Author: Piers Anthony; Macario Hernandez
Date: 2016-12-21 00:00:00+00:00
Description: Quiti and the rest of the Hair Suits have just set up the Hair Suite, the embassy of the alien Hair Balls, when they learn they have competition. Alien cyborgs called Chip Monks want to win Earth for themselves. The two species must duel for control. These rivals discover a third alien species that threatens to destroy Earth, and have to join up quickly in order to protect the planet they are both seeking to win. Along the way, they get swept up in a world of intergalactic politics, wormholes, and role-playing. Will they be able to save Planet Earth in time? Piers Anthony, critically acclaimed
Publisher: CreateSpace Publishing

Hair Suite

Sequel to Hair Power

Piers Anthony

Hair Suite

Copyright © 2016 by Piers Anthony

Cover Art

Mac Hernandez

Design

Niki Browning

Editor-in-Chief

Kristi King-Morgan

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof
may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever
without the express written permission of the publisher
except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

Printed in the United States of America

First Printing, 2016

ISBN 13: 978-1540843821

ISBN 10: 1540843823

Dreaming Big Publications

www.dreamingbigpublications.com

Contents

Introduction

1. Spheres

2. Levi

3. Burn

4. Crisis

5. Gena

6. WormWeb

7. The Tower

8. Challenges

9. Answer Box

10. Pod

Author's Note

About the Author

Piers Anthony is the author of over 170 books. His popular series include Xanth, The Incarnations of Immortality, Chromagic, Geodyssey, Mode, Bio of a Space Tyrant, Adept, and Cluster.

Other books by Piers Anthony from Dreaming Big Publications:

Hair Power

Writer's Retweet

Service Goat

Introduction

Hair Suite, the second word properly pronounced “sweet,” is the sequel to Hair Power, wherein Quiti, dying of brain cancer, helps an alien hairball and is given a new head of hair that bestows marvelous properties as it grows, such as beauty, genius intelligence, telepathy, and the ability to fly. Also, incidentally, it cures her cancer, and she comes to wear it in lieu of clothing as it approaches six feet in length. She makes friends with young Speedo, who has a crush on her, and Gena, a truck driver a decade older. She meets Roque, another hair suit, pronounced “suit,” with similar powers, whom she marries, and later they rescue young Tillo, the third hair suit, whom they informally adopt. Through Roque we come to know his former woman friend Desiree, who has AIDS. They meet Gena's adopted out daughter, the spirited Idola, who adopts Tillo as her boyfriend. It turns out that the aliens they have waited to meet are actually their own new hair. Finally they co-opt a suite in the local city hall to be the new alien embassy, and Desiree, Speedo, and Gena become trusted staff members.

The sequel begins soon after, and is just as wild.

Chapter 1

Spheres

Quiti went out at noon for the ceremonial song. They did this daily, since taking over the city hall in the original songfest; the people demanded it. She nodded to the men of the honorary guard that had once been a government swat team; now they guarded the Hair Suite, the embassy of the alien Hair Brains, and seemed quite satisfied. It was, after all, the quasi-official outpost of the first known extraterrestrial civilization to establish a base on Planet Earth. If there were skeptics, they had only to visit the embassy to discover the Powers of the Hair.

The squad leader formally saluted, and Quiti flashed him with her outstanding torso, revealed momentarily under her cloak of hair. He liked that; she read it in his mind. How could he not? Then the translucence turned opaque, and became her formal blouse and skirt. Scarcity enhanced the value of a flash.

The people were there, hundreds from the neighborhood, along with several media reporters. They were smiling in anticipation of the event, minor as it might be. Many were regulars; she even received fan mail from some of them. At this stage it was mainly good fun.

Quiti raised her arms in the manner of a conductor. Then she sang, and they sang with her, in perfect time and tune, the refrain from the Battle Hymn of the Republic:

Glory, glory hallelujah!

Glory, glory hallelujah!

Glory, glory hallelujah!

His truth is marching on.

The sound echoed from the walls of the city hall and the buildings of the city, a mighty chorus. They all loved it; their feeling was as clear as their voices. There was something about the joyful unity that uplifted them, making them part of a marvelous larger entity. Some might call it God, but the hair suits did not; they had merely borrowed the song for their own purpose.

“Thank you,” Quiti said as it finished, her voice telepathically amplified so that everyone could hear her clearly. “We are still checking sites for our potential permanent Hairpin Embassy, but have not yet decided on the best one. Frankly, it is difficult even to conceive of one that would be superior to this temporary one here, because of your wonderful support.”

The people applauded. They liked the compliment.

“But we can't camp in your nice city hall forever with our Hair Suite.” She pronounced the word correctly, “sweet.” “Even though your handsome mayor calls me 'Hair Sweet.'” Her encompassing hair manifested as the cloak it was and formed into a momentary heart shape around her.

They laughed appreciatively. If some suspected that their reactions were being manipulated by her telepathy, they did not object; this was a harmless feel-good public relations session.

“Now, is there anything else I should address before I return to my boring stack of paperwork?” she inquired. As she spoke, she floated up into the air about ten feet, her billowing hair skirt supporting her as it displayed her shapely legs and feet. The reporters aimed their recorders at her, though they had seen it before. It was her quiet incidental proof that she was no ordinary girl, but the representative of an alien culture with remarkable abilities. There was fun but no fakery in it. The naughty flashes of her legs helped guarantee it would be featured on news shows. In fact, a significant portion of her fan mail related to her hair, especially when it flared. Sometimes it even flashed her body up to her bosom, from below. To think that she had once been a shy, dull, plain girl! The hair had transformed her in many ways, and now she reveled in being the showpiece of the alien outpost.

A woman raised her hand. “Yes, Elvina,” Quiti said, reading her name in her open mind.

“My—my mother is old.” She gestured to a woman in a wheelchair. “Smoking took out her voice; she can't talk. She hasn't much longer to live. She's from Russia, long ago. Could you—could you sing her favorite song, 'Meadowlands,' so she could hear it one more time before she dies?”

Quiti smiled. “Why not?” Meanwhile, mentally to Roque inside the building: Words and melody for song 'Meadowlands.'

Roque was on it. The tune and words flowed into her head. She walked to the old woman and sang.

Meadowlands, meadowlands

Meadows green and fields in blossom...

She sang it well and with feeling; song was one of the many powers her hair conferred on her. Then the words appeared in bright letters in the sky above her so that the rest of the audience could join in.

The old woman was in rapture; it fairly radiated from her.

“Oh thank you so much!” Elvina said as it concluded. “She will remember this the rest of her life!” That was surely literally true. She wheeled the old woman away.

Now the crowd dissipated, knowing the show was over. There would be another show next day.

A handsome young man approached. “May I have a private word with you, Quiti?” he asked.

“A brief one. I really do have paperwork to do, chore that it is.”

“To be sure. This will take no longer than you wish.”

She gestured, establishing a sphere of privacy around them both. It would fog their outlines and their words so that others could not intercept their dialogue. “Yes?” Her hair now formed a conservative business suit, discouraging any hint that she was available for anything romantic. Men tended to get notions.

“I am Levi. I am a Chip Monk.”

A what? She tried to read his mind, but found it opaque. That was interesting; was he immune to mind reading?

“This is humor?”

“No more than being a Hair Suit is for you. I am here on business.”

“What is with your closed mind?”

“Telepathically closed,” Levi said, smiling. “It is not an advantage; we chip monks are not telepathic. We do have compensating abilities.”

“Such as?”

“Similar to yours. We can float or fly.” He lifted smoothly off the ground. “We are highly intelligent. We are handsome, as we were not originally. We are strong; I could bend a steel bar with my bare hands, as I will demonstrate if you wish. We have acute senses. We are much like you, but in different ways. We are of course essentially alien, in human hosts, as you are. But we do come in peace.”

It was apparent that he spoke the truth. He represented another alien culture! “What do you want with us?”

Levi frowned politely. “That requires careful explanation. Perhaps I should meet with the other hair suits, as you will all want to hear it.”

“Perhaps you should,” she agreed. “Please come inside.”

“May I bring my companion? She's friendly.”

This continued to grow in interest. “By all means.”

“Burn,” Levi said.

A young woman walked through the crackling shell of the privacy sphere. Quiti masked her astonishment; that should not have been possible. She should have been rendered harmlessly unconscious by the mere touch of it.

“Hello Quiti,” the woman said, extending her hand. Her skin was deep brown, her hair black. “I am the other chip monk. I am so glad to meet you at last. I have admired your performance. I am Burnetta, Burn for short, my name meaning 'little brown one.' My folks told me I was baked too long in the oven.” She laughed. “Little did they know!”

Quiti took the proffered hand. It was warm and firm, and though the touch was gentle, very strong. The woman looked purely average in size, and her shape was highly feminine; she was a beauty. But she was also an extremely fit athlete. “I am glad to make your acquaintance, Burn. I suspect there is no one else on Earth like you.”

“Apart from you,” Burn agreed, smiling. Her white teeth were bright in her dark face. “I hope we will be friends.”

Quiti knew already that Burn would make a very bad enemy. “Is there a reason we should not be friends?”

“Yes. But it can be navigated.”

Quiti snapped her fingers and the privacy bubble vanished. Visitors, she thought to Roque. Bring Tillo too.

They entered the building, and the Hair Suite. The receptionist looked up, a pretty blue-eyed blonde in a low cut blouse. “Company?”

“Indeed,” Quiti said. “Levi and Burn, here to meet the Hairs.” To the visitors she said, “Desiree, our first defense against intrusions. She distracts folk until we know whether we want to see them.”

The two visitors smiled, appreciating how Desiree could do that.

A young man stepped up, handsome and muscular in a haphazard way. “May I help?”

“This is Speedo, our second line of defense,” Quiti said.

“Glorified handyman, and errand boy,” Speedo said, smiling.

“Speedo, take us to Gena.”

“This way, please,” Speedo said, making a mock bow.

Gena was at her desk in the next room. She looked up as if surprised as they entered. It was an act, as Quiti had warned her telepathically. “Yes?”

“And Gena, our office manager. She runs the show. Gena, these are Levi and Burn, similar to me but of a different alien species. Notify Roque and Tillo.”

Gena pressed buttons on the desk. “Quiti is bringing Levi and Burn to consult with you on an even basis. You will meet in the main reception chamber.”

There was a brief pause while the unseen parties assimilated that. An “even basis” meant they had special powers; it was fair warning, apart from the telepathy.

In that moment Quiti picked up on something. What's wrong, Gena? she queried mentally, projecting her thought.

I don't want to bother you when you're busy. She was not telepathic, but knew Quiti could read her phrased thought.

Gena was Quiti's closest normal friend. What bothered her bothered Quiti. Give me a hint.

Gena opened her mind and Quiti picked up on it in a single gulp. Unable to take care of her daughter Idola years ago, Gena had adopted her out, finding a nice family for her without leaving her life. Idola was satisfied and loved her foster parents, who took excellent care of her, and Gena had complete visiting privileges. Everyone was happy. But now Idola had confided that there was trouble in paradise that might break up the marriage. This threatened to ruin an idyllic association.

Oh, my, Quiti thought, chagrined. It was not her business, technically, but she hurt when Gena hurt, and Gena's daughter Idola was Tillo's girlfriend. This impacted her indirectly, but was bound to complicate her situation.

She could not afford to dwell on it at the moment. I'll get back to you, she thought, compartmentalizing the issue.

Thanks.

“Please go on in now,” Gena said politely as if nothing had happened. “They are ready.” The mental interaction had taken only a moment.

They went on in. Roque and Tillo were there.

“This is Levi, a Chip Monk,” Quiti said, introducing him, mentally capitalizing it for the first rendition in the manner of a special description. “And his companion Burn. They are here on special private business.” Then, to the visitors: “This is Roque, my husband, and Tillo, our adoptive son, both hair suits.”

They all shook hands, and Quiti knew that Roque and Tillo were picking up on the masked power of the visitors, as well as the potent sex appeal of the woman. They settled into a private room.

“You were saying?” Quiti prompted Levi.

“Burn and I are what you might term cyborgs,” Levi said. “Human beings with metallic alien components that enhance us in much the way your alien hair enhances you. We are part of the Chip sphere of influence, as you are part of the Hair sphere.” He gestured with his two hands, and a holographic picture appeared in the air before him. “Here is the Hairpin home planet, in the center of its sphere.” The planet glowed so that it showed up amid the stars in that region of the galaxy. “Here is the Chipper home world.” Another world glowed within its stellar sphere.

Quiti was intrigued by more than the demonstration. This was not illusion; there was no touch on her mind. This was an actual picture. How was he doing it?

“As you can see, the two spheres minimally intersect,” Levi continued as the secants of overlap glowed. “And directly within that common segment is Planet Earth.” Now Earth glowed. “It can inhabit either sphere or both. But with the present state of competition, it must be one or the other, not both. That is our concern.” The stellar picture faded.

“We have not considered ourselves to be competitive,” Quiti said carefully. “Our interest is in being as friendly with Earth as possible. We bear Earth no malice, and would not join any other alien culture in anything that threatened Earth in any manner.”

“Neither would the chips,” Levi said. “We, too, wish only the best for Earth, and are prepared to contribute significant technology to enhance its prospects. The question is whether Earth shall be considered a Hair or a Chip subculture.”

Quiti shook her head. “Neither. It is not a subculture of anything."

“Perhaps my term is insufficient. I shall explain further. There is a larger competition occurring, on a galactic scale. Earth is one tiny planet of thousands bearing cultures, and the spheres are hundreds. The placements of particular worlds within spheres may be unimportant on the larger scale, or it may be vital. Perhaps it would help to think of it as resembling a three dimensional game of Go.”

“The oriental tile game?” Roque asked. “I used to play that, but generally got tromped. You might think it would be easy to place stones one by one on a board, but the strategy is strenuous. Worse than chess.”

“Think of a world as a single stone, and the board as the galaxy.”

“That would be mind blowing! Go is considered maybe the simplest yet most sophisticated game extant. On a galactic scale, in three dimensions--”

“Precisely.”

“I don't get it,” Quiti said. “I have heard of Go, but it's only a board game. What's this about worlds and stones?” Tillo was similarly perplexed.

“I'd better explain,” Roque said. “The board is lined, nineteen-lines to a side. There are black stones and white stones, which are placed on the intersections, not the squares. Two players, one playing black, the other white. The strategy is to enclose the other player's stones, surrounding them and taking them off the board. It's called the game of enclosure. The one who encloses more territory and stones wins, but it can be tricky to score, and mind-bendingly complicated to play. I'm a lot smarter now than I was before I became a hair suit, but I'd still be a duffer player. I remember when a computer defeated a top oriental player it was a milestone that put chess in the shade. But the essence is yes, the placement of a single pebble can make a phenomenal difference, maybe winning or losing the game. If there are players using our world as stones, we of Earth are utter pikers.”

“Thank you,” Levi said. “It is only an analogy; the actual contest is more sophisticated. But it provides a notion why Earth is important. It may be considered to be a black stone or a white stone, depending on the sphere it associates with. The hairs and chips are not antagonistic to each other, but are on opposite sides of this contest.”

“So the thing is to decide whether Earth is a black or white stone?” Quiti asked.

“Yes. The hairs are black, the chips white. Once the color is decided, there is no quarrel. The larger competition will not impact the affairs of the planet, any more than the pebbles on a board affect the material of the board.”

Quiti was amazed. Levi's knowledge of the interstellar cultures was impressive. How did he know about this, when Roque and Quiti did not? Was he making it up? That did not seem likely; he knew too much about them, and he had not gotten it from them. “Shouldn't this be a matter for the two spheres to work out?” Quiti asked.

“Indeed. They do wish to work it out. They have agreed to decide by local competition conducted by their representatives.” He nodded meaningfully. “That is to say, us.”

“We're not looking for any competition,” Quiti repeated. “And we have no directives from any distant Hairpin authority. We're on our own.”

“Oh, but you do,” Levi said. “Ask your hair.”

And then Quiti felt the thought of her hair, which seldom manifested as such. Yes, it was true. There needed to be a competition, lest the hair suits lose the planet by default. She checked mentally with Roque and Tillo, and verified it from their hair. The hair knew; it simply had not volunteered the information.

“You evidently know things about galactic politics that we don't,” Quiti said. “Given the limitations of light speed, so that what you know must be seriously dated, how do you know anything about the contemporary scene?”

“There are differences between the Hairs and the Chips,” Levi said. “The Hairs have telepathy, as we do not. But we have wormhole communication.”

“What is that?”

“You are of course familiar with the concepts of wormholes in space, related to black holes, that may be used to punch through the folds of space to reach other sections. Some are large, swallowing entire stars, but most are smaller, and there are many miniature holes, hardly the diameter of silken threads. Those are the ones we use, as they permeate all parts of galactic space. In effect instant travel, at least for communication.” He smiled. “Perhaps for physical travel also, except for a small problem: no living body that emerges from a wormhole remains alive.”

“A small problem,” Quiti agreed wryly.

“So it is limited for the time being to inanimate messages. Unfortunately natural wormholes seem not to have been designed for civilized communication. They wriggle about like the roots of trees, branching out, looping back on themselves, tangling together, so that a message sent from A to B may actually emerge at C, while what arrives at B may have originated at D. More often, a given message reaches the right destination, but may be compromised.”

“How?”

“Only part of it may arrive, the rest hopelessly garbled. Or it may seem correct, but be subtly changed so that it can't be entirely trusted.” Levi shrugged. “At any rate, we do receive messages from the home sphere, and they seem to be current. So we do have contemporary information of a sort, we believe. That is what brings us here.”

“A wormhole message told you to vie with us for the orientation of this planet?”

“Not exactly. The message, approximately translated, was EMERGENCY! STELLAR THREAT! We did not know what that meant. But when your Hair Embassy was announced, we realized that this must be it.”

That did seem to make sense. “What kind of competition?” Quiti asked grimly.

“Friendly, as with local sports,” Levi said. “We do not wish to exterminate our opponents, merely to persuade them to yield the issue. A fair and friendly competition will suffice. Victory will decide the issue. Thereafter this world will be considered to be within the sphere of influence of the victor, and the loser will support that.”

“And the local Earth authorities will know nothing about it,” Quiti concluded.

“Correct. They will be satisfied to deal with the decided culture. No need to burden them beyond that.”

“And just what kind of sporting competition did you have in mind?”

“That is what we are here to discuss.”

Quiti shook her head. “We'd have to know a lot more about you before we got into any such thing, if we do, which is doubtful.”

“Yes, of course. We are prepared to exchange personal histories.”

Quiti did not need to query Roque and Tillo; they had been in telepathic touch all along. “You and I will exchange, Levi. At the same time Roque and Burn will exchange. Is this satisfactory?”

“It is. However, remember that we lack your telepathy, which makes direct mental contact difficult. We can clasp hands and communicate with greater authority, but that is not as thorough as your telepathy.”

“There is a way, according to our hair,” Quiti said, mentally listening to that hair. “We can embrace, and our hair will enclose you and reach your mind. Then there will be full mental contact.”

Levi glanced at Burn. “Do we wish to share in this manner?” he asked her. “Physical contact of the flesh, such as hand to hand, will enable a limited dialogue that shares only what we wish to share. Their enabled telepathy will have no such restraint. They will fathom our most intimate thoughts, and come to know us as well as we know each other or ourselves. There will be no secrets.”

“It is, however, a two way street,” Quiti said. “You will know us too.”

Burn considered briefly. “Roque is handsome,” she said. “I would not mind seducing him.” She did not seem to be joking, and she looked sexy enough to do it. Roque kept a straight face, but Quiti knew he was interested, not having to query him telepathically. Levi had stated the telepathic case correctly; it allowed no withholding. The full gamut of information and emotions would be in play.

Quiti laughed. “Roque and I have an open marriage. Do your worst.”

“So be it,” Levi agreed.

Then Quiti went to Levi, put her arms around him, and her head close to his. Roque did the same with Burn. They did not need to lie down; their standing position was secure.

“I'll stand guard,” Tillo said.

Quiti's hair spread out, taking Levi in, first his head, then the rest of his body. The two of them were being cloaked together, in an embrace far more intimate than sex. Indeed, there would be no secrets now. They would each know everything about each other, regardless whether they enjoyed it.

Chapter 2

Levi

Levi was 21 when he fell the first time. It was not a bad fall; his left foot just sort of snagged on the ground and he couldn't recover his balance quick enough, and went down on the pavement. He scuffed one knee and the heel of a hand; apart from that the main damage was to his pride. He was well coordinated; how could he make a stupid misstep like that? Fortunately he hadn't been carrying a pizza at the time.

He had an interim job delivering pizza to a limited neighborhood: limited by the range he could cover on his bicycle without the pizza getting cold. If it chilled, the pizza was free and the price came out of his pay, and of course there was no tip. He made sure to get there quickly enough, regardless of the weather. He was known in his territory, and the regular customers liked him. Once a sudden rainstorm caught him, and he got soaked, but the pizza was dry and hot. Impressed, the older lady who had ordered it insisted he come in and share it with her. He tried to demur, as it wasn't in the rules, but she promised not to tell and gave him a tip large enough to shut him up, and he was soaking. He showered while she ran his sodden clothing through the dryer. Then he wore her late husband's bathrobe and had a slice, while they chatted about nothing much. He realized that she was desperately lonely and he was like a visiting grandson. It was socially awkward but sort of nice, and he really appreciated the dry clothes. When the rain passed he went out again, and that was the end of it. She died next month, and he was glad that he had given her that coincidental bit of comfort. After that, whenever rain threatened, he thought of her, and hoped she was in Heaven with her husband, maybe waiting on a pizza delivery.

He fell again, with no more reason than the first time; his foot simply missed a step by just enough to bring him down. He caught himself, and didn't dump the pizza, but it bothered him. He had always been sure-footed; why were his feet getting careless?

Then he took a fall on the bicycle, and that was worse. No reason, just misjudgment and inability to recover his balance quickly enough. But it sent the pizza flying, and though the box didn't open it was bruised in its fashion. He apologized to the customer, and she, seeing his battered clothing, forgave him and didn't make a complaint.

But three times in three months was definitely a bad sign. Now he became aware of numerous lesser missteps that didn't cause falls but still signaled a generalized clumsiness. His hands weren't working quite right either; even tying shoelaces became more of a chore than it should have been. Something was definitely wrong.

When another fall ruined a pizza, he had to quit before he got fired. He couldn't safely ride the bike any more, for one thing. His folks' insurance covered a doctor visit, but the doctor found nothing wrong. Except that he was savvy enough to look deeper, and authorize further tests.

Then came the bad news: Levi had an early case of Chronic Inflammatory Demyelinating Polyneuropathy, or CIDP for short. It was a rare auto-immune disease in the same general family as Multiple Sclerosis, (MS) or Lou Gehrig's Disease, but unlike those, there was a treatment for it. Unfortunately, the medicine was expensive, thousands of dollars a treatment, and he would need a treatment every month or so, for life. The insurance did not cover it.

What it was, in layman's terms, was that the body thought the sheathing around his nerves, the myelin, was an enemy, and attacked it. Thus “demyelinating.” That sheathing was like the insulation around the wires of electronic equipment; when it got taken out, the wires short circuited and the limbs went dead. Then the unused muscles would atrophy. Actually the myelin was more than mere sheathing; it enhanced the power of the signal along the nerve. So its loss was a serious problem. The medication enabled the body to restore the myelin so that the signals from the brain got through to the arms and legs and let a person function normally again. But that lasted only so long, before more was needed. When he fell, it was because his leg was going only about ninety percent of the distance it was supposed to, and sometimes that made too much of a difference. It would get worse, as more of the myelin was lost. He could step carefully, literally watching his step, and get along for a while. But only a while.

So what was the fate of those who couldn't afford the ruinous cost of treatment? They were on their own, in America, the land of no universal medical coverage. They would slowly decline until they could neither walk nor move their arms. Their brains would be fine, but their bodies not so much. Eventually they would wither and die.

This was Levi's prospect. Confined to a wheelchair he could not wheel himself, because his arms were becoming as useless as his legs. He would have to be fed by others, set on the pot by others, and put down to sleep by others. He wasn't there yet, but the progression was implacable. It was his destiny. About all he could do was sit and watch TV, for the rest of his awkward life.

He went through the stages of the realization of coming death: Denial, Anger, Bargaining with God (awkward, because his belief in God was weak), Depression, and Acceptance. Nothing made any difference. Certainly God did not intervene. He considered suicide, but lacked the means to do it comfortably, and no one would help him. He couldn't even throw himself over a cliff, because he couldn't get to a cliff, or throw himself if he did. He couldn't take poison because it was literally out of reach. He couldn't off himself with a bullet to the head, because there was no gun in the house and in any event he would be unable to pull the trigger. He couldn't starve himself; his eating was controlled by others. He was helpless even to end it.

So what was left except acceptance? It wasn't as if he had a choice. At least they gave him pills to alleviate the stress. So he sat there watching TV and snoozing, waiting for the oblivion that would eventually overtake him like a stalking demon.

And he dreamed. Something flew up to him, maybe a mini-drone. It buzzed like a bee, but it wasn't alive. It was a sort of metallic worm, flying without wings. It came up to him and settled on his flaccid hand.

COMMUNICATION it said, not exactly verbally. It was a message that somehow traveled through his flesh to reach his brain, where it was interpreted into the concept.

“Huh?” he asked surprised. He could still speak, because the demyelination had not progressed to the muscles of his mouth, though eventually it might get there if he didn't die first.

I AM IN NEED.

He grimaced, something he still could do. “So am I, pal.”

DO YOU ACCEDE?

“Accede to what?”

TO BECOMING MY HOST.

“What, like malaria? Why should I want that?”

FAR MORE POSITIVE. I CAN CURE YOUR CONDITION. BUT YOU MUST SERVE MY INTEREST.

So it was a dream. What the hell. “Sure, it's a deal.”

The worm buzzed up to his face, then to his right ear. It nudged inside, like a hearing aid. There was no pain, no discomfort; it merely wriggled in like an eel, distending the canal slightly. I AM IN.

“What now?”

IT WILL REQUIRE ABOUT TWENTY OF YOUR DAYS FOR ME TO DELIVER THE FULL CONTINGENT.

Dream or not, Eli was getting impatient. “Can you stop talking in capitals? I hear you just fine.”

“Is this better?” It seemed to be a human voice from in front of him, though there was no one there.

“Much better. Who are you?”

“I have no individual identity; I am merely an alien chip of instructions, identical to any other. My identity will be yours.”

“Nuh-uh! I am Levi. You are something else. Suppose I call you Chip?”

“As you prefer.”

“You mentioned curing my condition. That has to mean my CIDP. Did you mean it, or was it just a come-on to get my attention?”

“I am working on it now. It is a matter of correcting your immune system to properly recognize your myelin as being legitimate, and to leave it alone. I have issued the directive, but it will take time for it to reach the last outposts.”

Levi feared he was being stalled. “How long?”

“About an hour.”

Could this be true? “Then I'll be cured?”

“Yes. However it will take time to restore the lost myelin. That is naturally a careful process. You will gain strength, and should be fully physically operational by the time you possess the full contingent.”

“This contingent: exactly what is it?”

“It is a complex of para-normal abilities. The ability to calculate at genius level, to become physically invulnerable, to levitate--”

“Do you mean to fly?”

“Yes.”

“Am I going to sprout wings?”

“That would be difficult. You will use magnetic repulsion. But it will require time to master its control.”

Levi remained skeptical, yet desperately hopeful. “Can you demonstrate your ability in some immediate manner? I would like to believe in you, but mere promises of future performance are not enough.”

“I have little physical power of my own, and that was running low, which is why I had to gamble on you as a host. However, if you lend me some of your strength, I could perform a very small act of telekinesis.”

“I have no strength! That's why I'm stuck in this wheelchair.”

“You have mental strength. Allow me to draw on that.”

“Okay.” Levi looked ahead. “There's a loose paperclip on the TV stand. Can you move that?”

“Yes. But my draw on your mental power may be uncomfortable. Later, when your power has expanded, it will be easy, but this is not the same.”

“Lay it on me.”

Then something strange happened to his mind. It was as though his thoughts were being siphoned by a mental vacuum and shaped into another configuration. It was not physically uncomfortable, but somewhat alarming mentally.

The paperclip lifted off the TV stand and hovered in the air, slowly spinning. Then it came toward him. It landed on the back of his flaccid left hand.

The vacuum eased. Levi's mind returned to him.

He lifted his other hand to reach for the paperclip, to confirm its reality. He could still move his hands, when he concentrated, but they were unreliable, so he did little with them. His right hand jerked up too high, then dropped, then steadied. It had more power than was usual for the stage of his ailment. “The myelin! It's returning!”

“Not significantly, yet. What has changed is the destruction. Your body is starting to perform better because it is no longer being depleted.”

He picked up the paperclip. It was real, not an illusion.

Levi shook his head, also with more vigor than anticipated. “As dreams go, this is a good one.”

“This is not a dream,” Chip said. “It is a demonstration.”

“If it's a dream, I'll wake soon.”

“Perhaps you should sleep now, as this will enable your brain to better reorganize while I feed it the new directives. You will perform better when you wake.”

“Why not?” Levi agreed. “But I can't always sleep when I want to.”

“You can now,” Chip said.

“Levi! Time for lunch.” It was his sixteen year old sister Lorna, complete with bowl and spoon. She was a thin brunette who adored him and was glad to help him in his malaise.

He looked around. “How long was I asleep?”

“Two hours. I never saw you sleep so sound. I was almost afraid--” She broke off, not wanting to be negative to his face.

“Lorna, what do I have in my hand?”

She looked. “A paperclip? How did you get that?”

“Can you keep a secret?”

“Not very well. You know that. I'm a blabbermouth.”

She was overstating the case. “This is important. I dreamed something, only maybe it wasn't a dream. But if it wasn't, I'd like you to keep quiet about it, for now.”

“Okay.”

“There's something I need to know. Tell me what you see.”

“Okay.”

Do it, Chip, he thought.

Chip drew again from his mind. The paperclip lifted from his hand and hovered in the air before his sister.

“That's a neat trick!” Lorna said.

“Take it.”

She snatched it out of the air. “What, no wires?”

“It's telekinesis.”

“Don't pull my leg, brother dearest. It's too thin.” She lifted one bare leg.

“It's slender. It's a nice leg. If I was a teen boy I'd stroke it and get all worked up. Most girls are too fat.”

“Are you trying to distract me? How did you move that paperclip, really?”

“You really did see it move?”

”Of course I saw it move! That's the point of the trick, isn't it? Now tell me how you did it. Remember, I promised not to tell.”

“It really was telekinesis. That's the secret. I'm having trouble believing it myself. That's why I want your help.”

“My help with the trick?”

“Your help in enabling me to verify exactly what I have. To shore up my own belief.”

“Levi, you're getting strange. Maybe you better focus on eating now.” She brought the bowl of soup close and dipped the spoon.”

“We'll talk while you feed me.”

And they did. He told her, between mouthfuls, of his vision of the flying chip, and how it had lodged in his ear, and claimed to have cured his CIDP. “I don't know if I believe it myself,” he concluded. “Can you think of any test that would falsify it?”

“Let me work on that.”

He waited one minute. Sure enough, then she had an answer: “Clairvoyance. Can you do that?”

“Can I?” he asked Chip.

“Yes, to a degree. I can use magnetic interactions with gravity waves to determine the placement of objects in other areas. That requires less energy than physically moving something. In fact I can connect to your visual perception in the brain to enable you to do it now.”

“Okay, Lorna,” he said aloud. “I may be able to do clairvoyance. Set up something I can't see, in another room, and I'll either know it or not know it. That's the proof.”

She nodded and departed. He concentrated on following her with his mind. And it came! The image was fuzzy, but clarified as he concentrated. Chip was orienting on the interplay between the forces of gravity as her body moved, and magnetism as the fields intersected each other, forming a traveling outline. He saw her image with increasing definition after she left the room. He knew he could not do this himself, but Chip was showing him what he would be able to do as he developed the necessary perceptions. His mind filled in obscure details, because she was a familiar figure, but he was not imagining this; he was seeing her in his mind.

She went upstairs to her bedroom and closed the door. Then she stripped naked, faced away from the door, bent over, and mooned it. Levi smiled; she wasn't showing him anything he hadn't seen before. She was a bold, provocative girl, and she was filling out nicely.

After which she dressed again, took a pencil and paper, and wrote THIS STATEMENT IS FALSE. He smiled again; she was really trying to foul him up by doing something un-guessable. She did enjoy mind games.

Then she fetched her purse, fished out three coins, and set them on the dresser: a dime, a nickel, and a penny. She left them there for a count of ten, then put them back in her purse along with the message. Finally she opened the door and went back downstairs. “Well?”

“First you mooned me,” he said, smiling. “I wish I had a girlfriend with as nice an ass as yours.”

She froze, trying not to give anything away. “And?”

“Then you wrote THIS STATEMENT IS FALSE and put it in your purse. It's there now.”

“And?”

“You put a dime, nickel, and penny on your dresser, then removed them.”

She sat down, looking faint. “You did see. You couldn't have, but you did. Unless you've got my room bugged.”

“Believe me, I don't. I'm not trying to spy on you. I just want to know if what's happening to me is real.”

“It looks from here as if it's real.” Then she thought of something else. “Could it be mind reading? You followed my mind?”

“Could it?” he asked Chip.

“No. Chips can't do telepathy, because we're not living things and the forces we use interfere with living mental projections.”

“Chip says no. so it has to be clairvoyance.”

“This Chip—can I see it?”

“No,” he said, speaking for Chip. “Once it entered my ear, and connected to my brain, it became enmeshed, and can't readily withdraw. That's why it was cautious about commitment; it didn't want to be locked into a poor host.” He smiled. “It says I'm a good host, fortunately.”

“You said it talked to you when it sat on your hand. Can it talk to me if I hold your hand?”

“It can if your mind is completely open and unguarded,” Levi said. “But it is intensely intimate.”

“What, like sex?”

“More so than sex. It's a two way connection.”

She laughed. “Let's find out.”

They tried it. “Yes, I am Chip,” it told her. “Thank you for your help.”

“How do I know you're not sucking out my poor brother's brains?”

“I am opening my mind,” Chip replied. “Read it.”

Lorna dived fearlessly in. Levi felt her entering the mind of the alien chip, like a soldier charging an enemy bunker. She paused, experiencing the contact. “It is like sex!” she thought. “Only better.”

So she was sexually experienced. Levi hadn't known. But he was right: bodily intimacy was shallow compared to mental intimacy.

Much of it was complicated, but the essence was plain: Chip was here to help Levi. With such intimate contact there could be no deception.

“And what's in it for you?” she demanded.

“My association with Levi will enable me to function competently in his world, and accomplish my purpose here.”

“Which is?”

“Aligning this world with the Chip Sphere of Influence.” And Chip sent a generalized impression of the way stellar spheres operated.

She was relentless. “What's that going to cost Earth?”

“Nothing. It is merely an alignment. Vaguely similar to a friendship.”

“You will fix Levi and give him special powers for nothing?”

“Nothing other than that.”

“This is crazy, but I believe you.”

“It is intimate, not crazy. Direct mental contact promotes belief.”

Lorna removed her hand. “And I'll keep my smart mouth shut,” she said in wonder. She glanced at Levi. “And so will you.”

“Agreed.” They would keep each other's secrets.

Thereafter Levi improved rapidly. His family marveled, but Lorna took it in stride. “I knew he had what it took,” she said. “Levi's strong.”

They let it be, glad to see him surviving.

“Then came Burn,” he said.

Chapter 3

Burn

Burn had always been smart and feisty. That made her unpopular with some in the ghetto, but she got along, once she learned how to fight. She could wield her knife with deadly precision; no bully tried her a second time. She did uncommonly well in classes; there was an education to be had, even in an F rated school. The teachers took to her, as she never sassed them and never tried to cheat; she represented living proof that good could sometimes if rarely come of the system.

As she matured physically the boys got interested, and she dated a bit, but was really more interested in the academic side. She was ordinary rather than pretty, and knew that any boy who got the one thing he wanted from her would soon move on. She would have been glad of a relationship had there been any further meaning to it. She understood that in college folk were interested in mind as well as sex; that prospect interested her. Body and mind.

Then her luck turned. She was eighteen and applying to community college, walking there alone when there was an incident. It was a routine drive-by shooting, as an automatic weapon peppered a building, shattering the glass windows. One bullet struck her neck and she went down, conscious but helpless. Her primary thought was annoyance: she had been so close to making it out of the ghetto, when this ill chance took her out the wrong way. She knew she was not the target; she just happened to be there when it happened. Collateral damage.

The ambulance took her to the hospital. The triage doctor took one look and pronounced the verdict: her wound was inoperable. Any attempt to remove the bullet would kill her. As it was, she was paralyzed but alive.

Damn damn damn! she thought as she lay there. Everything gone in an instant. Instead of forging to success, she would be a helpless cripple the rest of her probably short life. All she could do was cry.

Then in the chamber where they had parked her as they moved on to more urgent cases, something touched her.

I CAN HELP YOU. DO YOU ACCEDE?

There followed a mental dialogue that led to the flying metal worm wriggling into her ear. Then she lost consciousness as it got to work on her brain and nerves.

Her recovery was remarkable, but no one noticed; she was just a largely anonymous black girl, victim of an incidental shooting that turned out to be not as bad as first thought. Soon she was out of the hospital, as they did not keep destitute victims any longer than they had to. She was taken home, where she continued her improvement.

The Chip, as it turned out, focused first on the almost-severed spinal cord, goosing the surrounding nerves to grow vigorously, forming a bypass. Once that was established, so that she recovered full control of her body, the flesh around the embedded bullet formed a fistula that slowly forced the bullet out. Then it closed the gap and healed it so that no evidence of the original wound remained.

Burn remained in recuperation. She took walks to deserted alleys where she could develop her new abilities. Her senses became acute; she could literally see around corners. She could levitate without wings by learning to control magnetic repulsion. There was no downdraft, no noise; she merely countered gravity in her immediate locale just enough to become light, only a fraction of her normal weight, and then the magnetic lines propelled her where she chose to go. She also became tough where she wanted to be, so that her flesh was like hard leather, able to withstand ordinary blows or stabs.

She also became more shapely. She had never been a really bad looking girl, just plain, but now her hips flared, her waist narrowed, and her bosom swelled. Her face subtly reshaped to become more attractive. She wore loose hair and loose clothing to mask it, but the fact was that she was now a bombshell.

As her health and control continued to improve, she moved to secure her privacy and her finances. She needed to move out of her home before the extent of her improvement became evident. She did not want to attract attention.

So she went to the local bank and asked to consult with a financial adviser. She met with Monroe, a tall white man who masked his suspicion that she was wasting his time, in part because she let him see enough of her body to make the interview interesting. She had done her homework, and knew that he had an eye for the women, especially the young ones, of any color, but was not interested in any open relationship, lest it somehow sour his reputation for fiscal integrity. He was mainly a frustrated window shopper.

“And what can I do for you, Miss Burn?” he inquired. His eyes were already into the window shopping.

“I figure to come into some money, maybe a lot, and I need to know how to manage it, sir,” she said.

“And what would be the source of this money? An inheritance?”

“No. I figure to get it by gambling.”

Monroe shook his head. “This is not advisable. You are far more likely to lose whatever little you have saved.”

She hesitated, then decided to trust him. “I am not an ordinary ghetto girl. I have special powers I don't want others to know about.”

“Miss Burn--” He broke off, because she was flashing him with a provocative view down inside her shirt. She had the stuff, and was using it.

“Maybe I can show you, if you promise not to tell.”

The man smiled, embarrassed. “You have shown me. But this will not gain you any fortune, appealing as I confess it is.” He was honest about his interest, since it was clear that her flash was deliberate.

“I mean this.” She glanced at his desk. A pen lifted into the air.

Surprised, he took hold of it. “This is a, a magic trick?”

“Sort of. I am telekinetic.”

He knew the word, of course. “You can manipulate objects with your mind?”

“Yes.” And she demonstrated it further, moving other small objects on his desk.

“This intrigues me, Miss Burn. I do not believe in supernatural powers, but am unable to fathom the mechanism you employ.”

She smiled. “Have you a private room we can go to? No cameras or whatever? I think I can satisfy you about my legitimacy.”

He considered briefly. “You will show me the mechanism if I agree not to tell others?”

“Pretty much.”

He conducted her to a private chamber deep within the bank. “This is secure.”

“Then watch.” She slipped out of her clothing, standing naked.

“Miss Burn!” he protested, though his eyes were taking in her perfect figure.

“To show there are no strings attached,” she explained. “When I move things with my mind.”

“Oh, of course.”

There was a table with a small flower vase. “Watch.”

He wretched his gaze off her body and looked at the vase. It lifted slowly into the air, hovered, then as slowly sank back down.

“This is amazing!”

“That's not the half of it. Watch.” Now she lifted herself into the air.

His eyes threatened to bug out, and not just from her demonstration of levitation. She bounced a little in the air, making her flesh ripple slightly. Then she floated across the room to him. “Catch me, sir.”

He put out his arms, and she settled into them. “Oh, my,” he breathed.

“Here's the deal, sir. You teach me how to handle money, don't tell about my telekinesis, and this body is yours while we're together. I am of age, as your records show, and I know what I'm doing, and I can keep my mouth shut. Deal?”

“Deal,” he breathed, stunned.

“Starting now,” she said. “Lay me on the table.”

In moments they were having emphatic sex on the table. Then they got dressed and returned to the front office, where he laid out the foundations of proper money management and gave her some related literature.

It was the beginning of a mutually satisfying and strictly off the record affair.

Burn's next stop that day was at the nearest casino. First she asked to see the manager. “I figure to win some money today,” she said. “But I'll give it back, if you want.”

“Exactly what are you here for?” the manager asked.

“I can telekinetically control the placement of the roulette ball. Since this is cheating, I wanted you to know.”

“This is not the approach of a cheater,” he said dryly. “What is your real purpose here?”

“I want a well-paid job.”

He laughed. “I think that concludes our business. Go and spin the wheel.”

She shrugged. “I will.”

She went to the roulette wheel, knowing the manager was watching via the house surveillance system. She placed a bet on a particular slot, then carefully guided the ball to fall into the slot, winning. She let in ride for the next spin, and won again.

When she won the third time, the manager showed up in person. He did not say a word, merely watched.

When she won the fourth time, he lifted his hand. “I think you have made your point. Keep your winnings, but stop playing. Show me how you are doing it.”

She obliged, and the manager was inducted into the secret. That was the beginning of another mutually beneficial off the record association, as she was able to pretty much guarantee that no one else was cheating, and to identify any who did. She learned to play other games, not for pleasure, but to know how cheating occurred, so she could mess it up.

She brought the money to Monroe to invest, sharing another hot session in the private chamber. Thereafter she had no money problems. She set up in a small private apartment, preferring to stay mostly out of sight, attracting no attention. By days she worked at the casino, and her nights came to be in Monroe's apartment. She had a key and would sneak in, so that no one knew he had a girlfriend. The fact was, she rather enjoyed her sessions with him; he was a decent man, and gentle, and she rather liked the sex, too, now that it was part of a larger relationship. She practiced flying there, and other developing abilities, and Monroe watched and never told. In fact he loved it when he lay on the bed and she floated over him and slowly settled onto him, nude.

Then Levi found her. “Hello, fellow Chip Monk,” he said quietly as she shopped for groceries.

She pretended not to hear, but as soon as she got to her car she gestured him in. “And who the hell are you?” she demanded, shaken.

“Did you think you were the only one with a Chip?” he asked. “This is bigger than both of us. I am Levi, another Chip Monk. My Chip knew that another Chip was staking out the hospital, so I checked their records and discovered a miraculous recovery that could not be explained by traditional medicine. You.” And he explained about the spheres of influence, and how their job was to set things up for the eventual formal recognition of the Chips on Planet Earth. How the first Chip had been fashioned on Earth by focused signals from worm holes, and then made copies of itself to find local life form hosts such as the two of them.

It was plain that he knew what he was talking about, and when she touched his hand their two Chips established a rapport: they were two of a kind, though also different because the natures of their hosts affected them just as they affected the hosts; it was a two way interaction. The Chips were not telepathic, but direct physical contact enabled close understanding. “Like a land-line instead of radio,” Levi explained, using an archaic analogy.

She had to accept it, and actually she was relieved to discover that she was not alone in this respect. She was human but also more than human, and Levi was her match. They were on the same side, whatever that side was.

Soon, of course, they became lovers. This had no bearing on whatever other relationships they had, such as hers with Monroe. It was simply that as two in the Chip orbit they understood each other in ways no one else could, and were able to satisfy each other in ways others would not understand. They did not move in together physically, and in fact had no obvious association, deliberately, but they were nevertheless a most intimate couple.

Levi acquainted her with a more advanced aspect of the Chip: it could receive instant messages from the home sphere. But this was complicated, because it would be necessary for him to devote his full attention to it, for at least an hour, becoming effectively helpless, and she would need to safeguard him during that session. Once they were reasonably certain of their new powers, and comfortable with them, he would need to see what directives might come. Burn was intrigued, but agreed it was better to wait.

Just how did the Chips propose to set up the formal recognition of their kind? That was as yet nebulous. First they needed to recruit several more Monks, to form a team. Then, with a sufficient base of nine or ten members, they could make their formal play for recognition.

They set about prospecting for recruits. There were several more Chips, but each one was precious and they could not afford undue risk.

“Risk!” Burn snorted. “You recruited the two of us at our low points. We'd have died without your intercession. How could you know we'd be suitable?”

And of course they could not have been sure. They had had to gamble on those first recruitments, because the chips by themselves were extremely limited. They needed to animate the minds of sapient creatures to achieve their full powers. If they had been wrong, those Chips would have been wasted, diminishing the project accordingly. So they had selected humans who indeed would have perished before long if left alone, trusting that by the time they recovered from their maladies and achieved their full new powers, they would remain committed. Essentially, honest folk. And it seemed they had won.

“You bet you won,” Burn agreed. “I can lie when I have to, but I don't like it. I want an honest life and purpose, and now I've got it.”

Levi agreed. The two of them had been reasonably smart before; now with the amplification the Chips provided, they were geniuses who could appreciate their situation much better. They would remain committed.

But now, with the higher standards their enhancement formulated, they were not about to recruit just any passing human being. They needed to be sure of the qualities of character that would serve the cause best. So that no convert would ever go rogue and try to make his or her own little empire, as they could do with the powers of the Chips. Integrity was important; loyalty was vital.

Now was the time to check the in-box for any messages. Levi lay on the bed and sank into a deep trance, while she watched him, tracking respiration, pulse, and blood pressure to make sure that he remained healthy. If he seemed to be going wrong, she would have to bring him out of it in a hurry.

Fortunately the séance was uneventful, from her perspective. His body cooled and stiffened, but remained animate. In due course Levi came out of it in good order.

“Any news?” she asked, trying to mask her excitement. She was no scientist, but knew that actual proof of instant messaging at light years' distance would be something never before known on Earth.

“Emergency,” he said. “Stellar threat.”

“What?”

“That's the message.”

“What does it mean?”

“I wish I knew. But it has to be important.”

Yet they had no inkling what the threat was.

Then came the news of the Hair Suite. The Hair Suits, acting far more boldly, had established a recognized embassy.

That seemed to be the threat. It wasn't exactly like a moon-sized meteor zooming in to strike Earth and extirpate all life thereon, but maybe to the Chips of the Home Sphere it was equivalent.

“Oops,” Levi said. “We shall have to act immediately, or the Chip Monks will lose by default. We can't wait on new recruits.”

She had to agree. Action was mandatory, ready or not. “Will we have to fight the Suits?” she asked. “I really don't want to get into anything like that. Anyway, I'm not sure that my knife would work against anyone with powers like ours.”

“No fighting,” Levi said. “Hairs and Chips are parallel spheres, nominally at peace. We shall have to negotiate.”

“Much better,” she agreed.

And so it was that they made their way to the Hair Ball Embassy.

Chapter 4

Crisis

Quiti's hair unwound, slowly freeing Levi. “That was a remarkable experience,” he said as they separated.

“You were warned,” she said, laughing. “You knew our nature.”

“I did. But this was my first actual experience with telepathy. I regret that we lack it.”

“But you can do things we can't, such as clairvoyance.”

“Together we could make quite a team. It was a pleasure being this close to you. I regret that we must oppose each other.”

“Call it a friendly rivalry.” She looked about. Roque was now separating from Burn, and his mind was already filling Quiti in on his experience. Burn looked somewhat taken aback; evidently it had been more than she had anticipated.

“I'll go join Idola,” Tillo said. He left.

“Now we know the stake,” Roque said. “We need to decide whether Earth will be a black stone or a white stone. Then we are free to pursue our own goals.”

“I challenge you to a duel of seduction,” Burn said, licking her lips.

“Who seduces whom?” he asked.

“Make it a foursome,” Levi said. “Quiti can try me. If she seduces me before Burn seduces Roque, then the Hairs win. If Burn succeeds first, then the Chips win.”

Quiti was intrigued. The idea of making out with Levi appealed, now that she knew him well, and she knew Roque was even more interested in Burn. “Would the home spheres abide by a decision reached in that manner? It seems rather frivolous.”

“Ask the hair.”

But her hair was already confirming it. It wanted an amicable decision, and this was about as amicable as could be imagined. “The hair agrees. What about rules? They need to apply evenly to each couple.”

“The women take the initiative, and the men cooperate,” Burn said. “We may touch the men anywhere, in any manner, except the genitals. If we kiss, he kisses back. If we lay him down, he lies down. If we put his arms around us, he holds us. If a man gets so worked up he can no longer hold back, then he can do it, knowing he is forfeiting the contest, but he will really enjoy the experience.”

“There are different kind of touches,” Quiti said. “For example, suppose a woman takes a man's hands and moves them for him, making him stroke her body. May she put his hands on her genitals?”

“Yes,” Burn agreed. “She can make him poke a finger into her, as long as she does not touch his genital.”

“Suppose both men hold out, as I fear they will?” Quiti asked. “There needs to be a time limit.”

“One hour,” Burn said. “Then it will be declared a draw, and a date set for a new contest. And--”

“And?”

“Given that it's a draw, that day, let the men have at us, and we cooperating, nothing at issue.”

They looked at the men. Both nodded. They liked this contest very well.

“Much as I hate to wait,” Quiti said, “I think we had better take at least a night to consider. The Hair or Chip might have a second thought.”

“Damn,” Roque muttered. “She's right.”

“Let's kiss to seal the deal, for now,” Burn said.

“Oh, yes,” Levi agreed.

Levi kissed Quiti, and Roque kissed Burn. Damn, Quiti thought as she shared telepathically with Roque, echoing his sentiment; these were nice partners! Then the two visitors departed.

Now they held a private council with the others of their contingent: Speedo, Desiree, and Gena. Gina's daughter Idola was away in school, where Tillo was meeting her. They caught the three up on the backgrounds of Levi and Burn, and the agreed contest.

“So what do you think?” Quiti asked. “You know we value your judgment,” because you have not been changed by alien influence.”

“You're too hot to trot with them,” Speedo said. “Did they get into your minds to make you want to get into their pants?” He was a young neighbor of Quiti's she had recruited to help when they set up the Embassy. He had a passion for her that was now transferring to Desiree, the shapely blue-eyed blonde, former prostitute, then friend of Roque's, now also Quiti's friend. She had AIDS, under control thanks to special medication Roque had arranged, which made her cautious about indulging Speedo's clear interest.

The two women nodded. Desiree was of course quick to pick up on any sexual interest in the area, having had thorough experience. She could read the minds of men from trace shifts in their posture, respiration, and the pupils in their eyes. Quiti's close friend Gena was also savvy about such things.

“They're not telepathic,” Quiti said. “We got into their minds.”

“But still you want sex,” Speedo said. “Not that I object; I want sex. But it's too soon. Are you sure they didn't find a secret way to fascinate you?”

“I'm sure,” Quiti said. “I've been in Levi's mind.”

“The Chips evidently did it the old fashioned way,” Gena said. “With blatant sex appeal.”

“Which they certainly have,” Desiree agreed. “That Burn girl has the best come-hither body I've ever seen, and that Levi man could conjure me into his bed with one smoky glance.”

Roque laughed. “Got me there. You were my first lover, Desiree, and Quiti is my second. No disrespect to either of you, but I'll be dreaming about Burn.”

“I gather you folk are dubious about our proposed contest,” Quiti said dryly.

All three nodded soberly.

“So what alternative do you propose?” Quiti asked. She respected the judgment of the three, because they were unchanged humans, diverse folk united by a common dedication to the welfare of the Hairs. If the three agreed, they were probably correct.

“Postpone the sex,” Gena said. “Get to know them better first.” She raised her hands, “Oh, I know you've been into their minds. You know they wish you no ill. But you are seeing them as they see themselves; you need to form your own separate judgments, which may or may not align. I'm not suggesting that the Chips are bad folk, but they could be mistaken about some things. They do owe their allegiance to a different power, and may be subtly or un-subtly controlled by that. And what about those wormholes?”

“Damn,” Roque said. “This smells suspiciously like the voice of reason.”

“Damn,” Quiti echoed, again.

“So when they come here tomorrow ready for love, we tell them not just yet?” Roque asked.

“That would be best,” Gena said. “It isn't as if you have to suffer much. Clasp each other tonight. It isn't as if you don't like each other.”

“Damn!” they said together, laughing. That was exactly what they did, when night came.

Next day Levi and Burn arrived on schedule. Roque and Quiti were ready, and Speedo, Desiree, and Gena were with them as moral support. “We regret we must postpone the contest,” Levi said.

Quiti was taken aback, having been braced to deliver a similar decision. “Why?”

“I went to the worm hole for further news,” he said. “In case it affected our decision. It did.”

Quiti felt a chill. This could not be good news. “How?”

“We seem to have misunderstood the prior message, or it was incomplete. The threat to our project is not you. Not the Hair Sphere. It is far worse.”

“Worse?” Quiti asked, prompting him.

“There is a representative of a third alien—to you—culture. This one is not friendly, and has no interest in the game of Galactic Go. It is the Pod.”

“Let me take your hand,” Quiti said. “It's not that I don't trust you, but that I want a faster, more detailed illumination.” She took his hand, and Roque took Burn's hand. Holding hands was less romantic but more significant than it was in traditional Earthly lore.

It turned out that the Pod was a huge alien ship hurtling toward Earth. Its denizens were not creatures looking for hosts and fair exchange of information, but plants looking for lodging and soil. They intended to impact Earth hard enough to break open the Pod and release the plants, that would then spread out across the globe in dense clouds of spores and start feeding and growing. There would be no reasoning with them; they lacked minds as such. Earth would in due course become a malign greenhouse with no remaining animal life.

“This will extinguish Earth as a site for Go,” Levi concluded. “Both Hairs and Chips lose.” He cracked a weary smile. “Not to mention the native life.”

“Can it be stopped?” Quiti asked.

“We know of no way. It is the size of a small moon, and the shell is virtually invulnerable. Any attempt to break it up in flight will only fragment it, and the pieces will still crash on Earth and start feeding. The spores are individually encapsulated so they can handle the rigors of the crash. It is a serious threat.”

That was an understatement. “I think we now have a common cause,” Quiti said. “To save Earth, and with it, our roles in it. We can settle our rivalry some other time.”

“Some other time,” Levi agreed. “I look forward to it.”

Quiti's hair gave her a feeling. “I think we need to join forces immediately,” she said. “To become a single unified effort.”

Levi spread his hands. “Much as I would appreciate any chance to work closely with you, I don't see how we can tackle this particular challenge.”

“Your wormholes may have information,” Quiti said. “They don't lead just to the Chip Sphere, do they? They should lead all over the galaxy. It could be like a galactically huge Internet. Somewhere some sphere may have an answer for us, if we can just get in touch.”

Levi shook his head. “I can't tackle the wormholes more than once a day. It takes too much out of me. As it is, their information is chancy, as we have found. It would be the same with Burn.”

“So we need more Chips, so we can do several queries simultaneously.”

“Had we but hosts! But risking bad ones could be its own disaster.”

“I have some good ones in mind. Not ones I would have chosen to offer, were this not an emergency, but I believe they qualify.”

“I am not sure you appreciate the problem. They would need to be people you know well and trust, not just incidental passers by. And the Chips might have to offer them something extra, because few folk would make any such commitment without personal reason. It's not just the initial agreement; it's the desire to follow through. I don't see--”

“Can a Chip cure AIDS?”

Desiree looked startled.

“Oh, of course, just as the Hair can cure any Earthly malady. But--”

“Desiree,” Quiti said. “Would you take a Chip, knowing that you would have to do serious work with it? Becoming a super-girl will have its price.”

“Oh, yes, I would!” Desiree said. “Hair or Chip, I'd take it, and not just to be rid of my AIDS! I'd give anything to be like you!”

“There's one,” Quiti said. “I can vouch for her; she's my friend, and committed to the Hair cause, which is now also the Chip cause. Curing her AIDS is the extra fillip. Do you have a Chip handy?”

Burn wordlessly held up a small worm-like metallic device.

“Except,” Desiree said, looking at Speedo. “We are working on an understanding. Would you object? I would be cured, but this would put me in a different category.”

“Speedo,” Quiti said before he could answer. “You're my next prospect. Would you take a Chip?”

“Sure,” Speedo said, amazed. “Especially if she's doing it too. I've seen what your hair does for you. Have I ever!”

“There's two,” Quiti said. “I can vouch for him too.”

Levi held out a Chip.

Speedo and Desiree hardly paused. They went for the chips. Just like that they had them in their ears.

“Gena, would Idola be interested?”

“To join Tillo as an equal? You bet she would.”

“Three,” Quiti said. “Gena, call her. She should get her folks' approval.”

“I will. She'll wrest it from them by force if necessary.” They both smiled. Idola was a sweet girl, but imperious when she set her mind on something. Her folks were used to it, and benignly tolerant. Quiti hoped that this would not further complicate the problem her parents faced.

“This is amazing,” Levi said. “Are you not concerned that this means that the Chips are outnumbering the Hairs? Especially since Chip conversion is much faster than growing six feet of hair?”

“We're on the same side now,” Quiti said. “These two people are close and trusted friends. They will not play us false, regardless what powers they achieve. Idola is Gena's natural daughter; I know her and trust her.” She paused for reflection. “Still, there should be a referee who understands both types, in case differences arise.”

“You have someone in mind?” Levi asked.

“Is it possible to have one human being be both? To host Hair and Chip together?”

Levi looked at Burn, who pursed her lips, surprised. “Perhaps if they were introduced at the same time, so that Chip and Hair associated from the start,” he said, and Burn nodded. “However such a person would be extremely powerful, once fully meshed, because of the integration of the different slates of abilities. Very special care would need to be taken in the selection, as it could not be undone if it went wrong. It would have to be someone you would trust with your life.”

“Yes. I have one in mind.”

The others looked at her.

“Gena,” Quiti said. “I know you. I trust you. I believe in you. Would you do it?”

Gena seemed about to faint. “You're serious?”

“Absolutely.”

“I—believe I would, if that is what you want. I have always envied your hair.” She took a breath. “But you know I have a problem that could complicate my involvement.”

“It could also solve it,” Quiti said evenly. “You would become competent to take Idola back, if necessary, especially with her being another Chip.”

Gena considered that. “I hope that never becomes necessary. But I'd take her, if I had to.”

“Then let's set you up for the duo,” Quiti said. “The chip is easy; you simply put it in your ear and it does the rest, without discomfort. The hair is more complicated.”

“Three years to grow six feet,” Gena agreed. “Do we have three years?”

“We don't,” Levi said. “Indications are we may have a month, maybe less.”

“Hair reproduces in more than one way,” Quiti said. “Roque, Tillo, and I did it the slow way, from seed. But the Hair advises me that there is also fissioning, the fast way.”

“This is new to me,” Levi said.

“Well, you're not of the Hair sphere. It is this way: donor and new host get close together, head to head, and each hair swells and splits lengthwise, one portion remaining on the original head, the other detaching, then anchoring on the new head. The process requires several hours, but the new host starts with fully mature hair, and will develop her powers in a few days as she acclimatizes and the hair fills out, rather than two years.”

“Amazing,” Levi said. “You are to be the donor?”

“Yes, I have the most mature hair.” She turned to Gina. “There are cautions. Adapting your body to hair alone will require much energy, and the same will be true for the chip. You will have to eat ravenously, and your body will process that nourishment efficiently, which means you'll spend half your time on the pot, literally. The others here will take care of us, of course, but there will be no physical privacy, and not much mental privacy either. But in a few days that should ease, and you will be a super woman.”

“I'll do it,” Gena said gamely.

Quiti glanced at the others. “Levi, Burn, you will be moving into the Hair Suite here, so you can take proper care of the three or four new hosts and acquaint them with the nuances of the chips. You will be training them so they don't have to flounder; you know exactly what the chips can do. You will also check the wormholes for further information on the Pod. Soon the new Chips will be able to assist in that, especially with your guidance.”

“Of course,” Levi said.

“Move your things in, the two of you. Give me a Chip; I will give it to Gena when the Hair tells me to.” Levi gave her a metal worm. It lay passively in her hand, pulsing faintly. “Tillo, bring Idola here and give her a Chip.” She glanced at Burn, who gave Tillo a Chip. “I leave things in your hands, as I will be busy,” she said to Tillo as the two Chip Monks departed. Then to Gena: “Come lie with me, friend.”

Gena smiled, understanding. They went to Quiti's bedroom and took care of natural functions. Then Gena stripped naked and lay on the bed. Quiti joined her, not needing to strip, as her hair was her clothing. They clasped each other like lovers, and put their heads together.

“This would be weird, if I didn't know better,” Gena said.

“We're not lovers,” Quiti agreed. “Actually this is closer.”

Gena laughed. “I suppose it is. It's hard to imagine becoming a super woman. The prospect makes me nervous.”

“I'll be with you all the way.”

“That comforts me.”

Quiti's hair thickened and spread. Soon it wrapped them both in a cocoon. Now, the hair thought, and she put the chip to Gena's ear. It quickly disappeared. Then the hair rendered them both unconscious.

Quiti had a flashback dream of her life when it had significantly changed, first when she was diagnosed with brain cancer and was pronounced terminal, then when she encountered the floating Hairball, helped it reach sunlight, and was rewarded with the seeding of a head of remarkable hair to remedy her baldness resulting from treatment. That had ushered in the most remarkable two years of her life, bringing her to the present.

Three hours had passed. Burn was there with food and drink provided by the supplementary Embassy staff. Quiti felt depleted in a way food could not entirely repair. Half her hair was gone! Not actually gone; she still had every thread of it. But they had fissioned, each hair becoming two, with the companion hair gone, and were lean. She could function well enough, but would not feel whole again until the hair filled out to its original state.

That meant ravenous eating for several days. She separated from Gena, no longer cocooned with her, leaving the bed to her. Then she grabbed the food and wolfed it down. Burn was already bringing more.

“Speedo and Desiree?” she asked Burn.

“In her room, lying embraced,” Burn said. “The process is individual and internal for each, but they prefer to experience it together. Roque is watching them.” She flashed a smile. “A Hair safeguarding two forming Chips. I don't believe that has happened before.”

Quiti nodded. “The onset of the Pod changes everything. The two were becoming a couple. Now they can be a couple squared. They will both be very pleased with that.” She paused a moment, assimilating. “Idola?”

“Tillo fetched her. She took the chip. They are resting together.”

Quiti finished the additional food. Burn brought more. “Let's get to know each other better,” Quiti said. “We do want to be friends.”

“We do,” Burn agreed.

“Roque telepathically shared what you showed him, but that's background. Now I'd like to know you personally.”

“Yes.”

Quiti glanced at Gena, lying still unconscious with her marvelous new head of hair wrapped around her like a cloak. “I wonder what she is dreaming. Her mind is a complicated blank as the hair and chip take hold and integrate.”

“I wonder too,” Burn said. “Maybe she will let me touch her, when she is ready, so that I can read her experience.”

“She may become our new leader, because of the powers she will have.”

“I am trusting your knowledge of her, hoping that will be a good thing.”

“I do believe in her,” Quiti said. “But it's still a gamble. Her life is complicated.” Then she headed for the pot, as her enhanced digestion was making it urgent. Her fissioned hair was lean and hungry.

Burn smiled and went to fetch more food.

Chapter 5

Gena

Gena was back in childhood, a slightly rebellious girl in a more than slightly conservative family. She tended to get in trouble for asking awkward questions about biblical literalisms, and for trying to be an independent tomboy instead of a dependent maiden. She dreamed of traveling, but knew that her likely destiny was to become a dutiful wife and mother to a good conservative young man. But she learned early to repress the expression of her wildest notions and to put on a semblance of meekness, to save her body from hidings.

The moment she was eighteen, so that she could not be stopped, she moved out of her parents' house and into the motor home of a handsome rogue, living in sin. Soon they were traveling, going anywhere that his dubious job prospects encouraged.

Her parents disowned her. She learned this from a public notice bearing her name.

She was careful, but evidently not careful enough; two years later she found herself pregnant. She told her boyfriend, and he took it better than she had feared. It was an error that could be fixed. He knew a cheap abortionist.

A what? Gena was not conservative like her family, but this much had rubbed off: no abortion. She would carry the baby and they would take care of it together. It might not hurt if they got married first.

He nodded soberly. Next morning he was gone without trace. She was alone in the motor home. It was underwater, which meant worth less than the remaining payments due on it. It would soon be reclaimed and she would be out on the street, literally. But for a few weeks, if she were lucky, she could still live in it.

What to do? She knew she could not get and hold a job unless she lied about her pregnancy, but that was another bit of conservative lore that had rubbed off on her: she was not about to tell a lie. In any event, no job would last beyond the point she started to show.

She was stuck for it. She swallowed her pride and wrote a letter to her parents, confessing that they had been right, and begging them to take her back at least while she carried the baby. She promised to be a good girl in all other respects, for the sake of the innocent baby. She hoped that would move them.

The letter was returned to her, unopened, refused. She was simply no part of their existence. So they didn't even know about her pregnancy.

Now what to do? She was not equipped to care for a baby or child, assuming she found a way to live and eat through the pregnancy.

So she posted a free ad on the internet: FREE TO GOOD HOME: A BABY.

And she got a response, apart from the usual jokes and condemnations. A newly married couple could not have children of their own, so hoped to adopt. They sent enough information so that she believed they were serious, and she responded in kind. They were prepared to provide food and shelter for her until she birthed the baby, which they would then adopt.  There remained details to be worked out, but it looked like a good fit.

So she spent her last dollars on food and gasoline, and drove to the other state where they lived. She met the couple, and liked them immediately, and they liked her. They were good people, as she once had been. She moved in with them, and they went through the formal adoption process. This turned out better than she had dared to hope: they did not want to separate her from her child, but to have her remain in her child's life. So it was to be an open adoption, the facts generally known. The baby would legally become theirs, but she would be recognized and have comprehensive visiting privileges, so that the child would know her.

They were Sanford, an upright young man with an excellent office job, and Clyte, a lovely young woman who wore her hair in a low, loose brown bun that nevertheless became her. Her name meant “nymph” and her figure matched. But Clyte had a history that cast a shadow on the marriage. They made sure Gena knew this before committing, in fairness.

It was this: Clyte was enamored of a former boyfriend, Merrill, who loved her back. But she was sterile, and his family wanted him to sire heirs, so opposed the relationship. Merrill needed his family's continued support to complete his education. So they had reluctantly broken up, still very much in love. Clyte had then in effect married the dull boy next door, Sanford, who also wanted a family but was more open about how to get it. He had always loved her, and was a fine man, but lacked Merrill's flair. He was the perfect backup husband, and Clyte did her best to be the perfect wife; they had a good if not spectacular relationship. But if Merrill ever came back into her life, “I don't think I could tell him no,” she said candidly. “So our marriage could break up, and it would be my fault. It's unlikely to happen; it's been two years, and Merrill is surely happy with a fertile woman, and maybe has her pregnant by now. But there it is. Your child could suffer a family breakup.”

Gena was intensely sympathetic, because of her own romantic history, but appreciated the risk. She could have used a backup husband. Yet what were the chances? This couple was ideal in other respects. In fact Sanford was exactly the kind of man Gena herself should have married, that her parents would have approved of, who would never have deserted her the way her rogue boyfriend had. She had learned the hard way, and would not make that mistake again, now that it was too late. It was a calculated risk, but the risk was small. She decided to gamble on it.

So she birthed the baby, a girl, whom they adopted and named Idola, meaning “lovely vision,” and Gena nursed her for six months, then moved out of their house. It was time, because she was finding Sanford too attractive, though he had never made even a hint of any move on her. That was part of what made him attractive: his steadfast loyalty to his wife. Gena remained in close touch, however, visiting the child often, who came to call her “Aunt Gena.” Too close, Gena feared; she needed to let the child bond completely with her adoptive parents. Also to get away from Sanford. So Gena got a job as a long haul truck driver that would take her back and forth across the country, separating her for weeks at a time.

It didn't work. Years passed, and she still thought constantly about Idola, and Idola plainly missed her too. Their partings and reunions were blissfully tearful. Sanford and Clyte were supremely tolerant; they understood about difficult separations. Idola loved her natural mother, and loved her adoptive parents too. She would probably be completely happy only if they all lived together in the same house. Gena refused to entertain the idea; she had to remain the friend of the family, not in any way alienating Idola from her folks. Not being too close to Sanford. But it was difficult.

Then Quiti came into her life. Gena was eating at a truck stop cafeteria when the girl walked in, shapely, green eyed, voluminous hair, and, it seemed, looking for Gena. She stopped by the table and said she needed to be hidden in the right setting, and would like to be a traveling companion. It was one weird pickup line, even for a woman looking for a woman. Gena dismissed her. “You'll be better off riding with a man.” For the men in the establishment were covertly eyeing her; any would be happy to give her a lift.

Quiti was undismayed. “Let me show you a trick.”

Suddenly there was a fire blazing in the middle of the table. But it wasn't real; no one else saw it, and it had no heat. It was a mental projection.

That got her attention. This was no ordinary woman. They introduced each other and talked. Their acquaintance quickly solidified. Gena touched Quiti's vibrant hair, then kissed it—and it kissed her back, and somehow eased her fixation on her daughter. Now she could visit Idola, enjoy being with her, but also be satisfied to exist apart from her. That hair was magic!

Actually that was only the beginning of the hair's power. She learned that Quiti had helped an alien hairball, who had returned the favor by planting the hair on her head. It was as yet not fully grown, being only six inches long, but in time it would make Quiti into a virtual super-woman. It enabled her to breathe under water, it had cured her brain cancer, rendered her into a genius, gave her the telepathic picture projection talent, and even enabled her to float, and finally to fly, spreading out like an umbrella. It also became her clothing, emulating whatever outfit she chose to wear. When men tried to molest the two of them, the telepathic hair reached into the men's minds and made the women seem to grow wings and fangs, like vampires, and they scared the men away. Later scaring became unnecessary; Quiti could become physically invulnerable. Gena was there to see Quiti discovering the growing hair's amazing properties.

Oh, to have hair like that! But Gena suppressed her envy, satisfied just to be Quiti's friend. She had excellent friends, and now the maturity to avoid even the temptation to abuse their kindness.

In due course Quiti met Idola. The girl was shy at first; then she touched the hair, and became an instant devotee. That was the way it was, with the hair. Quiti became Auntie Quiti.

But in time the authorities got wind of Quiti's abilities, and closed in. Gena helped her escape the trap, though it meant parting company with her for some time, knowing that Gena herself was now being watched in the hope that she would lead them to Quiti. Gena hated that, but was glad to help. Later, Quiti, now with her full hair and powers, visited, and brought another hair suit, her adopted son Tillo, who promptly became an item with Idola. It was a bit weird, but good. Later yet Gena rejoined Quiti, who had pulled off an amazing coup, becoming part of her embassy staff.

Which brought them to the present. Gena had envied Quiti's hair. Now she had it herself. Half of it, at least, though that would soon be whole. Plus a chip. What did it mean? She felt the developing power of the two alien sources, compatibly remaking her mind and body. What was she becoming?

But she had a more immediate problem: Idola's family. Her daughter's situation was in peril. She needed to find out exactly what was happening and decide how to deal with it.

She marshaled Hair and Chip. “We must travel,” she told them. It was too soon for her to fly or perform other feats she knew Quiti could do; she needed more time. But her mature hair could accomplish some of them.

She rose from the bed, naked, and wrapped her six foot long tress around herself in the manner of a cloak. She became invisible. She walked out of the room and the embassy, without the others realizing. Outside she formed the hair into the semblance of a simple print dress. This sort of thing was easy for the hair to do. She stood by the street, surrounded by an aura of unnoticeability, and watched the traffic. She would hail a passing cab. Not this one. Not that one. But the third one, yes; the hair approved it. The vehicle slowed to a stop beside her.

Oops—she had no wallet, no money. What to do? She would have to improvise. She had kept her body lean and fit, exercising regularly, and at age 32 remained a handsome woman. Hair and Chip would enhance that, in due course, but what she had now would suffice for this purpose.

The cab door opened. She closed it and got in the front seat, next to the driver. “I do not have money at the moment, but I do have this,” she said, making her hair cloak go translucent, showing off her torso. “Drive me where I need to go, awaiting payment until arrival, and you may feel this.” She took his right hand, passed it through the curtain of hair, and put it to her left breast. “Can you drive one handed?”

“Yeah, on Auto,” he said. That meant the cab would largely drive itself, probably more safely than he would do it.

“If you don't get paid in Caesar's coin, then I will pay you in pleasure, and you will be satisfied.” She sent belief, for it was true. But she intended to see that he got money rather than sex.

She gave him the address and settled in close beside him, so that he could reach his arm around her shoulders and take hold of her right breast. She kissed his right ear. They had a deal.

It was a long drive, in fact overnight, but the cabby was more than satisfied. Gena drew on another power of the hair to feed power from her flesh to his hand, and into his body, so that he had endurance and wakefulness to keep driving almost indefinitely. Meanwhile her bare breast continued to send delight to him, so that he was satisfied with that much and no more. It was a kind of balancing act to keep him at the right level, so that he neither lost interest nor became overcome with lust, but she zeroed in on the right dosage.

While they drove, she rehearsed the ploy that Burn had described in her proposed seduction contest. Take the man's hand, Sanford's hand, put it on a breast, then stroke it on down to the buttocks and finally to the vulva. Put his finger into the vagina. Clench on it. Kiss him lingeringly. Keep going until he could no longer resist and had to complete the act. He'd better complete it, because by that stage she would be desperately turned on herself. This seemed to be a quality of hair and chip: they enhanced the host's health, and the host's libido. Sex was a natural part of the new state, and a woman could time her climax to match the man's.

In the morning they arrived at Idola's house. Only Sanford remained there, his wife having decamped; she read it in his grieving mind. She formed her hair into a routine but attractive outfit and went to the door. He gazed at her, rumpled from lack of sleep. “Gena!”

“Please, I have prevailed on the cabby to drive me here on a promise of payment. Can you take care of it? You and I have a serious discussion coming up.” She sent his mind reassurance: she was serious.

Sanford went to pay the cabby, while Gena made herself at home, being long familiar with this residence. When he returned, she guided him to the kitchen table and handed him a glass of wine. “Merrill returned,” she said, prompting him.

“We always knew it could happen,” he said. “Clyte was upfront about that. But I never thought it really would.” He was close to tears; she read that too in his mind. And the details: “Merrill won a million dollar lottery, and came for her,” Gena said, “just as he had promised a decade ago, and she could not resist, though she hated hurting you. And suddenly you are alone, and you don't know how you'll carry on, or take care of Idola.”

“You may have to take your daughter back,” he said, not questioning the source of her information. “I know you could take care of her, now; you have a high class job. But I don't want to lose Idola too. I love her!”

“As do I,” Gena agreed. “As does Clyte.” She took his hand and squeezed it gently before letting it go. “There may be a solution. Suppose you found another woman?”

“I could never love another woman as I love Clyte.”

“Are you sure of that?”

He gazed at her, perplexed. “What are you saying?”

“Could you love me?”

He stared. “Gena, we have never had that kind of relationship!” But there was a tinge of doubt in his mind; she read it there.

“Times are changing,” she said. “The two of us together could take care of Idola. We both love her, and she loves us. We could make a marriage of convenience that she would accept.”

Slowly he nodded. “We could. It makes amazing sense. Love does not have to be part of it.”

“But it could become part of it. Suppose I seduce you, to see whether that kind of association is feasible? If it is, love could follow naturally, in its own time.”

“But Gina, I love Clyte! Such a marriage would be a mere shell.”

“As your association with Clyte was a shell on her part?”

“No! She was a good wife!” He put his head in his hands as it sank in. “Oh, God...”

Because he truly loved Clyte, he had gambled and lost. “You need to find an alternative, practically and emotionally,” Gena said. “I am that alternative.”

He shook his head. “Gena, you're a fine woman, and you mean well; I know that and respect it. But you could not seduce me, let alone win my love. It's hopeless.”

“Shall we put that to the test? Let me try to seduce you. If I succeed, it will indicate that there is a potential relationship for us. If not, then I will leave you alone hereafter.”

He laughed bitterly. “Lotsa luck.”

“But first I need you to know that I am no longer an ordinary woman.”

“You were never an ordinary woman. I'm not questioning your merit.”

“This is beyond that. I am becoming a, well, a super woman. Like Quiti, only more so. I will be able to fly, to read your mind, and more. Could you live with that?”

“Would I have a choice?”

“I'm not sure. Certainly I don't want to force you.”

He considered. “If you won my love, I believe I could accept you whatever way you are. Idola loves Quiti, because she resembles Tillo in the hair, and I like her too. If you had hair like that, I'd notice. But this is academic.”

“Perhaps.” She extended her hand. “Give me your hand.”

*

Gena woke. She was lying on Quiti's bed in the embassy, with Burn in attendance. “Oh, my,” she breathed. “It was a dream.”

“It must have been some dream,” Burn said, bringing food. “You slept an hour after Quiti woke. Wrapped in your new hair.”

“It was more than a dream,” Gena said, reconsidering. “This was reality.”

“Honey, you're not making much sense. You've been sleeping here throughout.”

Gena puzzled it out further. “It was—a dream of the past, present, and future. It's real, or could be real.”

Quiti appeared. “My hair is your hair. We have a special connection. I believe you. But that's a problem.”

Burn looked at her. “It looks from here like a problem of sanity. The dream is either real or it isn't, or maybe parts of it are real.”

“The problem,” Quiti said seriously, “is that we don't believe in divination or accurately foreseeing the future. The future is malleable; it constantly changes. Therefore it can be foreseen only in the vaguest sense. But your vision is not the least vague.”

“Not the least,” Gena agreed as she wolfed down the food without even noticing what kind it was. She was ravenous.

“I hate to say this, but I think you should test it. Because the implications go beyond anything we anticipated. If you can actually dream the future...”

“I can,” Gena said with certainty. “I think.”

“How can you test it?” Burn asked. “Why is that a problem? You don't want to disprove it?”

“The immediate problem is that she'll have to go overnight without eating any more than she can cram in right now. Because eating's not in the dream.”

“I'm famished,” Gena said. “But this is more important. I'll do it.” She jammed the rest of the food into her face and walked to the door.

“I will track you,” Quiti said. “But I can't talk with you, even mind to mind, lest that change it. You understand.”

“I understand,” Gena said over her shoulder. Her belly was full for the moment, but she would soon be hungry again. Discipline, she thought. She needed to suppress the coming hunger. She could endure for a while without eating.

The scene was familiar, because she knew this area, but also because she had recently seen it in the dream. Traffic was passing. Her mind reached out to sense the minds of drivers. There was a cab, but not the right one. There was another. And there came the third one, the right one. She flagged it down.

She knew the script. “I do not have money at the moment...”

Soon she was nestled beside him, his hand on her breast. The dream was playing out true.

In the morning they arrived exactly as projected. Sanford paid the cabby, and the car departed.

They had the Dialogue. “Give me your hand.”

Sanford gave her his hand. She took it and stroked her bare breast under the hair. He looked at her, surprised. What had he expected?

She got up and walked around the table to him, carrying his hand. She stood beside him as he sat, and stroked herself with it. She inhaled, making him feel the expansion. She knew he had an erection; how could he not? She felt his rising passion in his mind, and played it like a violin, giving him more of whatever detail turned him on most. She made him cup her bare buttock and slide around and under. She poked his finger in as she bent down to kiss him. “Are you ready for the bed?” she inquired. “Or must I tease you a while longer?”

“God, Gena! You are overpowering me.”

They finished on the bed as he plumbed her ferociously. She summoned her own orgasm to match his, passionately kissing him all the while.

Finally, sated, he lay on the bed beside her. “God...”

“Have I made my point?”

“You can seduce me,” he admitted. “I thought I was immune. I was wrong. I thought I would never love another woman the way I love Clyte. Now I am in doubt. I think I always loved you, Gena, but suppressed it out of loyalty to my wife.” He rolled over so he could look at her. “And you, Gena—do you have feelings for me, or is this all an act?”

“Maybe similar. I always wanted what was best for Idola, and you are the perfect father for her. I was attracted to you but did not want to interfere with your marriage. But now it is easy to love you. I don't at this moment, but all I need to do is relax and I will coast there soon enough.”

“What of Clyte? I still do love her, though you have shown me how readily you can change that.”

“Continue loving her. She's been a good wife and mother, and I want her to remain in my daughter's life. Our daughter's life. But now she will become that loving auntie, and I will be the loving mother. We're switching places. Only a detail of the family has changed.”

“Some detail!”

“It just seems the right thing to do in a difficult situation.”

“This involves Idola most of all. We need to know how she feels about it.”

“I will summon her,” Gena said, knowing that she had telepathic rapport with her daughter. “Get dressed while I focus.”

Soon they were back in the kitchen. Idola appeared, her three dimensional image vibrant. “Wow!” she exclaimed. “I can't do anything like this myself. Tillo's connecting my mind and doing it for me. Astral travel! It's weird but fun, even for the few minutes we can do it.”

“Gena is considering marrying me, to continue the family for you,” Sanford said. “We won't exclude Clyte. But how do you feel about it, Idola?”

“Marry her, dad! It's perfect!” She crossed to him, gave him a phantom kiss, and faded out.

“That seems to be our verdict,” Gena said. Her stomach rumbled. “Now what do you have in the house to eat?”

Chapter 6

WormWeb

Quiti woke and climbed out of bed, leaving Roque asleep. A week had passed, and her hair had largely recovered, as returning to normal was faster and easier than growing from scratch. She could do most things almost as well as before, and the following days would complete the restoration. Meanwhile, there were urgent things to do. They had to find out how to deal with the Pod!

First she checked on Gena. She was naked on the pot while still gulping down liquid food, but she looked better. Her hair, too, was filling out, trailing down her back to stay out of the way. The chip was surely taking hold too. So far there had been no adverse effects of the Hair/Chip combination, a great relief to all of them.

Burn arrived with more food. “Hi, Quiti! You're looking flush too.”

Quiti flashed her hair, making it sparkle. “Thank you.” Gena didn't talk, being too busy eating.

“Damn I like that hair!” Burn said. “We Chip Monks have to use clothing.” Though at the moment she too was naked, possibly to make Gena feel at ease.

“Any progress on the wormholes?”

“Levi's been coaching Speedo and Desiree, and they're connecting, but so far haven't found anything useful. Those holes go every which way. Receiving a message from the Chip sphere is one thing, but exploring it for ourselves is something else.”

“But that is the way to go,” Gena said, pausing in her chewing. “I dreamed it.”

“And you proved your dreams are true,” Quiti said. “Congratulations on your engagement! Still, it seems we need something more.”

“There's more,” Gena said. “Speedo and Desiree are both Chips, and new ones at that. We need Hairs doing it too.”

“But we Hairs can't find the wormholes,” Quiti protested.

“My dream says you can, if you work with a Chip. In my last dream I started to get into a hole, but there was danger and I backed off. I don't have all my powers yet. But you and Levi are solid in your spheres. I saw you sitting on his lap and doing it.”

“Doing what?” Quiti asked, smiling.

“Getting into a hole,” Gena said, smiling back. “That is, you had close physical contact with him so you constantly could read his mind, and that took you into the wormhole with him. Only for you it wasn't haphazard; you could see where you were going.”

“You dreamed us getting there?”

“Yes, or starting to. You both completely tuned out our world, which was why you needed to be sure your physical contact didn't end, and got into the wormhole labyrinth. I dreamed the others tried it too, one Hair and one Chip, like Roque and Burn, but you worked it best.”

“If I sat naked on Roque's lap,” Burn said, “the only hole he'd be into would be mine.”

“Exactly,” Gena agreed. “You're both hopelessly hot for each other.” She smiled again. “It's a good thing you have tolerant significant others. Levi and Quiti have more discipline. So they're the ones for this, until I can stop eating and pooping long enough to do it myself.”

“Did you dream how much time we have?” Quiti asked.

“About a week.”

“But the Chip Sphere thought a month,” Burn protested.

Gena shrugged. “They could be right. But I doubt it. We're the ones on the scene, and that Pod is coming right for this planet. It won't arrive for a month, but that will be too late for us; we have to deal with it in a week, or it won't matter.”

“Point made,” Burn said grimly. “Best time to handle a train wreck is hours before it happens.”

“If I understand correctly,” Quiti said, “I need to get together with Levi today so we can start feeling our way and get somewhere within the week.”

“Yes. If my dream is right.”

Quiti focused on her telepathically. She was amazed by the growing complexity and competence of her friend's mind. Those internal hair/chip interactions were potent. “I'm pretty sure it's right. Then I had better leave you in Burn's hands, and Speedo and Desiree in Roque's hands, and Idola in Tillo's hands, and focus entirely on Levi.” She glanced at Burn, in case she objected.

“Do it,” Burn said. “Whatever it takes. Our world is on the line.”

Quiti went to Levi's bedroom, where he was taking a shower. “We have business,” she said, pulling the curtain aside.

“By all means. Step in here with me. I thought you'd never ask.”

“Wormhole business. Gena's dream says that you and I are the ones to try to use the wormholes to find the answer to the problem of the Pod. Within a week.”

“Damn. I mean that in the most serious way, about both your body and the fate of the world. I'm not sure which I regret more.”

“Eat and get ready for what may be a prolonged session. Don't dress. You will sit in a competent chair and I will sit on your lap. I will read your mind as you orient on a wormhole. We will continue from there.”

“Yes.” He stepped out of the shower and dried off while she fetched food for them both. Then they used his toilet in turns. Then he sat in an enclosing chair, and she settled comfortably onto his lap. The point of this position was to maximize their physical contact, so that his body became pervious to her awareness, and the interference of the Chip he wore was minimized.

“Damn,” he said again as she reached into his mind. He was mourning the position they were in that was being erotically wasted, but he was completely serious about the effort they were about to make. He was a good man.

Levi tuned in on the wormholes, invoking his awareness of the conflux (not exactly confluence) of gravity and magnetic forces, both of which completely permeated space/time. They were all around, not merely within feet or inches, but everywhere; the fundamental fabric of space was riddled with flaws, like the cracks in a fractured stone. Levi and Quiti themselves were similarly riddled, but their living bodies had healed over the fractures. The great majority were too small to use, but the larger ones were erratically feasible.

She focused telepathically, and discovered that she could orient on the cracks in much the way she could on living minds. Maybe her telepathy was related, being the complement of his gravity/magnetism awareness. Maybe the very substance of space was in its own fashion a living thing. Regardless, working closely with him, she was tuning in on the wormholes. This was a new and wonderful thing.

She explored the holes. Some were dead ends. Some were loops, going nowhere. Some were dangerous, like tunnels leading down into a snake pit. But a few were reasonably safe and leading somewhere. Those were the ones to follow, cautiously.

“Got it,” he said. It was actually a thought, but it was easier to hear it in the familiar manner.

“That one,” she said, mentally indicating one hole of the many.

“Going in,” he said, thrusting. It was indeed somewhat like sex as they wedged into the tight hole, though the penetration was mental rather than physical. Their bodies were not moving, only their minds. It was more like sex when their linked consciousness forged through the conduit like hot fluid under pressure, finally jetting into the terminus of the wormhole.

They paused, amazed. They were no longer in a cavity in the body of space, but in a conventional office, with chairs and a desk. What was happening?

A man rose from his seat behind the desk. “Welcome, travelers,” he said. “I am Charles Jones.” He held up a hand as they stared in disbelieving wonder. “Do not freak out. This is not a fluke of your imagination. I am completely real.” He smiled. “But hardly human. Be at peace while I explain.” He gestured to two of the chairs.

Quiti exchanged a glance with Levi. Something was seriously askew here! But it was better to play along until they learned more about it. They sat in the chairs. They did not have to remain in close physical contact here, as they knew they were not physical; only their minds were traveling.

“Thank you,” Jones said. “First let me explain that this setting is a construct drawn from your minds, fashioned to resemble a conventional office of your world for your familiarity, so that we can interact comfortably. I have assumed the form of one of your officials, with a completely common name by your standards. In reality I am totally alien to you, bearing no discernible resemblance to what you see.”

Now Quiti spoke, partly just to discover whether it was possible in this weird encounter. “We suspect that we are deluded, or in a dream. Do you have any evidence that you are real, rather than something our tortured minds are imagining?”

“By all means,” Jones said. “Give me your hand.”

Did he mean to seduce her? That seemed unlikely. Taking a person's hand could be a simple act of communication or friendship. Quiti stood and extended her hand. Jones took it.

Suddenly their minds connected and she felt him as he was: a completely alien creature, as much energy as substance, neither male nor female but of some complicated third gender. But his mind coruscated with evocative energy that embraced not a locale, or a planet, or a star, but an aspect of the galaxy. Indeed, he was quite foreign to her obviously limited experience. Fortunately there was no hostility; he wanted merely for her to understand. That also clarified how it was that they seemed to speak the same language: their communication was telepathic. Their own minds translated the thoughts to their familiar words.

“I believe,” she said weakly as she released his hand, which was really a tentacle assuming the semblance of a hand.

“I am actually an official of the local—that is, this quadrant of the galaxy, a secant about a thousand light years in diameter—way station. It is my business to intercept virgin explorers of the wormhole labyrinth and acquaint them with the formal structure of the Wormhole Web, a galactic social network commonly known as the WormWeb. This, I believe is what you are seeking.”

Now Levi spoke. “We are seeking some way to save our planet from an interstellar menace. We don't have time to be social.”

Jones smiled. “Ah, but you do. The WormWeb has the answer you seek.”

Levi was cynical. “And what answer is that?”

“That I am not qualified to say. It will be available for purchase.”

“For purchase! We face the end of our world and you want to put a price on it?”

“Peace,” Quiti murmured, having picked up on telepathic nuances. “It's legitimate.”

“It's unscrupulous!”

“It is free market capitalism,” Jones said. “Everything has its price. As does this dialogue of ours.”

“We're paying for this nonsense?” Levi demanded.

“Yes. Fortunately the protocols conveniently enable it.”

“How?”

“You represent a world new to the galactic society. Your minds are providing me with its background information, including its general geography, leading species, mechanisms for sustenance, reproduction, and amusement. This puts Earth on the galactic map of cultures. In return you are receiving the standard introductory package of information. It is considered an even trade.”

“Standard package?” Levi was having a problem with this.

Quiti reached out to touch his hand. “Please.” His lack of telepathy was a problem, for all that this entire scene was telepathically enabled.

“Perhaps a bit of background is in order,” Jones said equably. “There are waves of colonization across the galaxy, and other galaxies too, as stellar cultures spread their wares. It is the nature of sapience to proselytize. Some contacts are physical, some intellectual. The Hairs and Chips are hybrids, utilizing a small physical start, such as a mini spaceship in lock-down stasis mode to travel to prospective worlds, coupled with an intellectual completion as they work with suitable local hosts.”

Quiti and Levi listened, verifying it with their alien aspects. Jones was precisely on target.

“Some are benign, some malign. The Hairs and Chips are benign, as they try to enhance their hosts so that their association is mutually profitable. Their colored sphere competition is benign. The Pod, however, is malign, as it destroys the host. There is no galactic police force; each culture is on its own. But benign cultures are viewed with favor, and malign ones with disfavor. That means that the WormWeb is amenable to help a benign culture, for a price, if requested.”

The relevance was coming into view. “How?” Levi asked.

“By pertinent information. Such as how to avert the depredation of the Pod.”

And there it was: exactly what they needed. “What price?”

“An intellectual price, as physical trade between widely spaced planets is not feasible. Information or entertainment.”

“Information?”

“Special devices of science to amaze galactic technicians. Theoretic insights to help clarify the hidden nature of the universe. Artfully phrased emotions. That sort of thing.”

Quiti stepped in. “I suspect for us it will have to be entertainment. How would that work?”

Jones rubbed his hands together. “Romance. Adventure. Mystery. There is a huge audience for such diversions. It seems that all creatures crave vicarious experience lacking in their dull lives.”

“But Earthly stories would hardly relate to the lives of alien species,” Quiti said. “Why would a half ethereal tentacled creature like yourself care about two primitive mammals putting their mouths together?”

“The elements get translated into the familiar terms of each watching species,” Jones said. “We have over the course of millennia developed the appropriate conversion tools. Your distasteful oral kissing becomes our evocative tentacle tip touching. There is no problem there. The key is the power of the story. Spin a good yarn, and a monstrously diverse audience will appreciate it.”

“We'll do that,” Quiti said. “But how does this appreciation translate into the answer to our quest to stop the Pod from destroying us?”

“The entertainment aspect of the WormWeb has already assembled the information you require. They will grant it to you upon your delivery of an appropriate entertainment piece.”

“They know what we need?”

“Yes. To divert the Pod, so that it no longer orients on Earth. That much you can do via wormhole connection, with the proper instruction.”

“Uh, yes,” Levi agreed. “That does seem practical.”

“In return for which, you will put on a sufficient show to satisfy the galactic audience.”

Quiti glanced at Levi. He shrugged. “We can but try.”

Quiti looked back at Jones. “How should such a story be presented? I presume you don't want one of us standing on a stage and declaiming it.”

“It would be best if you animate it. That is, make it seem to be happening.”

“Like a play or a movie?”

Jones took a moment to dip into her mind to locate the concepts as understood on Earth. “A play is limited to the stage on which it is presented. A motion picture is limited to the screen on which it is flashed. These are feasible, but more realism would be more effective.” He paused. “Your sports games are compelling because the outcome is unknown; they are real contests. Something like that might do.”

“But I don't see how we could combine a fictional story with a sports game,” Quiti said. “The one is fixed, as it were, while the other has rules but no guarantee of the outcome. They are different types of entertainment.”

“A role-playing game!” Levi exclaimed. “A set setting, set participants, a set objective, but played out without a script. Both types in one venue.”

“Role playing,” Quiti echoed, seeing it. “With us as the participants. That just might do it.”

“Then we shall now establish the terms of engagement,” Jones said. “I suggest that since there are three parts to your quest, as you put it, you should make your presentation in three parts, so that each is necessary for the whole.”

“We just need to stop the Pod,” Levi said. “What's this about three parts?”

“The stopping must be in stages.”

“Stages?”

“First you will need a wormhole route to the Pod,” Jones said. “This may be a challenge, because the Pod is moving, its galactic location constantly changing; timing is critical. Second, you must have a map of the interior of the Pod, so as to locate the master control. Third, you need the precise Diversion Command that will be honored without the Pod Directive reacting to cancel it.”

“That smells like a suicide mission,” Levi said.

“The instructions you will be given will make it feasible. That can be specified.”

“So if it doesn't work, and Earth is lost, we can get our money back?” Levi asked witheringly.

Jones smiled. “Nicely put. No, if the instructions are accurately followed, and do not work, the WormWeb authority will be obliged to make good on the deal, even if they have to destroy the Pod to do it. The terms will be honored.”

“How do we make our presentation?” Quiti asked. “Is there a—a galactic address we must go to?”

“There is. But that is not your concern. It is mine. As the way station official, it is my responsibility to conduct you there in good order. You have merely to report here, using the same route you did before. I will do the rest.”

“And what do you get out of this, Jones?” Levi asked. “As you said, free market enterprise. You don't work for nothing.”

“Astute,” Jones agreed. “I will receive the plaudits for arranging a perhaps unique entertainment. Such plaudits are valuable.”

“Like being the agent for a movie star,” Quiti said.

“Something like that, yes.”

“When do we do it?” Levi asked.

“Considering the time that you have, shall we say three of your days hence?”

“Three days,” Levi agreed. “Time for us to go home and talk to our people.”

“By all means. In the interim I will arrange for the presentation,” Jones said.

They carefully reversed course, and backed out of the wormhole. In a moment they opened their eyes in Levi's room, Quiti naked on Levi's lap.

“Well, now,” he said, eyeing her torso.

“No time,” she said. “We have to bring the others up to speed. We have an entertainment to craft. I am also hungry as hell, and I have to poop.” She jumped up to head out.

“That does modify the complexion,” he agreed regretfully.

*

“So that's the deal,” Quiti concluded. All nine of them were assembled for this important meeting. They had a world to save! “We can all enter the WormWeb as long as we are in physical contact with Levi when he enters it, and I am there to guide him.”

“Now all we have to do is come up with a romantic, exciting, mysterious role playing game that will fascinate a galactic audience of utterly weird creatures,” Levi said. “We'd better be up to it.”

“Will that be adult role playing, as I suspect it must be for such an audience?” Gena asked. “Not all of us should participate in that.”

“Awww,” Tillo and Idola said almost together.

Quiti saw the problem. Tillo and Idola were ten year old children. They were coming into phenomenal powers, such as telepathy and being able to see into private bedrooms, and surely had an excellent notion what was meant by “adult.” But Quiti was not about to let her adopted son indulge, any more than Gena would let her natural daughter. “Maybe they can perform some other role. That is, writing the general script, which needs to be done by folk who won't be actually playing the game. In three separate parts, but I think unified by a common theme.”

“Idola and I can make a great role playing game,” Tillo said.

“Oh, yes,” Idola agreed brightly.

“Supervised by an adult,” Gena said quickly. “Me.” She was the oldest of their group, and the others respected her maturity. “I'm still eating for two or three, and discovering my powers; I can't get active in an adventure.”

“Awww,” the children said again, laughing.

“But do dream of this project,” Quiti said. “We need to be sure that this is our proper course.”

“What I fix in my mind, I dream of,” Gena said. “That much I can do.”

“That leaves three adult couples to put on the show,” Roque said. “Quiti, Speedo, and Desiree are still eating.” He glanced at them. “Will you three be ready in three days?”

“It's easing, for me,” Quiti said. “I'm okay.”

“It's not as bad with a chip as with hair,” Desiree said. “Speedo and I will cope.”

“But we'd better rest and eat in the interim,” Speedo said.

“You do that,” Gena said. “Very well, kids: we have three days to do it right. What's the genre?”

“Fantasy,” Tillo said. “With ogres, wizards, dragons, werewolves, vampires, zombies, and plenty of magic.”

“And captive princesses in towers,” Idola said. She glanced at Quiti. “With long hair.”

“Rapunzel,” Gena agreed. They were already getting into it.

Quiti only hoped that things would work out well. There was indeed a world at stake, for all that the world did not know of it, and might never know.

Chapter 7

The Tower

The scene opened on Gena, in the form of a brown flanked centaur, biting on a huge candy carrot, her hind portion out of sight beyond a curtain. She wore a modest blouse on her forward portion. She was still feeding and eliminating, but it hardly showed.

“Greetings, honored Galactics. I am Gena, a resident of novice planet Earth. This form is a centaur, a combination of a human being and a horse, which are two of our local species; I am a type of fantasy crossbreed.” She smiled. “I trust that you have similar imaginary constructs in your diverse cultures to fill this type of role. It is my privilege to present a fantasy role playing game devised by my young daughter and her friend.” She gestured, and two smaller figures appeared, a faun and a nymph, both reluctantly clothed. “They set up the game parameters, and other members of our party will perform within them. If there is a question of the rules, I will decide. We call this adventure game 'Magi Nation.' It is pure imagination, featuring creatures and powers that do not exist in our real world; that is why it is a pleasant diversion.”

Gena paused. “Our game is in three sections, each consisting of two parts. It is our hope that if one part does not appeal to you, the other will. Section One is titled 'The Tower,' and is a kind of romance whose outcome is by no means guaranteed. Welcome to Part One, 'The Maiden.'” Gena waved her hand, and her image was replaced by Quiti's image. The game was on.

*

Quiti stood garbed in a lovely low cut gown. Her hair was separate, coiled about her head above her crown in an extensive pompadour. She was in a small chamber with no exit but a window. “Oh, woe is me!” she declaimed. “I am a lovely nubile princess captured by an evil enemy and locked into this isolated tower cell to consider my options. If I am rescued by a prince within a day, I will marry him and be happy ever after. But if no prince rescues me, I must marry the dreadful ogre who guards this tower and keeps me prisoner. That would be awful! He's a big hairy brute with no manners and a lot of lust. Oh, I hope my prince is on the way.”

She went to the open window and leaned over the sill, showing her evocative cleavage. How would that translate to a tentacular bug-eyed monster? A passing songbird caught too much of a glimpse and fell out of the air, barely catching himself before he crashed to the ground far below.

There was the scene: rolling hills covered intermittently by thorny brush, with narrow trails traversing it. There was a lake to one side, bristling with hungry water monsters. There was an impenetrable tar pit to the other side; any creature could enter, but no creature could depart. There was a dangerous pitfall in the middle. A huge hornet's nest. Quicksand. Predatory birds soared above, watching for blood, ready to swoop down to peck up the pieces. The trails formed a maze that flirted with many dangers; careful navigation could get a creature safely through. That was the rub: there was unlikely to be time for being careful.

And near the base of the tower stood the Ogre, a huge mound of hairy muscle eager for trouble. All paths led eventually to the tower, and of course the prime objective was there: the Princess. Quiti herself.

Two men appeared at the edge of the scene: Roque and Levi. They wore gold crowns and bore steel swords. They were the Princes. With pluck and luck one of them would rescue her from a fate theoretically worse than death. But if the ogre caught them, their puny swords would hardly daunt him. It was best simply to avoid the ogre. She could spy the men, but not warn them of the hazards she could see and they could not; her lilting princessly voice would barely reach to the base of the tower.

The men stood at the edge for some time, peering around, cocking their heads to listen. What were they up to? Hadn't they looked at the general map of the layout posted at the entrance? Quiti had a copy tacked on her cell wall. Not that warnings like “Here there be Dragons” were likely to be much help. The princes seemed to be in no hurry to get on with the rescue. That was vaguely insulting.

Then they abruptly headed directly for the tower, striding along the main avenue as if they had no cares. The ogre winded them and perked up, more than ready to pulp their flesh and bones. What idiocy was this?

They came into direct sight of the base of the tower. The ogre roared gleefully and charged. The men looked up as if surprised. “Uh-oh,” one said.

Then they split, running in opposite directions. The ogre could not catch them both; he had to choose one. He chose Roque, and pounded after him, scarily close. Quiti was horrified; she was sure Roque could run faster than that. It was as if he wasn't really trying.

Then she caught on: Roque was deliberately hanging back, so as to keep the ogre close. So as to lead him a merry chase. But this was a dangerous game. If he misjudged and got caught, it would be the end of him. Not literally, for this was all the imaginary realm. But he would be washed out of the game.

Indeed, Roque appeared not to be going anywhere. He was looping around the paths, clearly familiar with their routes. He had looked at the map. But why tease the ogre at all? It would be better to get entirely clear, so that he could try some other route to the tower.

Then he ran by the hornet's nest, barely ahead of the ogre. And he slapped the nest as he passed. The hornets buzzed out furiously—and fell upon the ogre who was now where the man had been. The ogre windmilled his arms, trying to wave them off, but it was useless; they were now in a stinging frenzy.

While Roque faded out from the scene.

“Ho, Princess!”

Quiti looked down. There was Levi at the base of the tower. While Roque had distracted the ogre, Levi had quietly approached the objective. Instead of fighting each other for the privilege of rescuing her, they had cooperated to make it feasible. In effect letting the ogre make the selection. “Hi, Prince,” she answered.

“Let down your hair.”

Oh. Of course. She quickly unbound her hair and dropped the long tress down outside the tower. In real life her hair was six feet long; here it extended fifty feet, yet was not heavy enough to be a burden. Fantasy was grand! When it touched the ground, she hooked the nearer portion several times around a spoke below the window so that she would not have to bear the man's weight. “Ready,” she called.

Levi took hold of the brown hank.

Then the ogre burst upon the scene, hornets still buzzing around him. He had not after all forgotten his mission. Darn!

Levi let go of the hair and drew his sword. But the ogre was twice his height and eight times his mass, and crazed with blood lust. Levi was game, but plainly no match for it.

What to do? Quiti was darned if she was going to let victory get away, so close to achievement. But what could she do, other than throw herself out the window? She could not fly, here; it was not part of this particular fantasy.

Then she got a notion. She swept up her well filled chamber pot—it seemed she had been some hours in the tower--held it out of the window, oriented, and dropped it on the ogre's head. Her aim was true, as it seemed it was slated to be if she thought of this dodge; it thudded onto the creature's thick skull with a loud thunk. It bounced, turning over, and dumped its contents on the ogre.

And the ogre didn't notice. He continued to grab for the prince. What now?

Quiti got another notion. “Use the hair!” she called.

Levi caught on. He grabbed the swinging end of her tress, then ran around the ogre several times, wrapping the hair about the thing's thick neck in an impromptu noose. It didn't work. So he jumped on the ogre's backside, planted his feet on the neck, and hauled on the tress, tightening the noose. His body was parallel to the ground. He twisted the hair, tightening it further.

The ogre still didn't notice. But the throttle had its effect, and the creature slowly toppled to the ground as Levi jumped off. He left the noose in place and rappelled up the tower wall, slowly climbing up to the window. Such a feat might have been doubtful if not impossible in real life, but this seemed to be another programmed alternative, and he made it to the window. He clambered over Quiti to tumble into the chamber. Victory!

There was a roar from below. The ogre had managed to unwind the loop of hair and was functioning again. Now he was yanking on the hair. Quiti was drawn across the chamber toward the window. She was about to be pulled from the tower!

Levi drew his sword and swung. He severed the tress about six feet from her head. The cut portion snaked on out the window and dropped to the ground. There was a frustrated roar from the ogre below.

Levi swept Quiti into his embrace. “Now at last you are mine, you rapturous creature!” His hands were feeling her body, which was reacting hungrily to his touch.

“But prince, haven't you forgotten something?” she inquired sweetly.

“Forgotten what?”

“We must marry before we become intimate. It is the royal way.”

She was of course correct. “Damn!” he swore, for the moment as frustrated as the ogre.

And how was this playing for the galactic audience? That was what really counted.

There was a pause. Then there was the sound of growing applause.

They liked it! That was the true victory.

*

Their image faded out and Gena returned as the lady centaur. “Part Two is 'The Man,'” she announced. She waved her hand, and was replaced by the tower chamber, this time featuring Speedo. He was handsome in his royal crown and robe, but obviously not happy.

“Woe is me! I refused to marry the ugly princess my father selected for me, to make a good rapport with a powerful neighboring kingdom, and he has punished me by locking me into the dreary tower. If some lovely princess from a compatible kingdom does not rescue me today, I shall be forced to marry the ogress below, who is almost as ugly as the princess I refused. Oh, I hope my girlfriend from Kingdom X comes to me in time!”

Actually he didn't really need to declaim, because he was the viewpoint character in this sequence and his focused thoughts were open to the galactic audience. He could feel the generalized response, especially when he had sex on his mind, as he often did; it seemed that galactics found it interesting too, however it might be rendered for their species.

He looked out the window. There on the edge of the scene came not one but two lovely women wearing dainty gold crowns. He fetched his telescope and quickly mounted it on the sill, and peered through it to see the two more closely. Now they were marvelously immediate and animate, with every breath accenting their frontal splendors. One was a shapely blue-eyed blonde in tight shorts and tighter halter. That was Desiree, De for short, his girlfriend from Kingdom X. The other was Burnetta, an equally shapely black haired brown girl, De's royal friend from Kingdom Y. They were always together, even when he dated De. That didn't bother him, because if truth be told Burn was even sexier than De and he secretly hoped to have something to do with her if he ever caught her alone. Or maybe with the two of them together; that might be even better, if he could only get past their princessly reluctance. He was sure that was merely a flirtatious pose, but they had this inconvenient thing about marrying first. At any rate it made sense that they came here together; maybe they both had an interest in rescuing him. Especially when out of sight of their restrictive parents.

So how did they propose to do it? He had no long hair to let down for them to climb, there were no long ladders, and the ogress constantly lurked. It was surely a challenge. The ogress herself had no problem; she had a little flying carpet strapped on and rolled up on her broad back. She used it to sail up to the window, pass in his meal, and take out his chamber pot. If only the princesses had access to that magic! But to get the rug they would have to overcome the ogress, and that simply was not feasible; she was not nearly as big as the male of her species, in fact hardly taller than a man, but she had muscles to spare. The creature could take a princess in each hammy hand and toss them both into the lake, where the hungry lake monsters lurked. Not that she would do it; why waste perfectly edible food on creatures who hadn't earned it? No, she'd merely squish them into pulp for her cook pot, if she didn't choose to eat them raw.

The princesses put their pretty heads together. He couldn't hear what they were saying, and hoped it wasn't merely a consultation about what grade of rouge to wear on a warm day. Princesses were generally better at makeup than at slapdown. Then they strode purposefully forward, toward the tower, every step accenting their delightful attributes. No one could walk the way a well formed princess could! But was this wise? The ogress was already bestirring herself, heading out to intercept them. She knew that all she had to do was prevent either of them from reaching the prince in the tower, and tomorrow she would have him all to herself. Ugh! If they weren't careful they could soon wind up in the creature's grasp. Yet they seemed oblivious.

They passed through a copse of thickly leaved trees, and were out of sight for a couple of minutes. Too bad his telescope couldn't see through trees! In fact, too bad it couldn't see through clothing. The ogress couldn't see them either, but that hardly mattered, because her nose was her main guide to prey.

Two figures emerged from the copse. Speedo struggled to get his scope oriented and refocused, but it had to be the princesses, proceeding as carelessly as before. Didn't they know that danger lurked in every turn of every path?

Sure enough, they heedlessly rounded a curve—rounded curves were a princess specialty—and there was the ogress. “Haa!” the creature roared as Speedo finally got his telescope back in gear. The three were now close enough so that he could hear them as well as see them.

What was this? Princess De was there, but now she was accompanied by a man! A handsome prince with a commanding glance. Where was Princess Burn?

The ogress, too, was surprised. She stumbled to a halt, staring. “Huh?” she asked alertly.

The prince spied her, the princess pausing beside him as if amazed by the sight. “What have we here?” he asked rhetorically. “A damsel in distress?”

Speedo choked down his laugh. The ogress was female, but quite unlike a distressed human damsel.

“Uh,” the ogress said, seeming to have no idea how to handle such a ludicrous question.

“Shall we find out?” he asked grandly. He strode forward, swept the ogress into his embrace, and kissed her soundly on her astonished mouth.

The ogress rocked back and fell on the ground, miniature planets and stars swirling around her head. Princess De went to her solicitously, reaching around to steady her as she sat up. “Are you all right? He has a really mean smooch.”

She was comforting the ogress? This was getting weirder.

“All. Right,” the ogress agreed as the planets faded. “Kiss not bad.” Strong as she was, it was plain that she had a weakness for the attention of a handsome man. She had probably never had it before. That was why she wanted to get Speedo to herself.

“Of course it's not bad,” the prince said. “I wouldn't stoop to a bad kiss. I do have some princely pride.” He glanced at De. “Give us some privacy, please, while I make my point more specifically.”

Bemused, De retreated. She was carrying something.

The prince put his arms about the ogress as she staggered back to her feet. He kissed her again, lingeringly. This time the planets were becoming heart shaped.

Then something snagged on one of the ogress's projecting fangs. The prince's face went skew. It was a mask! Under it was the face of Princess Burn.

Burn had changed her appearance while they were hidden in the copse, and somehow fashioned the prince mask.

The ogress stared, amazed again.

“Dang,” Burn swore, as if this unmasking were merely inconvenient. “Yes, I am really a woman. Does it matter?” She kissed the ogress a third time, this time with her real face.

“It even better!” the ogress said as she caught her breath.

“Oh, you're a switch hitter, as I am,” Burn said. “Well, let's get serious.”

Then they were wildly kissing each other. Meanwhile Speedo switched the scope to De, who was unrolling a coiled rug. It was the magic carpet she had filched from the ogress! She spread it on the ground, sat cross-legged on it—Speedo's eyes nearly popped out of his head as he saw under her skirt—and took off. In a moment she was spiraling up toward the tower cell.

She came to hover just outside the window. “Speedo! Get your manly posterior out here!”

This was the rescue! He scrambled out to join her on the rug, sitting behind her. It bobbled but held their weight, which was surely no more than that of the ogress. De leaned back, found his face, and kissed him. Unfortunately it was not feasible to do anything more, perched on the undulating carpet. As perhaps she knew.

They flew down to rejoin Burn. Had she survived her encounter with the ogress?

When they arrived, Burn was fine. The ogress was blissfully asleep in her embrace. “She thought she wanted a prince,” Burn said. “She really wanted a princess. Now at last she knows her nature.” She smiled. “I've had lovers, male and female. She may not look like much, but she's a good one. I'd take her anytime over a typical clumsy man.”

Speedo was suddenly relieved that he had not made it with her; he likely would have been found wanting. Then he became aware of the smell. “Is something burning?”

Burn laughed. “In a manner. I applied a liberal dose of ogre perfume, just to be sure. It smells like a burning field of wild oats.”

He nodded. Burn had never been one to leave things to luck, and she evidently knew how to make a hot scene.

So the second rescue had been accomplished. How had it gone over with the galactic audience? Speedo opened his mind, tuning in the response.

It was mixed but generally positive. Certainly the audience had been surprised. That was enough.

Chapter 8

Challenges

Gena the centaur reappeared. “Now for Section Two of our role-playing game, titled 'Sorceress.' It is in two parts. We now commence Part One, 'Dragon.'

She gestured, and her image was replaced by that of the six adventurers standing on a hill overlooking a lovely scene. There were gently rolling hills, as before, but these ones were covered with ordinary trees interspersed by flowering fields, and a river ran through it. In the distance was the dragon's cave, where the nose of the snoozing monster could just be seen. In the farther distance were the turrets of the Sorceress's Castle, which they had to reach. But of course the dragon was there to prevent any such intrusions. The sorceress did not like being disturbed by alien visitors.

Quiti sighed. Couldn't the children have come up with something more original than a sorceress guarded by a dragon? But they were stuck with the derivative setting. They would have to be the ones to contribute whatever originality and drama it might offer.

“This is too pat,” Levi murmured.

There it was: the children had to have some devious surprises lurking.

“We can bet that dragon won't sleep as we pass his cave,” Roque agreed. “We won't be able to sneak past, either. The scene ends to either side; the only viable route is by the cave.” He squinted. “What kind of dragon is it? I don't have much experience with that species.”

Speedo brought out the telescope he had evidently saved from the tower chamber. He put it to one eye. “Looks like a standard model adventure game dragon,” he said. “I lent the kids some of my old games, and they must be drawing from them. In which case this will be a fire-breathing flying serpent with a wingspan the size of a football field and a torchfire reaching a dozen feet before his nose.” He glanced at the sword strapped across his chest. “We'll get fried before we get close enough to smack him on the nose, especially if he's airborne.”

“Which he will be,” Burn said. “I've played those games too. Dragons love to strafe unwary players.”

“There must be a way to handle him without getting our toes toasted,” Levi said. “There's always a way, in role playing games. We just have to figure it out.”

“There's the catch,” Desiree said. “Are we smart enough?”

“We may be,” Speedo said. “I was actually pretty good at games. Once I worked out a way to defeat a flying fire dragon. But it requires some preparation. That means the dragon has to be distracted long enough for the setup.”

“Long enough?” Burn asked.

“Several hours.”

“I've seen those games too,” Quiti said. “Typically dragons fight men and befriend women, at least the young pretty ones. Dragons and damsels; there's a natural affinity, though I don't understand why a dragon should care about a human female other than as a morsel to eat. Some damsels even get to ride dragons. We ladies are probably not in danger unless we deliberately annoy him.”

“And what of the men?” Desiree asked.

“Tough beans for them. It's often a fight to the death, and the dragon usually wins.”

“I wonder,” Burn said. “I see a small lake near that dragon den. Some dragons swim.”

“Not flying fire breathers,” Quiti said, laughing. “The water douses their fire and soaks their wings so they can't fly until they dry off, which can take hours. That dragon won't go near that water other than to drink, carefully.”

Speedo smiled. “Then why don't you fair ladies go and bathe in sight of the cave? The dragon probably won't move until you depart, appreciating the eyeful. That will give us menfolk time to prepare our surprise. We'll make camp here.” He produced a spade; maybe he had found it in the tower. What kind of camp did he have in mind?

The three women shared a glance. Why not? They were ready to do their part.

They trekked toward the lake, which wasn't far. Quiti knew the dragon was aware of them, though he did not move. He wanted to know what these fair damsels were up to. Maybe he would even get a peek. They would not disappoint him.

They came to the water's edge, pretending not to see the dragon. “Oh, look,” Quiti said brightly. “A lovely little lake! Why don't we rest our weary bones and bathe?”

The dragon seemed to hold his breath. At least the wisps of smoke stopped rising from his nostrils. Would they really do it?

“Oh, let's,” Desiree said. “As long as our menfolk aren't here to steal naughty glimpses.”

“Couldn't have that,” Burn agreed. “They might get ideas. We're princesses; men have no business getting ideas about us.”

Quiti touched the water with a toe. “It's not cold.”

They slowly undressed, putting on a show that would be senseless if not observed by a male eye. Did the dragon really think they were not aware of him? Or did he think, correctly, that they liked the opportunity to put on a bit of a show before someone who wouldn't tell? Princesses were not as prudish as they pretended to be.

They stood for a moment, gloriously nude, wearing only their petite gold crowns. Then they waded into the warm water and languorously washed themselves. They played minor water games. They swam in little circles. It soon became dull, but they had to keep it up for several hours. Finally they sat waist deep, to be sure the dragon's gaze did not falter, and compared notes about former boyfriends. That was always fun, again because they knew the listener would not betray their confidence. Desiree had by far the most, though none had stayed around long before Roque came on the scene, until he found Quiti. “Of course it's a matter of terminology,” she said. “Some might not care to call a man who is with you only fifteen minutes and pays money for your favor a real boyfriend.”

They laughed. She had been a lady of the evening until joining the Suite. “Speedo will stay,” Quiti said.

“He's a good boy. I do like him. Especially now that we both have chips.”

Then suddenly the men appeared. “Look!” Levi called as if surprised. “Nymphs in the water!”

The three damsels screamed in unison, horrified to be caught exposed. They ran out of the water, but the men were standing near their clothing, so they fled the other way, remaining delightfully bare. Both the men and the dragon were taking note.

“They're escaping,” Roque cried. “After them!”

“Just don't let them get near our camp,” Speedo said. “They might raid our food.”

There was the hint: go to the camp. They ran fleetly in that direction, there being no sharp stones or prickles on the ground to hurt their delicate feet, while the men somewhat clumsily pursued.

The dragon launched directly from his lair into the air, spreading his mighty wings. He looped around, gaining altitude, puffing up a bellyful of fire, then oriented on the men.

The damsels ran directly toward the camp, still uttering token screams. It was shrouded by smoke; it seemed the men had carelessly left their campfire burning.

The men were in hot pursuit, though careful not to actually catch up with the women. The dragon was following the men, ready to swoop down and strafe them.

“Hide in the smoke!” Speedo called.

Quiti knew that wouldn't work. The dragon would simply dissipate the smoke with the draft from his wings, then reorient on the exposed men. If this was their plan, it wasn't much. But they had little choice at the moment. They held their breaths and ran into the smoke.

And splashed into water. What? There was no pond here; the campsite had been dry.

The men splashed in after them; they heard the sounds. “We dug a channel, diverted the river,” Speedo gasped in the smoke nearby. “Made a pond.”

Then the dragon followed, so low it barely cleared them. Sure enough, its downdraft blew away the smoke, revealing the scene. A fair sized new pond.

The dragon was too low. He crashed into the pond, soaking his snoot. His fire sizzled out and his wings got sodden. He floundered.

The women scrambled to the shore. So did the men, who then turned around, drawing their swords.

“Okay, Dragon,” Speedo said. “By this time you will have caught on that our trap was not for the ladies, but for you. You can't blast us with fire until you get your snoot dry. Neither can you fly out of here until your wing feathers dry. If you try to scramble out, we'll chop your limbs off. So why don't we just wait here and chat about the weather while the ladies go visit with the sorceress?”

The dragon snorted, disgusted. Now he was the one without a choice.

“Our cue,” Quiti said. “Onward to the castle.”

“What, nude?” Burn asked.

“Didn't you read the prospectus? All the sorceress's minions are female. They won't care about that, and maybe we can get new outfits there.” Actually Quiti could cover herself with her hair, and make it look like any kind of clothing, but she remained nude for solidarity with her companions. Her hair looked to be only shoulder length; the rest was invisible.

The dragon almost choked on his soggy breath. The idea of the sorceress giving them outfits, or anything other than a good flogging before throwing them to her hungry minions, was preposterous.

Those minions were formidable, Quiti knew. The prospectus described them as zombies, vampires, and werewolves. How were they going to handle them? But she had a notion. She whispered it to her companions, who nodded. They would let her handle it.

*

The scene faded out. Gena the Centaur reappeared. “And on to Part Two, “Sorceress,” she announced, and faded out again.

The three princesses walked on to the castle, which was on a rise beyond the new pond. It was forbidding, with a black outline against a gloomy sky, surrounded by the husks of dead trees.

They marched up to the front portcullis, which was closed with a hulking humanoid guard standing behind the iron grating. “Ho!” Quiti called.

“Who the hades are you?” the guard demanded gruffly. She was female under her armor, with a high voice and woven metal halter.

“We are three princesses from afar who have come to petition the sorceress.” Quiti tapped her crown, clarifying her status.

“Petition her for what?”

“For some clothing to cover our nakedness,” Quiti said. “And.”

“And?”

“The Answer Box.”

The Amazonian guard made a harsh laugh. “Lotsa luck, fools. She lets no one near it, ever. Now go away before I go out there and eat you. We're not supposed to eat princesses, but I could make an exception.”

That was part of what Quiti was banking on. Princesses did not get eaten, they got worshiped or raped, and there were no males here to do either thing. That put them in another kind of no man's land.

“Suppose I bribe you to let us in?” Quiti asked.

The guard hesitated. “What kind of bribe?”

Quiti reached into her purse—she had a purse, though naked?--produced a small object, and held it up. “A truly luscious royal dog biscuit.”

“Sh—shucks,” the guard swore, eyeing it. “Give it here.”

Quiti passed the biscuit through the grating. The guard took it and sniffed it, verifying its quality. “How did you know I am a werebitch?”

“You forgot to hide your tail.”

The guard glanced behind her. There was her tail protruding from her armor. “Oh, well.” She tossed the biscuit into the air, changed instantly to wolf form, and caught the biscuit as it came down. Her armor had disappeared in the process. Then she let out a howl.

The portcullis slowly lifted, clearing the doorway for their passage. The three of them stepped through. Then it clanged back down behind them, locking them in.

Meanwhile more guards came, summoned by the howl. They were a motley crew. Some were werewolves, some were vampires, and some were zombies. All were lean and fit, as befitted warriors, but none were particularly attractive, even allowing for their claws, fangs, and rotten body parts.

“So now you gonna bribe all of us?” a vampire inquired, her gaze fixed on Quiti's neck. Her stringy hair didn't even try to hide her fangs or breasts. “There's a lot we can do to you without technically eating you.”

“That did cross my mind,” Quiti said. “There are no males on the premises?”

“You know there aren't,” the vampire said. “You pretty little things can't charm your way past any of us.”

“We are pretty,” Quiti agreed. “You can be too.”

There was a ripple of unhappy laughter. “A stand-up comedian,” the vampire said.

“I'm serious. Beauty is mainly in the eye of the beholder, and a smart woman makes sure he sees only what she wants him to see. Fetch me a cloak.”

Bemused, the vampire signaled. A werebitch scurried away, and returned shortly in human form with a voluminous cloak.

Quiti took it and draped it over herself, covering everything except her head. “Now let's say you are a male vampire who has not seen a female bloodsucker of his lineage in months. He is hungry as hades, and not for blood; he gets plenty of that from the peons. He wants something more, such as a wench of his own persuasion, who understands his nature. Who suffers similar passions. A creature of his own kind. Then I come on the scene.” She stroked her fingers across her lower lip, leaving two fang-shaped smears, and subtly reshaped her face to look more vampirish.

The guards watched, all three types. There was something about this presentation that reached them on an unfamiliar level.

“Well hello, handsome creature,” Quiti said. She lifted one hand in a salute, and her cloak fell open just enough to briefly expose one breast. “What say you and I put in a little one on one time together?” She took a step closer. This time her cloak flashed a thigh. “I'd really like to make it with a doll like you.”

There was a muted sigh in the audience. They all wanted to impress a male like that.

“Oh, if only I could do that,” the vampire breathed. “But I'm ugly.”

“Not necessarily,” Quiti said. “To him your fangs are pretty; he wants to click them against his own. Your breasts are voluptuous; he wants to get his mouth on them, not to bite but to lick and kiss. He wants to get his hands on your buttocks and squeeze them possessively. And your lean thighs—he just wants to get in between them and pump in his essence. This is the ambition of any man with any pretty girl. Men are simple creatures, when it comes to the wiles of passionate ladies.”

“But I'm not!” the vampire said despairingly.

“Let your associates be the judge of that,” Quiti said, removing her cloak and putting it on the shoulders of the vampire. She took the stringy hair in her hands and fluffed it out to greater volume. She ran her fingers across the face, smoothing the skin. “Now give them a come-hither look, and let the cloak fall partway open.”

The vampire tried somewhat clumsily. “No, this way,” Quiti said, orienting her head for her. “And thus, for the cloak.”

The vampire tried again, and it was better. Then a third time.

“You're sexy!” the first werewolf said, back in her human form. “You really are!” She was obviously amazed. The others agreed.

“You can do a lot with a little,” Quiti said. “If you just know how. Much of it is merely concealing what isn't as provocative. His imagination will fill in the rest. That's why the right apparel is so important; it hides enough to invoke imagination. Now let's try it with low cut dresses. There are some in the castle?”

There were. Burn and Desiree stepped in to assist with spot instruction. Soon all of the guards, even the zombies, were posing flirtatiously in dresses, their hair brushed out, their faces clean. A number of them had real ability, now that they were trying for it.

“What's going on here?”

Everyone froze. It was the sorceress! Her fingers crackled with electricity, ready to shoot bolts of lightning to incinerate anything they struck. Her dark eyes were lidded but her glare was capable of putting a person into an instant trance. She could utter a spell to transform a person into a warty toad. In short, she was typical of her kind, a supremely dangerous creature.

This was mischief, but Quiti took it in stride. “We three princesses have come to see you, Sorceress. But on the way in we discovered all this fantastic talent and we just had to make something of it. Didn't you realize how lovely your minions are, if only they are encouraged to show it? They could mesmerize any males they encounter.”

The sorceress was amazed. “I believe they could,” she said, eyeing them. “It never occurred to me that such a thing was possible.” She paused, considering. “Can you do the same thing for me?”

Well, now! “We certainly can,” Quiti said. “Princesses may not be good for much, but we do know how to dazzle men. Let's have at you.”

They were operating under standard rules of engagement. There was a standing truce between princesses and sorceresses. Princesses might be incidental nuisances, but it was bad form to incinerate, entrance, or toadify one, because that might annoy her father. An angry king could be awkward, because he could send a token army to rape, pillage, and burn out a settlement, heedless of corollary losses. So princesses were largely immune, if they didn't push it. Trying to damage the sorceress would be pushing it.

The three of them surrounded the sorceress. She was a spare woman of about forty, with just a tinge of gray showing in her hair and frown lines on her face. They garbed her in a sleek robe that accented her figure, and quickly brushed and shaped her hair, got some foundation crème to smooth her face, and made her practice walking in a manner calculated to inflame the imagination of any watching male. She had a natural talent for it, and was now a stunner. Drop dead gorgeous, in fact.

The sorceress made light conversation during the conversion. She plainly recognized the princesses despite the lack of a formal introduction, and was clearly au courant. “Your father, monarch of Kingdom Y, is I believe a recent widower,” she remarked to Burn. “I extend my sympathy. Perhaps I should schedule a consolation visit, as he is surely lonely and might appreciate the company of a talented woman.” Meaning that the king was a prospect for marriage, once he got over his snit about losing his wife.

“Perhaps,” Burn agreed cautiously. Her father did have an eye for the ladies, and the sorceress had just become an impressive one. Her talents were hardly limited to magic.

To Desiree the sorceress remarked, “Your older brother, the designated heir to Kingdom X, recently broke up with his flighty girlfriend. It's almost as if he might be better off with a more mature and settled woman capable of accommodating his fundamental desires.”

“Almost,” Desiree agreed noncommittally. Her big brother was notorious for aberrant erotic appetites, which was the real reason the girlfriend had departed. The sorceress might indeed be able to handle him.

And to Quiti: “There is a rumor, unsubstantiated, that your capital castle dungeon at Kingdom Z has become embarrassingly overrun with giant rats that scare the serving maids. That they viciously bite anyone who tries to clear them out, and are largely immune to rat poison.”

Unsubstantiated, hades! It was a suppressed scandal. She was being carefully polite. “Um,” Quiti agreed.

“My lady zombies do not eat much, but do have a certain taste for rat brains. They have pretty well cleaned out our own dungeon. Do you think we might visit for just long enough?” Meaning she would have time to scout the prospects there, and the king would owe her a significant favor. A sorceress could work magic with such a situation. Quiti was wary, but it was nevertheless supremely tempting.

“We think you are ready,” Quiti said, changing the subject. “Try giving it a spin.”

The sorceress stepped into the open space and twirled so that her skirts rose and her legs flashed. “Hoo!” Burn murmured, being one to appreciate that sort of show. “You've nailed it.”

“But is it real?” the sorceress asked. “I have had much experience deluding others; I fear being deluded myself. For example, what happens if we attempt to dance with our opposite numbers in the male demesnes?”

Quiti hadn't thought of that. “You do know how to dance?”

“Oh, yes. But we have been too busy fighting the men to get close to them in that manner. We need to be sure there's a fit.” That was fraught with double entendre; all women knew the kind of fit men sought.

“As it happens, there are three princes in our party,” Quiti said. “At the moment they are entertaining the dragon, but we can fetch them here. You should be able to judge from their reactions just how effective your moves are.”

“Excellent. Bring them in.”

Quiti went to the door. The portcullis lifted and she stepped out. She cupped her mouth with her hands and called, buttressing it with a telepathic echo. “Princes! We have something to show you. Let the dragon go.”

Soon the men arrived. “Warmest greetings, princes,” the sorceress said, taking their hands in turn as she flashed them with her cleavage. They kept straight faces, but their eyes swelled somewhat. “And here are my loyal minions.” She gestured, and the minions stepped forward as a group, some of them passable, some interesting, and some sexy as hades.

“The ladies are interested in dancing,” Quiti said. “But they lack partners. Would you care to do a few steps with them, just to see how it works?”

“Purely as a demonstration,” Roque said as he swept the sorceress into his close embrace. Levi and Speedo followed suit with the leading werebitch and vampiress, practically melding with them. But were they really dancing?

“What are you doing?” Quiti asked sharply, and Burn and Desiree nodded agreement.

“It's nicknamed dirty dancing,” Roque said.

“It's marvelous,” the sorceress agreed.

“Well clean it up!” Quiti said somewhat more forcefully than she had intended. Had the instruction been too effective? She had an open marriage with Roque, but this threatened to open it entirely too far.

“The others want to try it too,” the sorceress said, amused. “But with only three men, it's difficult.”

“What you need is a castleful of men to mesmerize,” Quiti said.

“As it happens, my neighbor the sorcerer with his all male minions are a perfect test case,” the sorceress said. “We have never gotten along well. That is about to change.” She made a grand gesture. “Here to me, minions. We shall march to make love, not war on the men.”

The minions flocked eagerly about her, simpering and adjusting their outfits for maximum effect. Pity the poor males! They didn't stand a chance.

Soon they were gone, and the castle was empty except for their own group. “I think they could have used a bit more practice,” Roque said regretfully. “We hardly got started.”

Quiti realized she was being teased. “Now for the Answer Box,” she said briskly.

Chapter 9

Answer Box

Gena Centaur appeared. “Section Three, titled 'Answer Box,' the first part of which is 'Search.'” She faded out.

“Sure, the Answer Box,” Roque said. “What we came here for. Where is it?”

Quiti paused, drawing a blank. She hadn't thought of actually finding the box, only of winning through the challenges.

“It must be in an inner sanctum only the sorceress knows how to access,” Speedo said. “That's why she wasn't worried about leaving us alone in the castle.”

Quiti nodded. “That sudden departure does seem a bit too pat. We solved the puzzle of dealing with her, so now we have the third challenge, part one. Finding the box.”

Levi looked around. “This strikes me as pretty much a traditional fantasy castle with high turrets for bedrooms and a low dungeon for storage. This seems to be the business floor. Would the Box chamber be in a turret, or the dungeon?”

They exchanged blank looks. “Depends on the whim of the proprietor, I suspect,” Quiti said.

“We'll just have to look,” Roque said.

They looked. The turrets were many and lovely, featuring perches for the vampires, rugs for the werewolves, and coffins for the zombies, but there were no hidden chambers. All seemed to be in use by the minions. There were pictures on the walls identifying wolf hunting grounds, vampire aeries, and zombie graveyards. They seemed much like ordinary people, only different. There were even zombie pinups, showing fairly fresh males, the kind that liked shapely young females.

They checked the dungeon. There were the usual things, like an oubliette, skeletons in chains, an unused torture chamber, and isolation cells. Stored provisions for the winter. But no rats. Or magic boxes.

They returned to the main floor. “Where would it be?” Quiti asked, frustrated. “It has to be here somewhere, according to the rules of the game.”

“Maybe it doesn't look the way we think,” Desiree said. “A box can be any shape.”

“Or hidden where least expected?” Burn asked.

“Which would be where?” Quiti asked.

“In plain sight,” Desiree said.

They all looked around the main room. There were only a table and three cube-shaped chairs around it, red, green, and yellow. Nothing else.

“Cubes,” Quiti said, catching on. “Boxes. One of these.”

“But which one?” Burn asked.

“Easy to try them all,” Quiti said. She picked up the red cube, which was about two feet on a side, comfortable to sit on. It wasn't heavy, evidently being hollow. It rattled as she moved it.

“Well, now,” she said. “Something's inside.” She set it on the table.

“Something we surely want,” Roque agreed.

Speedo picked up the green cube. It rattled too.

Burn picked up the yellow cube. It rattled.

“So which one is it?” Desiree asked.

“Maybe all of them,” Speedo said. “We want three things: the wormhole to the Pod, the Map of the inside of the Pod, and the Command to change its destination. One per box.”

The others nodded. “This is the third of three challenges,” Levi said. “We have earned two of the boxes. But what about the third?”

“This isn't adding up perfectly,” Quiti said. “One challenge may be locating them, the other to open them.”

“Could they be fakes?” Roque asked. “To lead us astray?”

“We need to figure that out,” Quiti said. “But if they are, then we still have to find the real ones.”

“We've already searched the castle,” Desiree said. “If there are other boxes here, we're stymied. So these ones better be it.”

Quiti wasn't sure of the logic, but didn't care to argue.

They shook the cubes, verifying that each had something inside. They checked each for some switch or sliding panel or pressure point, but there were none.

“Well, I see you found them.”

They all looked up, startled. The sorceress was back, with her minions. This was after all her castle. “Didn't it work out at the sorcerer's castle?” Quiti asked.

“Oh, it worked out,” the sorceress said. “Can't you tell?”

Now Quiti saw that the woman was somewhat disheveled. Her hair was mussed, her new makeup smudged, and there was a tear in her robe. Someone had evidently attacked her. But she looked satisfied. The same was true of her minions.

“Hard passion?” Desiree asked.

“The hardest,” the sorceress agreed. “You should see the males. They are sprawled blissfully across the landscape, dead to the world. They thought we came to fight them, until we flashed them; then it got interesting. They're just as bored and lonely as we are, and twice as horny. That sorcerer has amazing stamina, and his minions are similar. It was as if they had blundered into a candy store when everything was free. What appetites! We could hardly keep up with them. There were even some mixed pairings.”

“Mixed?”

“Werewolf with zombie maid. Vampire with werebitch. Vampire with two zombie lasses. It was getting interesting, but we were worn out. We finally had to come home to rest.”

Oh. “Congratulations,” Quiti said, bemused.

“Tomorrow is another day,” she said zestfully. “We have hot dates.”

“May you get good and steamy.”

“We owe it all to you. Our lives were hopelessly dull; now they're fun. The same is true in greater measure for the men. They never anticipated the orgy we brought them. Thank you. You made us lovely, so that they discovered that we were good for something other than fighting.”

“We were just trying to complete our quest.”

“To be sure. And how is that going?”

Was she free to talk about it? Why not. “We're stalled. We found the boxes, we think, but can't do anything with them. So you're winning after all.”

“Winning?” the woman asked. “This is not a contest between us. We are merely props in your role playing game. Our portion is over.”

“But we haven't finished!” Quiti protested.

The sorceress considered. “I'm not sure it would be ethical to help you. But you did us a nice favor, and maybe we are entitled to return it indirectly. We can give you the night's lodging so you can continue tomorrow.”

Suddenly Quiti realized how tired she was, and knew her companions were too. “You're serious?”

“Of course. It's nice having company.” The sorceress beckoned a werebitch. “Set our six visitors up in the spare suite. They will be joining us for dinner. We are no longer part of their game.”

“Yes ma'am.” They were was as happily disheveled as the sorceress. “This way, please.”

Soon they were ensconced in the guest suite, consisting of three bedrooms and two bathrooms. Quiti realized that this represented one for each type of creature; the zombies did not actually need toilet facilities unless they found a new store of rats to eat, and even then maybe not.

Dinner was elegant and quite edible, with several courses and many kinds of wine, followed by cake and ice cream for dessert, all served by petite werebitch, vampire, and zombie maidens. Quiti marveled where it all came from, until she remembered that this was all a dreamlike fantasy; their physical bodies were reclining back in the real world beyond the wormhole. It was all imagination, in this realm of Magi Nation. Yet the food and drink tasted real, and her belly was soon comfortably full.

“You look perplexed, Princess Quiti,” their hostess said. “Is there a problem? I assure you that we have no wish to harm you in any manner, especially after the favor you have done us. We are currently off duty.”

Quiti glanced at her companions, but Burn and Desiree were happily getting tipsy on the fine wine, and the menfolk were as happily eyeing the presented loose cleavages and tight short-skirted posteriors of the maidens as they bent to refill wine glasses. It was a tacit collaboration of exhibitionism and voyeurism, the flirtation clearly enjoyed by both parties. There was no help there.

“Are we allowed to talk off the record?” Quiti asked. “I mean, stepping out of character for the roles we are playing?”

The sorceress smiled. “We are allowed, during off-time. Tomorrow when you resume your quest, the proper forms must be observed, of course. It is in effect a truce, with the rules suspended.”

“I understand,” Quiti said. “This Magi Nation setting is a pure fantasy world that seems real only because we willingly suspend our disbelief. It's a kind of dream. So we're not really eating or drinking or ogling anatomy.” She shot a dark glance at Roque, but he was oblivious as he peered inside a very full werebitch blouse that seemed open all the way from top to bottom, literally.

“We are not,” the sorceress agreed. “But the setting will be maintained until the quest is completed. It is easier to maintain it overnight than to reconstruct it on the morrow.”

“Yet the personalities involved can't be purely the stuff of our imagination,” Quiti said. “You, for instance: I'm not imagining you.”

“You are not,” the sorceress agreed.

“So how is it that I am talking with you now? Who or what are you, really?”

The sorceress smiled. “I am a creature from another world most closely resembling a ribbon fish of your world who alleviates her boredom by participating in a series of roles as an actress. Whatever is available at the moment. This present one is more diverting than some.”

“Some?”

“I have animated a type of sow—that is, a female pig—in a farming fantasy. I have animated a sea worm in an ocean story. A predatory vulture in an aerial setting. I must confess that being a human sorceress is the best role I have had in some time. And the erotic encounter with the sorcerer is a lovely bonus despite its occurrence offstage and the fact that in real life the sorcerer is of a totally different species; we could not connect erotically even if we wanted to. But here in this setting we are man and woman, and can almost experience the exotic emotion. I love this Magi Nation of yours.”

“And the weres, vamps, and zombies are actresses too?”

“They are, and they love it as I do. Most roles are low grade; it takes years to work up to worthy ones. But suddenly you made us all high grade, and we sincerely appreciate that.”

“My companions and I did that? We're just fulfilling our quest, playing roles in the game.”

“It was anticipated that you would barge in here, taking advantage of your partial immunity as princesses, and slaughter us like vermin until you found the boxes. Instead you chose to treat us as equals, making us become people with feelings. We were obliged to follow your lead regardless where you led, but this was a most pleasant surprise.” She smiled. “Even making out with a garbage-eating slug who has the role of a sorcerer. That could only occur in a third party setting like this.”

“So we human folk who are playing the roles of princes and princesses are pikers compared to you galactics who aren't human at all. You're playing much farther fetched roles.”

“Yes. But we love it, and especially our present roles. Consider the bitch who is fascinating your friend.” They both glanced at the lady werewolf whose full breasts were almost touching Roque's nose. “She's a creature like one of your grasshoppers, existing on a largely barren planet, where nothing interesting ever happens to her kind apart from getting raped by the male overlord to produce eggs for the next generation. Suddenly she's got the full attention of an alien prince.”

“A mock prince,” Quiti said.

“But she feels his interest, and revels in it. This is a high point of her life so far. Thanks to your Magi Nation fantasy. She will never forget this role. None of us will. We are all searching for some kind of meaning in our lives, and for many of us, this is as close as we come.”

Quiti shook her head. “This is a new perspective for me.”

“Perhaps. But I know from the background presentation that you are a worthy creature in your own realm, equivalent to the princess you portray. That all six of you are or are becoming prime figures in your realm. I hope you are successful in your quest, and that you do manage to save your world. It would be a shame to lose you.”

“Oh, I hope so too,” Quiti agreed with feeling.

The banquet concluded. Soon the women managed to haul their men away from the serving girls and to their bedrooms for the night. They caught up on natural functions, imaginary as they might be, and got into bed. Quiti considered mentioning to Roque that his luscious werebitch was really a grasshopper, but decided to let it be.

“Oh, I already know,” he said. “She's strictly a look but don't touch item, for more than one reason. You, in contrast, I can touch.”

“Here in Magi Nation? It isn't real.”

“The hades it isn't.” He kissed her and fondled her, then got down to serious love play. His peeks at the serving wench had evidently turned him on.

Quiti had to admit that it certainly felt real. She suspected that it was similar for the other two couples.

But would they be able to crack the code of the Answer Boxes on the morrow? Everything hung on that. This entire charade was pointless if they did not do that. Yes, she knew that the real question was whether they were succeeding in sufficiently entertaining the galactic audience to be granted their reward. Failure would mean they did not impress the galactics enough, and Earth was doomed.

They had to succeed.

*

Gena Centaur reappeared. “Our adventurers, having comfortably rested, now must unriddle the boxes. Herewith Part Two, “Box.” She faded out.

Quiti woke determined to crack the riddle of the answer boxes. It was, pretty literally, do or die.

They had a nice breakfast, served by other maidens, so that more of them could get their turns impressing the men. Even the zombie girls were remarkably healthy looking, though Quiti suspected that they accomplished the effect by larding the makeup on their faces and hands and covering up most of the rest. Still, they managed to show enough to interest the men. That was the point of that particular exercise.

Then the sorceress and her minions marched off to the sorcerer's castle, to get some more activity in while they still had their roles. The six royal visitors tackled the three cubes.

“Let's make two teams to try the cubes,” Quiti said. “The men on one, the women on another, and once we open them, all of us can work on the third.” No one objected.

The three women took the green cube, and the men the red one. They remained featureless and impenetrable as before.

“The colors,” Desiree said. “Like traffic lights: green to go, red to stop, yellow in between. Is that coincidence?”

“No,” Burn said. “Remember, two human children designed this framework. Those colors would come naturally to them, as they play on the street.”

“They shouldn't be playing on the street!” Quiti said.

“Ghetto children do.”

That was right; they did. This was pure imagination, in a galactic context, but it had been set up by Tillo and Idola, not ghetto children, but they knew the street. Hence also the princes and princesses; children liked stories about them. About those who had what the children lacked. But how would go, stop, and in between open the boxes?

“There just doesn't seem to be any button to depress, any panel to slide, or any door to open,” Desiree said, frustrated as they all were. “But how else can we open it?”

“Maybe get a screwdriver and pry?” Burn asked.

They tried it, but there was nowhere to lodge the screwdriver. They also tried pouring water on it, in case the impervious surface melted. No luck.

Meanwhile the men were similarly balked by their red cube. “There's got to be a way,” Speedo said, frustrated.

“I've got an idea,” Burn said. “Maybe in not physical, but verbal.” She faced the green cube. “Open says-a-me.” Nothing happened.

They tried other commands, but the cube remained unresponsive. The men tried with theirs. “Forward March! Company Halt! Kilroy was here!” Nothing.

They were still at it when the sorceress and her minions returned two hours later. They were joyfully disheveled again. “Those men are insatiable,” the sorceress said, well satisfied. “How's it going, princesses?”

“You had a better time than we did,” Quiti said sourly. “We're absolutely balked. Nothing works.”

“Too bad hugging and kissing won't do it,” the sorceress said. “But that works only on men.”

“Unfortunately,” Quiti agreed. Then she had a second thought. “You know, if there's one thing children really like, though they don't admit it, it's hugging and kissing by their fond mothers. You don't suppose they--?”

“Why not?” Burn said. “Easy to find out.”

Quiti put her arms around the cube. She kissed its surface. It remained inert.

Burn did the same, with no better result.

Desiree did it, resigned.

The cube fell open.

They stared as the watching minions cheered. Was that applause allowed? It must be, now that they were spectators in a game they liked.

In the middle of the middle square was a small glassy object. Quiti picked it up. “What is it?”

“That, my dear, is what is colloquially called a wormhole fixer,” the sorceress said. “It's locked on a particular wormhole or destination. Invoke it, and it will guide your awareness there. Supremely useful for mental travelers. Congratulations on achieving it.”

One third of their challenge had been met. But they were not yet done. Would kisses open the two remaining cubes? Quiti doubted it.

But they tried it, the three of them kissing the red cube, and then the yellow one, without effect. “So far, the challenge has been roughly divided into teams,” Burn said. “One team accomplishes a task, then another does. Maybe it's the men's turn.”

“Kissing's for girls,” Roque said disdainfully.

“So what's for men?” Burn asked him. “Cursing?”

They all paused. “You know...” Desiree said.

So they tried it. “Damn you, Red Baron,” Roque swore, his hand on the cube. “I mean Red Cube.”

The red cube remained unmoved.

“Damn you, Red Cube,” Levi said. Still nothing.

“Damn you, Red Cube,” Speedo said.

The cube fell open. The minions cheered again.

Inside was a rolled up parchment. Roque fetched it and unrolled it. It was a multi-page map, as of the interior of a spaceship. Or the spherical Pod. Floor by floor.

One to go. They tried cursing the yellow cube, but it was impervious. What was the key?

For the next hour they tried different things, ranging from compliments to counting numbers, but nothing worked. The key to it did not seem to be verbal.

“These challenges were designed by children,” Quiti said. “Kisses and curses must have amused them. How would they conclude it?”

Burn laughed. “My brothers would simply throw a tantrum and smash it.”

They paused again. “I wonder,” Desiree said.

Quiti focused on the notion. “We have assumed that the rules require ingenuity, but we don't have rules, or at least not such restrictions. But suppose we smash it, and we're wrong? Does that mean that Earth is lost?”

“No such thing,” Roque said. “If we're wrong, smashing simply won't work, any more than kissing or cursing did singly. The cube will be invulnerable.”

Quiti looked around. The others slowly nodded.

She decided. “Bash it.”

“Find me a sledgehammer,” Roque said.

The sorceress glanced at the sexy werebitch who had intrigued Roque before. “Fetch it.”

“Do you have others?” Quiti asked. “This might have to be a concerted effort, like the kisses and curses.”

Soon minions brought eight sledgehammers. The men took theirs. The women struggled to lift theirs. Quiti was stronger than any ordinary woman or man, thanks to her hair, but she could barely heft hers. Did that mean she was going wrong, or that it was simply far more solid than it looked? She struggled valiantly to haul it to the cube.

“Ladies first,” Roque said.

The four women held their breaths and hauled up on the handles, managing to lift the hammers to the four sides of the cube and set them there. Did that count as smashing?

Then the four men coordinated. “Ready, set, HEAVE!” Roue said, and the four hammers swung up, over, and down on the four corners of the cube.

The thing smashed into yellow smithereens. They had done it! The sorceress and minions applauded.

Quiti got down on hands and knees and pawed frantically through the debris. And found an object. A key.

“A key?” she asked. “Not a command code?”

“A key to turn the master switch,” Burn said. “Why not?”

Why not, indeed. They had won through and gotten the prize.

“This concludes your Quest,” the sorceress said. “We have enjoyed it. It has been a rare experience for us all. We have seldom seen such wacky imagination.”

The ring of minions smiled. Some had vulpine teeth, some had fangs, and some had rotten or missing teeth, but the spirit was there. Behind them appeared an ogre, an ogress, and a dragon, also smiling in their fashions. They had become friends.

“Uh, thank you,” Quiti said faintly.

“And here is your audience response,” the sorceress said.

The castle chamber opened out like one of the cubes to reveal a vista the size of a galaxy, filled with amazingly diverse creatures. All were applauding, in their fashions, whether these were assorted sounds, patterns of light, or more exotic manifestations.

Then the scene dissolved, and they were back in the Hair Suite, hands linked around a table, all nine of them. They were safely home. They lurched to their feet to go for the toilet facilities, as they had been a day and a night effectively frozen in place. But Quiti caught a glimpse as she fled her chair.

On the table was a holographic representation of three items: a small glassy object, a multipage map, and a key. They had won the tools they needed.

Now all they had to do was save the world.

Chapter 10

Pod

They rested for a day and night, recovering from the wonder of the galaxy. Tillo and Idola were thrilled that their fantasy game had worked out so well. They had followed every move, and were annoyed only that some of the real action, such as the encounter of the sorceress and her minions with the sorcerer and his minions, had occurred offstage where they couldn't see it. They suspected that was not entirely coincidence, but couldn't bring themselves to accuse Gena of complicity in her management of the details. Gena was, after all, Idola's mother, now in more than one sense. Everyone was satisfied with the outcome, however. Then they set up for the essential business: diverting the Pod.

“I visited with Charles Jones, the way station attendant,” Levi said. “He is essentially our galactic agent, since he discovered us. He says he may have something for us, once we save our planet.”

“Saving our plant should be enough for today,” Quiti said wryly.

“Maybe. Anyway, he explained that we go into the WormWeb as electronic impulses, and that works fine when we're dealing with similar visitors, as we were in the Magi Nation. We're all on the same basis; it's like a communal dream. But it's a different scene when we go to the Pod, because that's an actual physical ship, not a Web construct. It will seem more like a frozen garden to us, nothing moving except us. But if we trigger an alarm, then it will put a flycatcher on us. That could be mischief. It will use the same mini wormhole channels we do, and be equipped to cut us off if it catches us.”

Quiti felt a chill. “A flycatcher plant. It eats bugs, and we're the bugs. What happens if one of us gets cut off? Does he die?”

“No, merely separated from the Pod. He'll wake here, where he started. But his channel will be interrupted, and he won't be able to return to the Pod. He is booted from that scene.”

“Not killed or hurt? That's a relief.”

“Maybe,” Levi said. “But if all of us get booted, we won't be able to complete our mission. Then--”

“Earth is doomed,” she finished. “I get it. So we'll soon be dead anyway.”

“Yes. We'll have one chance at the Pod, make or break.”

“So we'd better be sure that one of us gets to the master switch and turns that key.”

“Yes. We'll all have to protect the key holder. He/she is the point of the mission.”

Quiti gazed at the holo image. “There's just one key?”

“Just one key,” Levi agreed. “It's special because it has to affect the Pod's guidance directive. We images just come and go, but the key's action is permanent.”

“So who carries the key?”

“We'd better vote on it.”

They voted, and decided to have Levi carry it. Burn was selected to invoke the wormhole locator; once they were in the Pod, that wouldn't matter. Quiti was chosen for the maps. They had all studied them, pretty well memorizing them, but they were complicated and there might be details they needed to verify in case of a change in their planned route.

Then they organized and cleared their bodies for what might be a long haul, and got settled around the table. They linked hands, except for three who had one elbow touched instead. Burn put her free hand on the image of the locator; Levi touched the image of the key; Quiti touched the maps. They closed their eyes and let Burn lead them to the Pod.

And they were there, in the center of it, on a long platform beside the giant bulb that turned on at measured intervals to emulate the sun and provide necessary light. It was off at the moment, fortunately, so it was night, with only dim illumination from what might be considered night lights. The floors were transparent spheres of increasing diameter, lattices covered with green plants. They did not look particularly sinister, but of course they were largely dormant now, awaiting their chance to consume a planet. Rather, the sacs of spores they guarded would do that job.

Quiti wondered how plants had ever developed space technology. Maybe they had tamed animals to do the legwork, as it were. The maps indicated cells where some animals were stored frozen, in case their services were needed along the way. It was an efficient operation.

Quiti felt as if she were floating, which was hardly surprising; they were floating. Fortunately there were handholds and footholds or maybe vine-holds all along the platform. How was it they could feel gravity, or the lack of it, in their electronic form? But they had felt it in the fantasy game, so it must be part of the condition.

“We're here,” Burn said. “My job is done. I'm expendable, if it should come to that.”

“Then you can be my bodyguard,” Levi said. “To make sure I make it through to the master switch.”

“Which is where?” Burn asked Quiti.

“To review what you all know,” Quiti said, knowing that not all of them had really studied the maps. “The Pod is about ten miles in diameter, with a radius of five miles. It has twenty four largely transparent shells spaced about a thousand feet apart, anchored by stout conic ladders that hold them firmly in place.” She gestured at the nearest ladder cone. “The sphere is spinning, to make artificial gravity, which is slight close in toward the center, about Earth normal at the twelfth level, and formidable at the outer rim. To the sides the effect is weaker, and the east and west axes are essentially null-gravity. The master control chamber is in the middle of the twelfth level. The obvious route to it is straight down the center cone, riding one of their carts. It's about two and a half miles out, but we can readily coast to it.”

“But,” Roque said with a slow smile.

“But the Pod plants can't be entirely naive about possible intrusions,” Quiti said. “They'll have alerts along that route. Once we set off an alarm, we're in trouble. So we'd better be indirect, so they don't know our objective. I recommend going to the end of the axis of rotation, to the twelfth level, then working our way cautiously in toward the master chamber, in a meandering route.”

“And if we set off an alarm?”

“Depends on how close to the objective we are. If we're close, dash for it. If not, lead them a spread out chase, hoping they can't catch us all, and that Levi will be able to sneak into the control chamber and do the deed.”

“Like diverting the ogre,” Levi said. “The master switch is like the princess in the tower, only probably with shorter hair.”

“Even so,” Quiti agreed. “If you are being chased, we can try tag team, with others running between you and the flycatcher, in an effort to divert it. Remember, We are all expendable except you.”

“Naturally,” Levi agreed.

“We could spread out now,” Burn pointed out.

“No,” Quiti said. “That would just increase the chances of someone triggering a hidden alarm. Best to stay together, hoping to avoid any alarm, but ready to spread out if we do trigger one.”

“We may need weapons,” Speedo said. “Knives would be good.”

They checked supply pods, and did find some tools with cutting edges. Pruning might be needed on occasion, so the plants had the blades. They were awkward compared to knives or swords, but would do. Each person took one.

They took a cart mounted on a column to the side, along the axis of rotation. Its small wheels were hooked into a channel so that it would not float away. All they had to do was push and coast.

“I just had a nasty notion,” Desiree murmured to Quiti as they rolled along. “Suppose there's a silent alarm?”

“Sh—ucks!” Quiti swore, glancing at the children. “I never thought of that.”

“We'll just have to hope there isn't.”

“Yes.”

They passed shell after shell, each one marked with a symbol that was surely a number. Quiti kept count, and when they reached the twelfth she touched the brake and the cart slowed to a halt. They were at the right level, with no sign of an alarm yet.

The level had mostly storage containers fastened like seedpods to the floor, with narrow walkways leading at right angles to the axis. “Hold on,” Quiti warned. “Gravity will increase as we go, and if you slip and fall, you'll just slip and slide faster and faster.”

They moved carefully, using the handholds. As they progressed, gravity slowly increased, and they changed their orientation to put their feet in the down direction. Potted plants appeared, tentacular things spread out toward the sunshine when it was on. All were motionless, as plants generally seem to be, but they were probably also in some dormant state, awaiting their arrival at a planet. Just looking at them made Quiti nervous. There were also many bulb-like blobs, surely the spores.

The slow curve of the shell brought them gradually to increasingly level terrain, so they could walk vertically, their heads toward the center. The size of the plants increased, and their variety. Their colors were not completely clear in the gloom, but there seemed to be a fair variety.

Then the sun turned on. Day had come, and suddenly the colors were phenomenal. It was actually quite lovely, like a botanic garden of exotic flowers, which actually was not far from the case. It was too bad that they were coming not to enhance Earth, but to consume it.

They were getting close to the master chamber. Soon their mission would be accomplished.

And an alarm sounded, a sort of eerie whistling. “Damn!” Quiti swore. “We've been made.”

“Are we close enough?” Levi asked.

“Maybe. It's only about a quarter mile away.”

They hurried as a group toward the master chamber. But now the flytrap manifested. It was a huge plant with jawed extensions, and it was able to move along the pathways of the shell. It was not as fast as the humans, but it stood athwart a key nexus. A second one stood on an alternate route, and a third. They were surrounded. Once the trap was sprung, it was thorough.

Roque took over. “Attack the nearest flycatcher; cut its stems and roots. Throw it overboard.”

They swarmed the nearest flycatcher. It seemed surprised, to the extent a plant could; evidently its prey normally tried to flee, not attack. They sliced at anything they could reach, especially the clawed stems. One claw fell, then another. Then one root too many was severed, and the plant lost its hold on the ledge and slowly slid to one side. Victory!

But as it fell, it swung out with its remaining claws, and caught Speedo and Desiree, who were working together. It dropped into the void, hauling them with it, as the claws crunched into their bodies. They didn't even have time to scream before they were gone.

“It's not death!” Quiti cried. “Merely separation. They're just out of the raid.”

“But it feels like death,” Idola said tearfully. She was right.

Seven of them were through this pass, but at a price. What could they do but go on?

They ran in the direction of the master chamber. More flycatchers blocked their way. They changed into one, this time battering its main stem directly, dislodging it from its hold on the ledge. That worked, but so did its countermeasure. It caught Gena and Idola and carried them down with it. Two more gone.

Their remaining party of five ran on, but every path was blocked by a flycatcher. “We'll do it,” Roque cried, and he and Speedo dived at the plant. They caught it around its central stem, stabbing it, and succeeded in dislodging it, but again at their own cost. They had sacrificed themselves for the sake of the mission.

Three remained: Levi, Tillo, and Quiti. They were now in sight of the chamber, which was open; it seemed that plants did not have the concept of closed doors. One narrow crossing was before them, and it was blocked by a flycatcher.

“It's up to us, son,” Quiti told the boy.

“Right, mom.”

“The hell!” Levi said. “Damned if I'll let women and children sacrifice themselves for me.” He charged the flycatcher, reaching it before they did.

The impact had effect; the plant was dislodged. But as it toppled it caught hold of Levi with one claw, and Tillo with another. Only Quiti, third to arrive, was spared.

“Do it!” Levi called, and tossed the key to her as he and the boy were dragged down.

She caught it. “But--”

But they were gone.

No help for it. She ran on into the master enclosure, wielding the key. There was a screen showing a planet that had to be Earth, framed in green. Below it was the keyhole. Why should plants use keys when they didn't use doors? Because all this was symbolic; it wasn't really a key, and that wasn't really a keyhole. But the situation was similar.

She jammed the key into the keyhole and turned it.

The picture of Earth didn't change, but the framing turned red. That was all.

Had she succeeded?

A flycatcher stood at the entrance behind her. Quiti tried to avoid it, but a stem shot out and a claw closed on her arm. The stem yanked her into the plant, and other claws clamped on her other limbs as she was drawn up against the main stem. Was she about to be raped by a plant?

Then one claw closed on her head.

*

She found herself back in the Hair Suite, the others surrounding her. “Welcome home!” Roque said, seeing her animate. “Did you do it?”

“I don't know,” she said somewhat dizzily. “I turned the key, and the indication changed, but I can't be sure that was it, and if it was, the flycatcher was right there and probably turned the setting back to ON.”

“We can find out,” Levi said. “The lines to the Pod may be cut off, but not the one to the WormWeb. Come on.”

They made a quick circle around the table, linking hands, and Levi connected to the Web. They were in the way station office.

“Congratulations on saving your planet,” Charles Jones said.

“Did we save it?” Quiti demanded. “We tried, but were caught in the act. The flycatcher was right there, and the key was still in the switch.”

Jones smiled. “All flycatchers know how to do is catch flies. They are good at that, but they don't know peas about objectives.”

“Beans,” Idola said. “Not peas.”

“My apology. My translation of your dialect is imperfect. Beans it is. The Pod is changing course, and will pass your solar system by.”

“'Ray!” Tillo said, clapping. What could the others do but join in?

“So we have indeed saved the world,” Levi said. “And the world doesn't even know it.”

“And we won't tell them,” Quiti snapped.

“Now that that business had been concluded, and we know that your troupe will survive, along with your planet,” Jones said, “I am free to present the offer made by the WormWeb authority. Your Magi Nation presentation was very well received; it seems that this was a new tilt on fantasy adventure, with an almost juvenile novelty.”

“Unsurprising,” Gena said. “The designers are juveniles.” Tillo and Idola smiled.

“They are interested in seeing more of it, and in instructing others to emulate it. The actors in your role playing exhibition, such as the one who played the part of the sorceress, are already being conscripted as supervisory personnel because of their experience with you; it's a distinct promotion for them. It's already becoming a new galactic craze. But the actors protest that only you can do it properly; they merely followed your lead.” He smiled. “And I rather think the sorceress likes you, Roque; she spoke of dancing with you again, perhaps more closely.”

“The hell!” Quiti snapped, remembering the dirty dancing, which couldn't get closer while clothes remained on. But then she had to join the laughter of the others.

“You spoke of an offer,” Roque said.

“Apart from your dawning fame as fantasy celebrities,” Jones said. “As you know, the chief galactic currencies are entertainment, which you provide, and information, which galactics can provide. They can give you the technology for instant communication via mini wormholes, making your intelligent phones become genius phones. Or anti-gravity via shielding, which is not the way Hairs or Chips do it, but may be more efficient. Or perhaps the secret of virtual perpetual motion, useful for your transport devices like outomobiles.” He glanced at Idola.

“Automobiles,” she said.

“Thank you. At any rate, it should be well worth your while to accede. I can arrange a fair contract.”

“We could become trillionaires,” Roque breathed.

“Top world celebrities,” Desiree said.

The others looked at Quiti. She frowned as if in doubt. “We'll think about it,” she promised.

They laughed again.

Author's Note

The original Hair Power novella was written right after my dental surgery, partly to verify that I had not lost my mind because of the general anesthesia. I had just turned 81, and we old codgers can have such side effects. This sequel was written the month before my 82nd birthday, and I do seem to be holding on to my mind, this news for those who may be concerned. I now have my new upper dentures and am contemplating whether to get similar lower ones, a process much easier because my lower jaw is virtually all dental implants already. I have an imaginary trio of busty young women who find my mention of getting implants to be hilarious; I assure you mine are not at all similar to theirs. Aside from my teeth, I remain in good health for someone my age.

One thing about writing is that sometimes the characters develop wills of their own. Thus Quiti decided to make new alien-powered people, resulting in Gena, with her doubled powers and ability to dream the future. There's obviously a lot more story coming up, which wasn't what I had planned on. Sigh.

So what was happening in my dull life during the month I wrote this novella? I'm a workaholic and I love writing, which is why I'll never retire. I do break up my writing sessions with computer games such as FreeCell or Mahjongg to fill the interstices, generally winning the first and losing the second; once I lost with only two of 144 tiles remaining, one set atop the other. Sigh. I also read novels and nonfiction books, and news and science magazines, as I have a keen interest in science despite earning my living with fantasy. And I watch DVD or Blu-Ray videos, preferring the ones with subtitles because I can't always distinguish the audio dialogue. Did I mention getting old? I try to keep up with correspondence and family matters. My wife and I had our 60th wedding anniversary just before this novella. During it the American political parties selected their nominees, Hillary and Donald; that promises to be an interesting contest.

About my wife: she contributed to this novella, inadvertently, because I used her illness for the character Levi: CIDP. Fortunately we can manage the treatments, which put her back on her feet. Otherwise I might have lost her a decade ago. So I have a fair familiarity with this rare ailment. She's not spry, and I do chores like meals and dishes, but her mind is all there, which I think is what counts most.

How mundane is my real life? Here's an example of what happened while I wrote the novella. We have a three quarter mile long drive, because we live on our small tree farm. Interesting things happen along it. A few years back I discovered a pretty flowering plant; when I touched it, I got stung. Oh, a stinging nettle! Then it got eaten off, to my frustration. So this year I put some small fencing around it and its offspring. They were flowering nicely when we drove by and discovered a big gopher tortoise inside the fence, having barged its way in; they are like little bulldozers. We value our tortoises, but we don't want them eating our flowers. So I helped it out and focused on driving the little stakes further into the ground. One nettle was lost, but three others survived. Then I returned to the car and we drove on. Bump! I had assumed the tortoise had fled into the pine trees. Instead it had hidden under the car, and we had run over it, killing it. Sigh. Had I but watched it I would have known, and saved its life. Then a week later there was another bump; another tortoise was hidden in the center behind tufts of tall grass, and the bottom of the car had dented its shell. It crawled away, and I hoped it would recover, but it didn't; a few days later it was dead, and I had to bury it also. I am a vegetarian because I don't like hurting animals, and here we had killed two. Damn!

Three days a week I run along our drive to pick up the morning newspapers, getting in my exercise. The other days I use an adult scooter, that is, the kind you push with your foot, with 26 inch wheels. But in this month my front tire went flat. I dismounted it and patched it, and after a couple of tries it held and I used it again. One day. Then the rear tire went flat. It took me a couple more tries, but finally that too, held and I was back in business. I'm a better writer than I am a tire patcher. Except that a rear nut holding the axle in place was missing; it must have come off while I was using the scooter. So I still couldn't use it yet.

Thus my life, in its petty pace. No wonder I like my fantasy worlds!

This novella was proofread by Scott M Ryan and Anne White. My website is www.hipiers.com/, where I have a monthly personal column, information on my novels, and maintain an ongoing survey of electronic publishers with candid feedback from authors who use them. Welcome to visit if you're curious.

About the Author

Piers Anthony is one of the world’s most prolific and popular authors. His fantasy Xanth novels have been read and loved by millions of readers around the world, and have been on the New York Times Best Seller list many times. Although Piers is mostly known for fantasy and science fiction, he has written several novels in other genres as well, including historical fiction, martial arts, and horror. Piers lives with his wife of 60 years in a secluded woods hidden deep in Central Florida.

Piers Anthony’s official website is HI PIERS at www.hipiers.com, where he publishes his monthly online newsletter. HI PIERS also has a section reviewing many of the online publishers and self-publishing companies for your reference if you are looking for a non-traditional solution to publish your book.

Table of Contents

- 1. Spheres
- 2. Levi
- 3. Burn
- 4. Crisis
- 5. Gena
- 6. WormWeb
- 7. The Tower
- 8. Challenges
- 9. Answer Box
- 10. Pod