cabin and tried to squint into the fog. Neither his eyesight
nor his brain was functioning at optimum efficiency at the
moment.
A second boat materialized out of the mist. It was a low-
slung outboard with a pearlescent fiberglass body. Three …
no, four people lounged in the vinyl seats. Two couples in
their twenties, all human, all normal size.
“What’s happenin’, John B.I” asked the young man
standing behind the wheel. He didn’t look too steady on
his feet himself. A cooler sat between the front seats, full
of ice and aluminum cans. The cans had names like Coors
and Lone Star on them.
Jon-Tom swayed. He was hallucinating, the next logical
step in his mental disintegration. He leaned over the rail
and tried to focus his remaining consciousness on the funny
cigarette the couple in the front of the boat were passing
back and forth.The other pair were exchanging hits on a
glass pipe.
The big outboard was idling noisily. One girl leaned
over the side to clean her Foster Grants in the ocean. Next
to the beer cooler was a picnic basket. A big open bag of
pretzels sat on top. The twisted, skinny kind that tasted
like pure fried salt. Next to the bag was a two-pound tin of
Planter’s Redskin Peanuts, and several brightly colored
tropical fruits.
98
Alan Dean Poster
THE DAY OF THE DISSONANCE
99
He tried to will himself sober. If anything could have
cleared his mind, it should have been the sight of the boat
and its occupants. But the uncontrollable power of his own
spellsinging held true. Despite everything he tried, the