at night, they would sit on the outer porch of the school's dorm. They would talk of long- gone days, Marie sucking on her tiny cigarettes.

How would you like to age and die, Suzanne? Or be killed in a war?"

"I can't get my mind quite around it."

Marie studied her as though noticing something for the first time.

But, "You don't know just how lucky you are" was all she said.



Suzanne had a feeling about Marie, that after the bombs her life had been empty, whatever had gone before. Music was now her life.

"Here, she told the auditorium a month later, "is a song I wrote about the 20th century."

They started in on their song "No Future;" then it was over.



They stared at her open mouthed, and at the band. Then slowly the

applause began.

Marie went to Suzanne and held up her hand into the air. "Thanks," said Suzanne weakly. Thanks so much."

The announcer came up in front of them.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he said, "The Tide."



Over the next month she changed for the better. Her figure was filling out ( a little) and some color came to her face.

The band spent the summer rehearsing and working on their own songs. Occasionally they would perform. They established a pattern. Suzanne would do 10 of her own songs, then Marie would do 5 or so songs from the 1960s or 70s. Suzanne would then do 5 songs from around the 80s or 90s, finishing, always, with "Rain in the Summertime."

They also recorded, in the school's small recording studio, some songs. These songs, some folk flavored or anthemic sounding like "No Future," were in a LP, "In Passing. Some copies were given out free to orginizations around the world. And so�.

They're doing a music festival in South Caledon," Marie said. "England. A series of musical acts play. The government pays for it. They were given our music and they like it."

So we are invited there?"

"Yes. We'll play in a very old, domed soccer stadium. Wembley something-or-other. Don't worry-" she saw the look of shock on Suzanne's face- it won't be even half filled up. It's a historical landmark, and�"

"How will we get there?"

"We'll fly and they pay for it. We'll be in space. Are you all right?'

Actually many immortals shared Suzanne's fear of flying. They preferred to go by train, hovership, or by crossing the sea bridges. But now, this was the only way.

"Could we visit Edinburgh, then? Some of my folks live there. I've dreamed of it."

"No, probably not. But we will be back again. By the way, why didn't your father take you there? Isn't he a sailor?"

"Wrong ocean."

"Sorry. But remember, we've got long lives ahead of us."

"I keep forgetting that."

Actually, she was afraid she wouldn't even survive the weekend.



They were strapped into their chairs, one of them already quite nauseous- guess who. The shuttle craft- like plane sent them up above the clouds, into the dark and stars, almost within seconds. Suzanne's Polynesian ansestors, crossing miles of ocean at night, had seen something like this. The clouds were like the sea. The drew in their breath.

Then they dove again, below them lay Great Britain and Ireland, or North, South, and East Caledon, respectively.

It had taken almost no time at all.

She stood before the mirror and took a deep breath. She wore jeans that, she had heard, were centuries old. From the waist up she was bare. (It was the fashion to sometimes go topless; no different than wearing shorts in previous eras.) She picked up a strand of chunky beads and draped it around her neck. She stared at her face, without knowing why. Then barefoot, she walked away.

One thing she didn't do was check her makeup. Women almost never wore it, that had been so for many years.

Now they were onstage. And indeed, there were only 700 or so people, most seated on the grass in front of the stage, others on the lower rows.

Then Suzanne heard the screams.

But there were none; simply polite applause. Was it the ringing in her ears? Or had she been here before?

It was a decent show, ending of course with "Rain in the Summertime." It was indeed raining, and sometimes the sun would show through the rain, causing rainbow- colored light to fall through the dome.

"Look at that!" she cried. "Look at that!"

Next morning, she was half asleep as she was strapped in. Asleep, she was woken by a cry from Carla.

"Suzanne look! That's Edinburgh!"

"We asked him to fly low�."

There below them she saw it. Lush trees and foliage, ancient buildings, blocky newer ones with parks on top of them. For just a few moments she saw all this. Then the plane rose, inevitably, on its way back to Oregon.

In Passing sold 10,00 copies. The band was photographed for the cover, holding a banner with the album's title- in huge letters- up to their bare shoulders, behind them a stormy ocean.



"We've just gotten an invitation," Marie said to Suzanne. A women of around 200 runs a sheep ranch just outside Olympia Washington. Every 10 years on her birthday she holds a party for her descendants. They number in the hundreds. She hosts various bands and now invited us. She's an artist herself. Colette Freedman."

"Isn't she a soul singer? Think I'd heard her."

"The next Lady Day, yes."

"I heard she's good."

Indeed, but there's a rumor concerning her music�.can't quite remember it."



They came to the giant wrought iron gate. One of them pushed the buzzer. They heard what sounded like a pony approaching, and it opened.

Collette sat astride a ram the size of a small horse. She was small, with light chocolate skin and blondish hair in a pouf atop her head. Her face was childlike, and she wore a white Grecian style tunic.

They stared (more at the sheep than anything else.)

"Hello girls," she said. Call me Coley. I'll make you feel at home, and�"

Then her gaze fell upon Suzanne.

"Are you all right?" Suzanne said. "You look as though you'd seen a ghost."

"You're, you're a..... you're part Hawaiian aren't you?"

"No, no, not part Hawaiian. Part Tahitiian. And Scottish." "I've never seen anyone who looked like you."

They followed her to her house. As they passed through the doorway what looked like a flock of lambs, in varous pastel colors, galloped by them bleating loudly. They were not lambs at all, but full grown sheep.

"Sure hope they're housetrained" muttered Marie.



The girls stayed a week untill the concert. Sometimes Suzanne and Collette would talk, riding sheepback. She told Suzanne of how after the bombs she turned to singing, and remarried as her first husband had died. Her second one was in her band.

After a few days, Suzanne found it difficult to sleep. Even her talks on the phone to James- to whom she was engaged- didn't relax her enough. For Colette's children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren had arrived. Their songs and raucous laughter disturbed her constantly as they camped practically outside her window.



Colette raised her arms into the air, clad in a white gown, her curly hair down. Around her were candles and torches.

"Oh say can you see

By the dawn's early light.."

Previously she'd said, "I dedicate this concert to Carol.' Carol was her youngest daughter, who'd vanished without a trace after the bombs. Suzanne, who had in a sense lost a daughter, could sympathize.

Her voice was spine- tingling, and Suzanne wondered what she'd be like if she picked up a guitar. She was backed by her band, The Freed Men (actually men and women.)

"Up next is "Hot Buttered Popcorn" by Florence Ballard. I'm a descendent of hers, and�.

Suzanne's attention wandered in and out.

The Tide had done their set early in the show, surounded by hay bales, clad in overalls and little else. Now it was 3 hours later.

Up next was a gal who had been nicknamed "The Brazil Nut." With her kinky, waist-length black hair and tatoos, she looked more like a Polynesian than Suzanne did. She was said to indeed live in Brazil in a wildlife refuge, and had been rumored to have fallen for a mutant ape with human intelligence. (If that was so, she kept her mouth shut about it.)

She did the theme for an old film, "Silent Running..."

Fields of children running wild in the sun

like a forest is your child growing wild in the sun

Doomed in his innocence in the sun.

Gather your children to your side in the sun

tell them all they love will die, tell them why, in the sun

tell them it's not too late for today one by one

tell them to harvest and rejoice --- in the sun.

Marie and Carla looked at Suzanne, fast asleep between them. Long afterward, they would recall the song. It would have a different meaning for them.



Suzanne wandered, alone, through the pre- dinner cocktail party. The sun was down, and around everyone stood globes on stands holding candles. Somewhere a woman was playing and singing, on acoustic guitar, an ancient song-

"There is no pain, you are receding A distant ship, smoke on the horizon.."

She saw in front of her Eileen and a man talking.

"I fear that when there are more people the forests will be gone in time. They've just started to grow back and�" "No, I've heard that when the Earth is repopulated cities will be built underground. Plenty of trees below, and above too. We will always need foliage to breathe, machines wouldn't do half as good a job. What if they break down. The air is getting thin already (he joked) and�"

Unnoticed by all, Suzanne walked away.



"I, I have become comfortably numb�"



Now all were seated at the dinner table, seemingly a mile long, the girls near Colette.

I wonder why we're not eating lamb," said a voice.

"She thinks they are her children."

"I know I've just ridden one. Never did that before."

Laughter. "I am Carol Freedman," Colette said.

No one seemed to hear her at first.

"Colette took her own life after her husband died, in 2444. I was alone with her. She gave me a pill to make my face the same as hers. But I can sing better than her. No one bothered to ask why I didn't begin a musical career, untill after the bombs."

"She's joking," someone said. Nervious laughter all around.

"I drank her ashes," she continued, "as she asked me to, in case you are wondering where the body is."

Now, pandemonium.

"I should have known," came a whisper from somewhere, "her eyes are closer together."

"You don't say."

Marie said in Carla's ear- "Now I remember the rumor. If you play her recordings backward you hear "I'm not Coley, I'm not Coley." That happened once before in�"

"Marie. Suzanne's on the floor."

"Whatever is she doing there?"

She was indeed. Curled up on her side and snoring softly.

"Suzanne," Carol said. "When I first set eyes on her, I knew. She's like me."

Now everyone was staring at the 3 girls.

"What are you talking about?" Marie said. "She didn't take a pill to change her face, if that's what you mean."

"It's just that people look at her and...see other than what is there."

It occurred to Marie she was crazy, what with having impersonated her mother for 30-odd years and all.

"We'll discuss it with you later," Marie said. They then propped up Suzanne, and somehow carried her out and into a guest room.



She awoke the next morning, feeling a terrible headache and noticing the unfamilarity of the room. Yesterday she'd drunk wine for the first time (it wasn't only that, but still.... time.

Marie came in shortly. "Suzanne, what happened?"

"Just hadn't been sleeping well enough."

"I don't believe it. I've been getting the same amount of sleep as you. Everyone thinks that you fainted because of what Colette said. I imagine you got close to her and..

"I don't remember her saying anything."

Marie then related the story.

"Oh I don't hold it against her. It's just sad, that's all. But I remember thinking as I just saw her, "there's now way she's 200 years old. She's much too girlish."

"I thought that too."

The girls stood before their host a few hours later. Carol and her husband were at the gate. Her siblings (once thought of as her children) wanted them out. They were going to be street musicians, she said..Buskers. To them was left all her property, save her favorite miniature sheep curled in her arms. It was powder pink.

What a week," Marie sighed as they finally boarded the van. She set the coordinates for it to take them home, then she and Carla turned around and looked at Suzanne, curled up again in the van's padded rear interior. She was dead to the world again.

Neither of them quite knew what to say.



Within the next two years, they did many shows. Often it was for free, atop buildings or in parks. The shows, often, would have potluck dinners afterward, wuzhere the audience and the band would have a chance to meet. Carla was silent, as always; Marie was her usual outgoing self; Suzanne, more often then not, would turn red and look at the floor. She enjoyed these encounters, though.

Many men were attracted to Suzanne, and some women too. Wiltless flowers were tossed onstage- she would later form neckaces of them- and balled up love notes she would read gleefully. She wasn't a beauty- cute, maybe. But it was true she exuded a certain power onstage. Even Marie was in her shadow. It wasn;t the same way off at all. One of those things.

The Tide had had their logo done the same time the album had been made. It was their name in big black letters, one word above another, centered on a sunburst. Now Marie mentioned that banners would be made. And t-shirts done.

What's a t-shirt?" asked Carla.

An ancient 20th century garment. We'd may as well go all the way."



For now, in 2478, the band was to start its first tour in the summer. They were to pass through both the states called North and South California (often referred to as North and South Forni.) down the Pacific Coast Highway, or Highway 1.

"A couple of musicians want to join our band," Marie said. "A married couple who hire themselves out, and are interested in our kind of music. The woman plays drums. Carla and I can try some other instruments, and.."

"I think not," said Suzanne. "No room in the van."

"They have their own."

"Still. Too much stress."


Now they were in the Cascade mountain range. The van, self-driving, climbed the steep road and descended, rounding curves, bordered by large, brilliant lamps and a tall guardrail. Immortals thought of everything.

That night they passed a robot-run factory, miles from any human habitation. Immortals avoided such places if they had to. The girls stared at the steaming, cluttered ironworks, strangely interested.

"Do you think you worked in a place like this Suzanne? In a past life?" asked Marie."

"I don't know. Perhaps I had something to do with it�and it didn't end happily."

"That's true of all mortal lives, Suzanne."

Marie woke up hours later. The girls had gone to sleep in the padded back of the van. She'd dreamed of something; something having to do with bad news, but she had no clue now what it was. Now she gazed up at the bright lamps beside the highway, and it seemed, just for a second, they were lighted skulls coming for her.

"Sue," she murmered drowsily. Then she was asleep again.



They awoke bright and early, just in time to see the "Welcome to North California" sign by the road.

Suzanne wore around her neck a circular gold pendant, given to her from her father for her birthday. It contained every major rock song of the 20th and 21st centuries. Now she removed it from its holder and put it in the van's music machine.

We left for Frisco in your Rambler

The radiator running dry

I�ve never been much of a gambler

and had a preference to fly

You said �forget about the airline,

let�s take the car and save the fare.�

We blew a gasket on the Grapevine And eighty dollars on repairs

"Didn't they know it was never hot in Sausalito?" said Marie. "Not then."

Over the weeks they journeyed along the coast, camping on the beach along the way. As they sat around their campfire to cook and rest, they were sometimes joined by others. Some of these people, during the bombings, had been alive. They and Marie would talk long into the night, while the other girls were asleep. Marie had been near Seattle when she saw the great mushroom cloud on the horizon. She remembered.

There were cries of "Suzanne!" and "The Tide!" Suzanne would dance with her guitar, and one day got a bad splinter in her foot that was difficult to remove. It almost ruined her day.

Now she opened her eyes. Sweat stung them. She was alone for the first time in weeks, in a Hollywood hotel room. Despite a thin breeze from a nearby window, the heat was unbearable.

She'd just wakened from a nightmare, of lying paralyzed in the desert and seeing insects coming for her. They are going to eat my face, she had thought. Now she thought she knew what they were. Cockroaches? Hadn't they been extinct for years?

She walked to a pitcher and splashed water on her face. There was no air conditioning here; they couldn't afford it, and apparrently the other girls didn't need it.

She dug out her phone and dialed her boyfriend, as she did every other day or so. It didn't work. Had the heat done something to it?

That evening they drove through the old city. The sign was still there, now rimmed with lights, it had been replaced dozens of times. They gazed awestruck at the old buildings. But then they were almost stopped by prostitutes, male and female, crowding into the street. The girls kept their heads down, and none saw Marie turn her head to look at them, as though they stood for something she'd renounced long ago.

Marie had said much earlier, as they passed the south California border:

"I know we will be welcome here. This state produces almost no art these days; they have to import it from the northern states, or the east. It is like a ghost town in some respects, really."

"What about Hollywood?" Suzanne had asked.

"That was years ago, when it wasn't quite so hot. And the bombings in LA finished off whatever was left."

"So sad. I wished we had spent more time in San Francisco, but it had been bombed too."

"People are slow a-building. But remember when we were asked to join people bungee-jumping off the Golden Gate Bridge?"

"I don't think I was up to it."



Suzanne felt at home, however, here. She loved their softly drawling South Forni accents; they in turn, loved hers. Her basic shyness with people she didn't know was unknown here. Photos flew home of her trying to fish in the surf, sunbathing in nothing but black ray-bans and a black bikini bottom, or swimming.

Once she'd been afraid of the ocean. But now she was able to go in chest deep, and allowed the water to caress her. The sun warmed her, and she raised her face to it. Like the faces of fans turned up to her, innocent as newborns.

It came to an end.



The girls had just played Venice Beach, one of their best gigs yet. It was now the morning after.

"I believe I would like to live here part of the year," Suzanne said. "If my man and the rest of you would like to as well. I love the fact that it is never cold."

"Most of it is desert, you mean," Marie said. "How can it be preferable to Oregon? Oregon is gorgeous."

Suzanne seemed not to have even heard her.

"California, Caledonia," she murmered. What a coin-"

Then Carla came running up.

"A boy delivered this to me, just now."

She held out a note.

I must see you, it said, I think you know why. It contained a name, "Delores P.," and an address.

In spite of herself, Suzanne was intrigued.

She remembered the last concert. They had played on and on while the sun went down, when the only illumination was the torches beside the stage. And flames held up in the air (some things never change.) They went through their whole catalogue of original songs, then the oldies, finally Suzanne singing at last:

I love to feel the rain in the summertime
I love to feel the rain on my face
I love to feel the rain in the summertime
I love to feel the rain on my face


At the end, a woman- she guessed that's what it was- held out her hand. She wasn't really into touching her fans; but she crouched down and took it. Lightly.

Now as she walked through the streets that evening, she had no fear. Rape and murder was uncommen. And the woman wouldn't be a nut, would she?

Though as she approached the small, wooden, vine-overgrown house, she remembered.

The woman looked something like a lizard.

Smiling, Suzanne rapped on the door.



It was dim inside; as though her host didn't want to see herself in the mirror. Not that Suzanne could see any. They sat sipping tea together, after saying their hellos. Almost everything in the cluttered house looked old.

"I like Polynesia," the woman wistfully said. "you know the legend of the Western Isles, where one had eternal youth?

"Obviously, people there were like everyone else in the past. They grew old."

Suzanne. Do you want to know what happened to me?"

"Yes."

"I am mortal."

"Of course, you are going to die. We all are."

"You know what I meant."

"Oh, " said Suzanne, shocked.

"But you appear to have scales, not wrinkles. I-"

She said almost inaudably, "I was experimented on."

"My God."

"I begged them to, and could afford it. I am a descendent of Richard M Nixon-"

"Who on Earth was that?"

"Never mind. When it was discovered what I was I was the same age as you. Then you came, The Tide. The music of the past."

"What is it you want of us? Do you want us to contribute funds, or something?

"You still don't know."

"Yes?"

On stage, I was beneath you and the sweat of your body rained down on me. Then you took my hand. I'd always suspected, somehow, but I knew."

Is she a lesbian?

"Knew what? I am not g-"

"you're aging."

"No."

"How is it you know you are not?"

"How is it you know?"

"I just do. For one thing the smell of your sweat�"

"No, it is impossible."

"Have you forgotten we were under nuclear attack? You are mutant, to be sure. What bombed city was close to your parents? And look in the mirror, Suzanne!"

She didn't remember throwing the cup of tea in the woman's face and hurling herself out of the house, almost falling down the stairs. She came to herself alone, on the beach.

Now she knew. Why not before?

The pregnancy and miscarriage had been obvious clues- drugs for immortals, of course, would hardly work on her. But there were others- the fact that she sweated more (and sometimes smelled worse), was more sensitive to heat, cold, wine and lack of sleep, and as an infant and child matured ahead of time (you grow so fast, tiare, and hit puberty years before her classmates.

It was amazing she had never been tested. She was perhaps seen as a little odd, but nothing to be worried about. But immortals were lackadaisacal about such things. Doctors were rare. Even during the pregnancy the focus had been on the developing fetus, not her.

Like most women, she didn't even own a hand mirror. She very rarely studied her own face. That was the way of the times. But what about others? Did they unconciously know?

She was going to die.

She thought of a cover song she did at the last concert. Save me save me from tomorrow�don't want to sail with this ship of fools�



Like a slowly approaching star, the girls saw her coming. She came to stand by them, as they sat by their campfire.

"You knew all the time, didn't you? And you wouldn't admit it to yourselves. Neither did I.

"You know what I am." It dawned on them, and they said nothing, the unspeakable hanging thick in the air between them.

Then the fire died down, and Suzanne kicked it.



It was a much less jolly ride up then it was coming down. They passed bomb-devastated areas this time; as it mirrored what was inside them. Their journeys also took them far inland. The Tide, for some reason, wanted to stay miles away from The Sea.

Now they were in Antioch,California, at night by the delta. It was a deserted area, no manmade structures except for the one in back of them, as they huddled by their campfire. A single curved wall, once, long ago, part of an Amtrack station.

Suzanne wore a heavy blanket around her head and shoulders. She was the only one who was garbed so.

She spoke.

"Remember when we were at Carol's house, at the table before I fainted? With what I thought were her children and grandchildren? I thought it would be the same for me, many years from now."

Marie looked away; she rolled a cigarette, drew on it and exhaled, leaning backward.

"Now you fear that you won't be allowed."

"Of course. And if I did�.." Her voice trailed off.

The girls were silent, but all three thought the same thing.

I'm glad Caledonia didn't make it.



Back home, Suzanne lay nude in front of the doctor (yes, a doctor) having just been examined. He told her what he was discovering as he was doing so. Abnormally high pulse rate and respiration; body temperature 5 degrees or so above normal. And so on, and on.

"I've heard," she said, of pills that may alter facial features. Could they do anything for me?"

"Do you mean retaining youth?"

"Yes."

"They cannot, I'm afraid. There were ways of delaying the appearance of aging that were lost centuries ago- people no longer needed them."

She sighed; she moved to get up.

"There is one thing. Have you heard of the Isledon Institute?'

The Isles of the west, of the eternally young. "Vaguely."

"You know what they can do for you?'

If it were possible, she turned even paler.

"Yes," she whispered.

"Are you afraid? You know, the alternative is-"

"I know."

He then spent the next few minutes talking to her softly. And when she left, she carried the number of the Isledon Institute with her.



At school, she often had the feeling of eyes upon her. The other girls never spoke to her directly, but still she picked up on what they were thinking. Hey Sue, I just heard you're dyin'. What's it feel like?

James was still attracted to her; she found that odd. But she wondered if that was partly because of her mortality, and if subconciously, it drew him to her in the beginning (she was right.) But her mortality was the thing she liked least about herself. And in the state she was in now, she didn't want to be close to anyone. They saw less and less of each other. Finally, it was over.



Now she was in the foyer of the building, used by those who may possibly help her. Only one person was there- a girl with curly red hair. They said their hellos and sat at a small table. Suzanne was handed a pill in a small plastic baggy, together with a vial of water.

"We'd adjusted it for one of your type," the girl said.

"For a mortal, yes." Spoken dryly.

Suzanne then placed her thumb on the plate in front of her. As she was nearing graduation, she now had money of her own. Her account was now all but emptied.

"Now tell where you will be." And Suzanne knew what she meant.
"Won't I be here?"

"No. There are many who would like to be alone. In which case you must leave us a message, so we'll know where to pick it�you up."

"I see, and I would prefer that, yes."

Soon she started for the door. As she turned, she said two, telling words.

"See you."



Singer Hayes at Low Tide

Riverview School in northern Portland released a statement concerning their student, Suzanne Hayes. Hayes, 29, suffers a mutation which causes aging. She will be dead, they report, or near it, in another half- century. It is also unlikely, they say, she'll be allowed to bear children.

"It is a tragedy," states Pito Hayes, both hovership officer and Suzanne's father. He says that his ship was near Honolulu, Hawaii when it was bombed, and while he didn't fall ill, he says, his sperm was undeniably affected.

Suzanne Hayes was a member of the girls' soccer team for the school, The Golden Eagles, until an accident on the field caused her to miscarry a child a week later. She was the first female to do so in 200 years.

Hayes- who is of Polynesian and Scottish (N.Caledon) descent- then formed The Tide, a group which revived a centuries-dead form of music called "rock" and were influenced by folk as well. Hayes covered lead guitar and vocals. They also included Marie Baker, 98, a former professor of history and music, on bass. Carla Limbardi, 29, of the same school, played drums.

Hayes was engaged to marry James Riggs, 76, who is of Birmingham, England (S.Caledon.) He owns a resturaunt in Beaverton. Hayes was planning on marrying Riggs upon graduating and starting a family, while continuing her musical career. Now sources say the engagement is off, and Beaverton is in an uproar over having had a mortal in their midst.

It is not known what Hayes will do after graduation.



There was talk going around; she would be taken by her father to Tahiti, where she would live the rest of her days in seclusion; or fly by herself to Edinburgh, where she would do the same. Letters flew by the bucketload to her school, and she saw none of them. Most were forwarded to the pulp factory.



And so it was that she and her bandmates gave a final concert, that November, in the school's auditorium.

There were some-many in fact- immortals in the audience who had no business being there. The fact she was Oregon's only mortal explained it.

She looked out over the crowd. She had on black pants and a long-sleeved black top. It was different from her usual concert attire. For one thing, she was a lot more covered up. She was going somewhere afterwards.

They studied her. She was a little thin and drawn, with faint lines, either from her mortality or the stress caused by it. Her eyes, once soft, were now like an eagle's. She appeared to gaze right through them.

They started with "No Such Thing" their new song. It went over well.

When it ended, it wasn't with "Rain In the Summertime." She was on acoustic guitar now; as string section was offstage. The song was another song from the 80s, "I Don't Mind at All" from someone long dead called Bourgois Tagg. She could relate to part of it:

The time for talking's over now,
I think it's time to let you go;
But I don't, no, I don't mind at all.

It's getting so you never know
When things are better left alone;
But I don't, no, I don't mind at all.
It's important to me
That I don't see you laughing at me.
But I'm smart enough to know
That I'll have to let you go.
But I don't mind at all.


Sentiments and tears will get you
As far as you might think they will;
But I don't, no, I don't mind at all.


Misery loves company,
But she will never fit the bill;
But I don't, no, I don't mind at all.


It's important to me
That I don't see you laughing at me.
But I'm smart enough to know
That I'll have to let you go.
But I don't mind at all.


Seven years ago,
I said good-bye to my own sanity;
But I don't, no, I don't, no, I don't mind at all.

The audience simply sat staring when it was over, then there was scattered clapping building to a standing ovation. The girls held hands and raised them in the air.

"Thank you," Suzanne said, as she always had. "Thank you."



Now she was alone in the dressing room. She was about to pull on her long black coat when she saw a package on the table. It had Carol Freedman's name on it, no return address; a sweater inside. She ignored the card: it probably said, she thought, oh I feel so bad for you. It was pink and lavender, not her colors, but no matter. She pulled it on before putting on the coat. She hoped that when all was over, it would find a happy home.



Immortals seldom weep; certainly Suzanne rarely had. She was not aware she was doing so untill later. She found herself alone, by the highway.

She pulled out her phone and called the automated taxi service. Then she waited, feeling shame, but feeling there was nothing else that she could do.

Other cars passed her, driving themselves. She looked into their domed interiors; immortals eating and talking, immortals playing cards or watching films, one couple who looked like they didn't have time to find a bed. None of these noticed her, but she shrank back anyway.

She finally realized it wasn't coming, and called another taxi service. Within minutes she heard the unmistakable sound of the auto-cab coming for her.

She pressed her thumb to the door plate and got in. She typed the destination, her hands shaking. Finally she called the Institute and left a message, to tell them where to pick "her" up.



After she closed the door, it started to move. She dimmed the lights so she could see out. After passing buildings- that looked like warehouses- and trees it turned a corner and shot into darkness, at 100 miles an hour maybe. She was in the countryside now.

Oh God she was so scared.

She also heard voices inside her head:

Suzanne don't do this.

I must. I must.

Please�.

To calm herself she removed the pendant from its chain and inserted it into the dashboard. At random it selected "Walking in Memphis" one of her favorite songs. As the music swelled she almost felt nostalgic for the 20th century. Almost.

When it was finished she took out the pill and vial of water, studied them, and drank them down.

Suzanne dozed.

A loud bleeping awakened her. It had stopped. She stepped out, leaving the door open before she got her bearings. She looked about at the countryside, lit by a full moon, and a small building there- a footpath led to it. Otherwise deserted.

She closed the door. The cab sped away; too late she realized it was taking her priceless pendant with it. But she didn't care.

She didn't care much about anything at all.



That very moment, Marie walked into the dressing room, expecting to find Suzanne. She didn't, and assumed she had gone off by herself. Her business, she thought.

But what was the cardboard box doing lying on the floor?



Suzanne had never seen so many stars. Actually she had; in Tahiti and during the air flight. But she had never noticed them as she did now, nor the scenery around her. She walked along very slowly, drinking it in.

She felt- rather nice.

For her body temperature was dropping- heart rate and respiration slowing down. No longer did she race through life. She was one of the immortals, almost, and saw the world through their eyes. And what she saw was beauty.

Sighing- as it wouldn't last- she finally reached the door. She set her thumb on the plate and turned the handle.

It didn't open.

Too late, she realized that she had spent all of her money at the Institute. What was left over was taken by the cab.

Oh no, it couldn't happen out here! Whimpering a little, she cast about for a large stone, then hurled it at the large window. Being plexiglass it didn't break, but did bend a little. A couple more tries and it was free. She pulled herself over and in.

The moonlight showed her a tiny room. On one wall hung a vertically-hung bed, on the other a snack machine next to a retractable toilet/sink contraption. She knew that she would have no use for either.

She did, however, need the bed. She pushed a button; slowly it sank to the floor. When it was down she went to it, all but ripping off her clothes.

Now in bed, covers pulled up to her chin; she drew her arms down to her sides and shut her eyes. It has all been a dream, she thought, and now she was at home, awakened from a deep sleep. Soon she would get up and work on a song, as she often did. But there was a cold wind coming in from the window, and something else; being under deep, heavy waves of peace. Her slowing heartbeat maybe. The Tide was taking her.

I'd never realized.

I thought mortality was better. Perhaps not consciously, but I believed it.

Her body was getting stiff.

But not now. I only got a taste of it, but now I know.

Immortality is-



Marie was in the waiting room of the dorm, expecting James. She'd just gotten a call from him.

When she saw the look on his face, she thought she knew what had happened.

"Suzanne is dead."

"No. No she's not."

"Then what happened to her? Why isn't she here?"

"She is with the Isledon Institute. They picked her up at a tiny auto-inn, many miles out of Portland. There was no one else there."

"Why didn't she call us?"

"I don't know. But she can't now."

"But you said she isn't dead."

"I suppose you could say that�"

"Please. Tell me what happened to Suzanne."

"She took a taxicab out there and spent all her money. She had to break the window of the building. Then she removed all of her clothes and lay down on the bed, and turned into�"

He swallowed hard; she motioned him to continue.

"�A statue."

"Suzanne is a statue?"

"The same coloring, but yes. Yes. Her father saw her and described her to me. But she isn't dead, no, nor conscious I believe. They'll unfreeze her when a "cure" for her mortality is found. And with the way technology is these days- after the bombs- it could be a century or more."

"Oh, my God"

Immortals seldom weep, but...



A year passed.



In the interim, a number of immortals- many of them women- got the idea to have rock instruments made, and form bands. Some of these made a tribute album, Songs To Wake Her Up (they didn't.) Carole Freedman's pink sheep, Betsy, could be heard bleating on her track. If you played it backwards.

The Brazil Nut just sent Suzanne a card. But it contained a giant thumbprint.

Marie and Carla tried jamming together. (Both agreed that starting over as The Tide with a new singer wasn't a good idea.) Trouble was, Carla kept bursting into tears while they were playing (Marie almost did so herself). Did I mention that immortals seldom weep? Marie gave up performing and returned to giving guitar lessons in Portland, and selling instruments she made herself. She did not find it easy to sleep nights.

And so when the anniversary came up- of when whatever happened happened- she got the idea to look upon Suzanne in the flesh, and say goodbye to her. James was coming too (Carla didn't even return her messages.)

The building where she was kept was surprisingly cheery, large and Swiss-chalet style, with stained glass windows. Hanging prisms cast rainbows on the ground. This stirred a memory in Marie; she wasn't sure of what.

They stood in the doorway, awkwardly; then she rang the doorbell.

The girl with red curly hair answered. "We are here to see Suzanne Hayes," said Marie. "We are personal friends of hers."

"I see," murmured the woman. "Do you know what we do?"

"Vaguely."

"We serve as a therapeutic program. When people are in crisis we send them to sleep, for a specified time. Your friend is on indefinite lease-"

"We know that."

"Here," she said, and picked up two pamphlets and handed them to them.

"No, no," Marie all but screamed, "we don't want it!"

Now it looked as though they were going to be thrown out.

"Please, Marie said, "all we want is to see her."

"Of course, come this way. She has a room to herself."

"Wait," said Marie. Delaying the inevitable.

"Yes?"

"How is it she could afford this? I believe she wasn't well off. And her father, well-"

"She made the down payment, with the agreement that after waking up she would work to pay the remainder. But so far she doesn't have to do that. We get donations from her fans all the time."

"Well, I never."

"It isn't just her music. It's the look on her face. People come from miles around to see her. In all my fifty years here, I've never seen anything like it."

There was nothing either of them could say to that. They followed her upstairs to a room at the end of a long hallway. They were left there. She was in a bed in the far right corner, as though asleep. They walked there.

They didn't want to look at her at first. They gazed instead at the plaque on the wall above. It read:



Suzanne Hayes

Rock Star



Finally they looked down, at her face, heaped on both sides by flowers that would never wilt. It was as beautiful as they.

They whispered together, "God."

"She sure looks blissed-out," murmured Marie. "Like she knows something we don't."

"Let's leave," James said.

In the hallway, she turned to him and said:

"I wonder if her spirit's trapped in there- or if it's flying around in Scotland, Polynesia- the past, even."

"I hope so. But wherever she is, she's happy, as she's outside Time. She's not part of it anymore."

"Like us."

He then put his arm around her waist; she did the same with him. They smiled at each other. Rainbows fell on them as they stepped into the sun.

They didn't look back.