Virtual Mode

CHAPTER 3—KEY

SHE knew it had not been long externally, but internally it was as if she had stepped across realities, or Modes as Darius put it. Then she was sobbing against his shoulder, and it wasn’t disappointment but relief: now she knew how he really felt about her—and he knew how she felt about him. She had not really believed in electricity between people, or in instant knowing. Not until now.

Soon enough she pulled herself together. She had learned to make quick recoveries. She drew him down, and they sat side by side, leaning against the back wall of the shed, her right fingers interlaced with his left fingers.

“So it’s love,” she said matter-of-factly. She had to tackle it this way, as if it were something she had observed from afar, that didn’t concern her, because that was the only way she could handle it at the moment. “We have to talk.”

“We have talked,” he said.

“Not this way. You can’t marry me here, because I’m underage and you’ll die soon anyway. But you can—”

“No. Your love suffices.”

She laughed. She did that often with him, and now she knew why. “I wouldn’t tell, Darius. I’m good at keeping secrets, honest. You’ve been a real gentleman, and I like that a lot. But that’s not it. You can tell me exactly how to get to your reality.”

“But even if I could return, and take you there, there would be no certainty—”

“I know. If we went there, and you couldn’t marry me, I’d be your servant. The forms don’t matter. Now I know how you feel. I want to go with you, Darius. Just tell me how.”

He seemed surprised. He thought this kind of discussion was useless. He might be right, but she had a notion. “I must have the key. That, in my hand, becomes the signal. Then Pwer will revert me to my reality, together with what I hold.”

“So if you are holding me, I’m there too.”

“Yes.”

“How do you activate the key? Is there a button on it?”

“No. My mind does it. I touch it to my forehead and make my desire.”

“You make a wish!” she exclaimed. “That makes sense!”

“Yes. No one else can activate it. It is attuned to me. It amplifies my wish to return, and that signal crosses the realities, and the Chip responds. I need it, and it needs me. Separate, we both are useless.”

She squeezed his fingers reassuringly. “So if you could recover that key—”

“I could return. But it’s lost.”

“But if I found it for you—”

His fingers stiffened against hers. “If you could do that—”

“I can’t promise, Darius, but I’ll try.”

“You give me hope! If I had that key, I would take you with me.”

“That’s the idea, you know.”

His face turned to her. “But you don’t believe.”

“I believe you love.”

“That is enough, I think.” They leaned together and kissed. Again she felt the magic tingle of passion, intimacy, and commitment. All that she lacked in her own poor life she had found in Darius. She knew.

She spent the afternoon stocking supplies. She had some money of her own, and she used it to buy groceries at the only store within walking distance that was open on Sunday. She piled them into the shed. “These are canned goods,” she explained. “You open them with this can opener. They may not taste good cold, but they’ll feed you.”

“But why are you doing this?” he asked.

She faced him seriously. “This is Sunday. Tomorrow I go back to school. I think I know how to find your key. But getting it may be tricky. If I don’t come back, I don’t want you to starve. Stay here as long as you can, and when you can’t, well, you’ll just have to go out. But I’ll try to get back here okay. This is just in case.”

“Just in case what?” he demanded, alarmed.

She shook her head. “Darius, it’s been beautiful here with you. You have made me believe in human decency again. But out there’s the real world. It’s not all that nice. Please don’t ask me to tell you any more.”

“If I ask, you will tell?”

“Yes. But please don’t.”

“Then I ask you only to be careful.”

“Thank you.” She kissed him. She liked doing that. Not only did it make her feel good, it made her feel good about it. He was a good man, and he welcomed her kisses, and he asked no more than that. It was love fulfilled. For now. Until she had the chance to prove her love, in a way he might not understand if he knew.

MONDAY, school day, Colene headed out to the bus with her books. Her attendance the past two weeks had been spotty; she had pleaded illness, then sneaked out to be with Darius. But she had done her homework, because she didn’t want to bring any unnecessary suspicion on herself. She had done it with Darius, teaching him words and explaining things as she went along, and it had actually been pleasant.

The thing about Darius was this: he might be crazy, or he might be lying, making up a story about a magic land so he wouldn’t have to say where he really was from. But she liked his story, and the meticulous detail of it, and she liked him, with his archaic ways and respect for her body. It was fun having a man to herself. Since she had found him, she had not sliced her wrists. Her skin was healing over; she could probably take off her wrist wraps now, and the scars would not be fresh enough to attract attention.

In fact, all the time she had known him, she had been very like a normal girl. She had laughed, meaning it, liking his confusions, liking his company, liking him. When at last he had kissed her, she had become a normal woman. A woman in love.

Love. At first she had held it at arm’s length, uncertain what to do with this weird emotion. Was it real, or just something she imagined? She had heard that girls her age only thought they could love, and were actually in love with the idea of love. Maybe that was true for some. Maybe for most. But not for her. What she felt swept all other considerations aside. It was like a magic fire, burning away all her prior supports, making ashes of other interests. Now there was only Darius. Everything she did was with his welfare in mind. Even what she would do today.

“Tell Biff I want to deal,” she said to a boy she knew had a connection.

He was startled. “You?”

“Not his way. But if he has what I want, I’ll deal.”

She went to classes, and she shone. That extra homework time was paying off. Normally she skimped on schoolwork, and was bright enough to get by with high grades anyway; now she was prepared with research done for the joy of doing it with Darius, who was unfailingly interested in all the things of her world. What had been dull became interesting with him, and by the time she got it all explained to him, she knew it better than she had thought possible. But her performance was incidental; it was only to reassure everyone that Bright Little Colene had everything to live for, and nothing on her mind except classwork.

At lunch she was about to sit down with her tray when she saw a young man of about eighteen standing in the doorway to the rear exit. That was Biff. He was theoretically a student, but somehow he never attended classes. Students carefully ignored him unless they wanted something illegal. Then they dealt, making what deals they could. If the school administration knew about it, it pretended ignorance, knowing that Biff could quickly be replaced by something worse.

She set her tray on a table, picked up the half-pint carton of milk, opened it, and walked to that door. Biff faded back out of sight. She came to stand between the doorway and the large trash container, drinking her milk. She faced back toward the main chamber.

“Yeah?” It was Biff’s voice from the other side of the doorway.

“I want something.”

“What?”

“It’s a sort of gray metal button, like a slug, only thicker and brighter. It was on a burn who got rolled two weeks ago. He wore funny clothes. He gave some punks the finger, and they pounded him.”

“What’s it to you?”

“It’s a memento. I heard it’s a luck charm.”

“I don’t mess with luck charms.”

“I want it bad. This one, no other.”

“How bad?”

“I’ll game for it.”

He laughed, harshly. “You want it, you bring money.”

“I have no money. Make another offer.”

“Stand out where I can see you.”

She finished her milk, dumped the balled carton into the container, and stepped into the center of the doorway. She was wearing a light white sweater and black skirt, both too tight. She inhaled, turning. She hated this part, but it was all she had to bargain with. Biff could get girls, but they were either his type, which was no novelty, or under duress, which was no fun. What he wanted was a high-class young one who would pretend she liked it. Colene had acted high-class for years, and she knew how to pretend.

“Okay. One week.”

Now she laughed. “I’m a clean girl! One night.”

“You ain’t clean! Four guys had you.”

“Not lately. I’ll put four guys in jail, they come near me again. I never ate or sniffed. I’m clean.”

“But you drank.”

“Never again!”

“No jail, if you deal. None of that.” He meant no charges against him.

“None of that,” she agreed. “Two nights.”

“You don’t want it bad enough.”

“You don’t even have it.” Then, signaling the approach of someone dumping a tray in the trash, “Pause.”

When the person moved on, she said, “Resume.” Part of the deal, when anyone talked with Biff, was to keep it quiet.

“I can get it.”

Her heart leaped. “You know of it? It has to be only that one.”

“They couldn’t fence a slug. No value. I can get it. Tomorrow.”

“I said I’d game, I win, what I want. You win, what you want.”

“That slug against one week, smiling.” Not only would she have to do anything he wanted, short of drugs—there were reasons to keep a clean girl clean—she would have to take his side if they were caught, swearing she was his girlfriend and that there had been no coercion. She gagged at the notion, but had to accept. There was a screwball honor in this sort of dealing, enforced by those who had no conscience, just business sense.

“Yes.”

“What game?”

“I’ll decide.”

“Before my friends.”

“Before your friends. But I deal only with you.”

“For sure! Tomorrow, after school. Come to my car.”

“Only if you have what I want.”

“I’ll have it.”

She walked away. The preliminary deal had been struck.

He would bring the key and she would bring her body. The outcome of the game was uncertain, but if she had to, she would game again for the key after paying off the first game. The important thing was that he knew what it was and would get it. Darius could have it back.

This was the part Darius might not understand. He had odd notions about honor and chastity. If she had to give her body to a lout like Biff to win back the key—well, she had a ploy she hoped would avoid that.

IN the afternoon she was in a daze. She went through classes mechanically. She would get the key—but would that really solve anything? For she simply did not believe in that alternate universe of his. If she gave him the key, what could he do except prove that it didn’t work? Then his fantasy would be exposed, and a major part of his appeal for her would be diminished. As long as he lacked that key, he was the King of Laughter from an alien reality. With it, he might be only a deluded refugee from some mental hospital.

Why was she risking so much, for such likely disappointment?

Maybe she had been fooling herself. She remained as suicidal as ever. She had merely found a new way to flirt with death. Because if she lost the game, and Biff had his way with her for a week, she might as well die. Maybe the key was just a pretext. Maybe her love for Darius was just a pretext.

No!

The teacher paused. “A problem, Colene?”

Her pain had shown on her face. “I’m better, Miss Grumman, honest! Maybe I ate too fast.”

The teacher let it pass. Colene suppressed her thoughts and paid better attention in class. It was a fair deal.

But on the way home that question resumed. She hardly responded to Julie’s chatter. Was she making a mistake? Was she about to torpedo her dream? For even if the illusion didn’t end for Darius, it would for her.

Back home, she hurried to the shed. “Oh, Colene, I am so glad to see you!” Darius exclaimed, embracing her. “I feared I would not.”

“I have made a deal to recover your key,” she said. “Tomorrow.”

He stared at her. “You really can recover it?”

“The punks who mugged you couldn’t fence it. They thought it was just a fancy slug. I can get it.”

“You can buy it?” He had had trouble with the concept of money, but understood it reasonably well now.

“I asked you not to ask.”

He was silent. She kissed him, and it was good.

But that night she broached the matter herself. She had discovered that an aspect of love was an extreme reluctance to deceive the object of that love. That was awkward, but there was nothing for it but to play it through. “Darius, there are two ways to do this. I am going to gamble, and if I win, I will have the key for you. If I lose, I will have to be away from you for a week, at night, anyway. I—you said you desire me. I think maybe tonight—”

“No. I want to marry you, unsullied according to your code.”

“But I—” She could not continue. How could she tell him she might be bound for a week of disgusting sex with a criminal lout, pretending she liked it, when she had told Darius no? He thought she was pure. “All the same, I think—”

“No.”

If she won the game, and got the key without having to pay, and he used it and it didn’t work, then the dream would be gone and it would be foolish to have sex with him. If she lost, she would have no pretense of being the kind of girl he wanted. Now was the only time.

“Darius, I told you no before, but now I tell you yes. Please—”

“No. I will not have you sully yourself by your code for me. I will marry you in honor.”

She had never expected this. It wasn’t that she was eager for sex; that was far from the case. It was fraught with liabilities the sex-ed teachers hardly imagined. But if she had it with anyone, she wanted it to be him. If she had to have it with someone else, she wanted it first with Darius. But he, with his incomplete understanding of the situation, would not hear of it. If she told him the full truth, he would probably forbid her to recover the key that way.

They were, in their fashion, having a lovers’ quarrel. It was not nearly as delightful as she had thought such a thing would be.

She thought of trying to seduce him, of sleeping naked with him. But she realized that this would only demean her in his eyes, and she didn’t want that.

How she wished she could believe in his reality!

TUESDAY after school, modestly garbed, she sought Biff’s car in the parking lot. Students she knew were runners stood casually here and there, making sure there were no authorities. That protected her as well as him, because both wanted to deal in private.

“You have it?”

He lifted a gray disk that exactly fitted the description Darius had given.

“May I see it?”

He handed it to her. She turned it over. There, in tiny etching, was the coding Darius had described. She had not told anyone of this. It was genuine.

She handed it back. “This is it.”

“In,” he said. “Down.”

She walked around the car and got in. She ducked down so that she was not visible from outside. He drove cautiously out, and around the block, checking for pursuit. Satisfied there was none, he drove to his club house across town.

“Up,” he said, and she sat normally in the front seat. “How come a clean chick like you wants a damn slug so much?”

She was prepared. “There’s a man. He said I could have what I wanted if I got it for him. He doesn’t really want it; he just thought I couldn’t get it. So I’m getting it.”

Biff did not seem to believe her, but was satisfied that she did want it. Few people in his business cared to give their real reasons.

They arrived at the club house. They entered. Inside were four men. She had expected disreputable types, but these were clean-cut. They were also older, in their thirties and forties. No juvenile thugs, these; they were the real thing.

“Before we deal,” Biff said. “This never happened. No one was here.”

“Yes. You too. No one talks. You win, no one knows how I paid. Not like those four rapists.”

Biff nodded. “No one talks. It’s private.” There was, as she had reflected before, a certain honor in such transactions. No one wanted the police to get wind of either drug operations or juvenile sex. The police wouldn’t get rid of either, they would only complicate things for all parties.

“And no welshing,” she said. “I win, you give me the slug and take me back near where I live. No rape.”

Biff smiled. “If you win to the satisfaction of my friends, no problem. I settle my deals.”

“You win, you have me smiling for a week,” she said, making sure they were agreed. “Nights only; I can’t skip more school. No drugs, no bondage, no hurting. No marking.”

“Kid, I like you,” Biff said. “Agreed. Now, what’s your game?”

Colene nerved herself. Then she began removing her clothes. “You, me, naked. Endurance. The one who fills most cups without falling wins.”

Biff smiled. “Naked endurance? Chick, I know you ain’t thinking what I’m thinking!”

“For sure,” she agreed, removing her shoes and socks. “Naked to prove there’s no cheating. No hidden tubes or things. We stand separate. Each has a bucket, or whatever. Several cups, maybe. No one touches either of us. We get no help.”

“We got buckets,” Biff said. He gestured, and one of the men left the room, returning in a moment with two plastic buckets. He set one before each of them.

Colene continued to strip. She had her shirt off, and removed her bra. She was doing something she had dreamed of: a strip tease before strange men who were honor-bound not to touch her or to tell. She could see that all of them were now fascinated, and not just because of her increasing nudity; they wondered just what she was up to.

“I can do that,” Biff said. He removed his own shirt. Colene started on her lower half, pulling down her skirt.

“Knives. Good ones. Sharp and clean.”

“I got a blade,” Biff said. A handle appeared in his hand, and from it suddenly snapped a wicked narrow four-inch blade. It was obvious that he knew how to use it.

“I need one too,” Colene said. She turned to one of the spectators. “May I borrow yours?”

The man was surely a killer, but he looked startled. Then he reached into his jacket and brought out an old-fashioned barber’s shaving knife. He unfolded it. The blade was a good inch longer than Biff’s, but it wasn’t the same kind of weapon. It was a slicer, not a stabber. The kind used to slit throats. She felt a chill, now realizing that nature of his business. He was an enforcer, a contract man. He extended it to her, holding it by the blade.

Colene smiled most sweetly, though there was a layer of the ice of fear coating her heart. “Thank you, sir,” she said, taking the handle. “I will return it to you soon.”

Now they were twice as curious as before. “Kid, I got to tell you, if you figure to knife-fight Biff—” the owner of the razor started.

“Not exactly,” Colene said. Holding the razor carefully so as not to cut herself, she tucked her fingers into her panties and slid them down. Now she was all the way naked, and the eyes of all five men were locked onto her body. What a fantasy she was playing out, for real! She turned in place, all the way around, so that they could see everything. She was really pleased that they liked it; this did wonders for her self-esteem, in its macabre fashion.

Biff had meanwhile stripped to his jock, but here he hesitated. She knew why: her little show was giving him an erection, and he didn’t want to bare it unless sex really was part of the game.

“You can wear that,” she told him. “I’m satisfied there’s nothing in there.”

Biff scowled, but one of the men chuckled.

“All right, what’s your game?” Biff demanded.

Then she dropped her bombshell. “Just this: who can bleed the most before falling. You know, like a knockout, count to ten, you’re out. The one left standing wins.”

“Bleed?” Biff asked, dismayed.

“I’ll cut my arm, you cut yours. We bleed into our buckets. The men measure the blood. If I faint at two pints and you’re still standing, and you’ve bled two and a half pints, you win.”

“That’s no game!” Biff protested.

“It’s my game,” she said evenly. “It’s as good a game as knife-fighting, only we bleed ourselves. Isn’t it fair?” She looked at the other men.

They looked at each other. Then the one who had lent her the razor shrugged. “It’s fair, Biff,” he said. “We knew she wasn’t coming here to play posies. She said endurance. She didn’t say what kind.”

Biff swallowed. He was now in the position of put up or shut up. “Okay. You start.”

He thought she was bluffing. He didn’t know she was suicidal. “Gladly.” She extended her left arm over her bucket, lifted the razor, and made one fast pass across her forearm. No bluffing here!

The edge was, by no coincidence, razor sharp. It cut much deeper than she had expected, almost painless in the first seconds. Blood welled out immediately, flowed across her arm, and dripped into the bucket. There was so much of it that it threatened to spill onto the floor. She had to lower her hand, so that the blood flowed down and off her fingers. Now the pain was coming, but it really wasn’t bad. It was masked by excitement. She had done it! With aplomb, even. She had never cut herself like this before! What a sight it was!

She looked up. Biff was standing there, staring. So were the others.

“What’s the matter?” she inquired sweetly. “Never seen blood before?”

This time two of them chuckled.

She addressed Biff. “You’re a lot bigger than I am,” she said. “You must have twice as much blood in you as I have in me. You can beat me easy, if you care to.”

“She’s right,” the razor man said.

Still Biff stood, not moving.

“But you have to play the game,” Colene said. “It’s not fair to let me bleed myself out if you don’t even start.”

The men nodded. “Do it, Biff,” one said.

“But what good’s a bled-out chick to me?” Biff demanded somewhat plaintively. “Me weakened, and her unconscious—”

“There’s no time limit on the payoff,” Colene said. “I thought you’d want it right away, but you can take a rain check. Make it six months from now. I’ll be there. You know where I live.” She looked down again at the blood dripping from her hand, so bright and beautiful. She felt dizzy, and knew it wasn’t from the blood loss; it was exhilaration.

Still Biff hesitated.

“Biff, she’s got you,” the razor man said. “Cut or yield.”

Biff considered a moment more. At last he smiled. “Okay, kid, you beat me. You win.”

“Thank you,” she said. But she didn’t move.

“Here’s your slug,” he said, handing it to her. She took it with her knife-hand, carefully.

“Thank you,” she repeated. She had the victory, if she didn’t lose her nerve now and do something monumentally stupid. So she did nothing. That seemed safest.

Biff took his clothes and walked from the room. One of the other men fetched some bandage material. Trust them to have such supplies; they probably had to doctor their own bullet wounds. “You won, kid; we won’t touch you. But you gotta let us help you before you bleed to death.”

“Thank you,” she said a third time, smiling.

They did a competent job of closing and bandaging her wound, and helped her get dressed. Not one tried to handle her body even “accidentally,” but they seemed to like handing her the panties, bra, and skirt. It was as if each wanted to have a personal part in what had turned out to be a most unusual game. “I’ll take you home, if that’s okay with you,” the razor man said. “I don’t think Biff feels like it.”

“Just remember, no—”

“Kid, you won. No one touches you. Not now, not ever. Not until you say so. We’re—you know what we are. But you got our respect. Just keep your mouth shut, and it’s done.”

“Thank you,” she said once again. “You may take me home.” She completed her dressing, donning her shoes.

The razor man extended his elbow. Startled by this bit of chivalry, Colene put her hand on it, and walked with him out of the building.

He drove her home. “Kid, you’re as gutsy as I’ve ever seen,” he said. “If you’re ever in bad trouble, ask for Slick. We’ll make a deal.”

“Thank you.” It seemed to be the only thing she was able to say now. She was riding on a high like none before. She had played her scene flawlessly, every part of it, and it had worked exactly as she had hoped. What a dream come true! It wasn’t just that she had won the key, it was that she had made one of her weird fantasies come true, and gotten away with it. She had liked stripping before those tough men, having them admire her body. Rape she did not like at all, but this had been showmanship. See, no touch. There was all the difference in the world.

He drew to a stop a block from her home. “You can walk from here. I’ll watch, then go.”

“Thank you.” She slid out.

“You got a nice little body,” he said as she closed the door. “Damn nice. Keep it clean, kid. Don’t mess with our kind if you don’t have to.”

“Thank you,” she said yet again, experiencing another thrill of pleasure. Then she walked away, knowing he was watching that body in motion. His name was Slick, as in slick-as-a-razor. She would remember.

THINGS were normal at home: Dad was out and Mom was drunk. Colene fixed herself a generous meal and bundled it up and took it out to the shed. If she was spending more time there now than she used to, nobody noticed. As long as she kept her grades up and stayed out of trouble, nobody cared. There had been a time when that bothered her.

She knocked, then entered. Darius had been snoozing; there really wasn’t much for him to do, as he had not made much progress learning to read her books.

She brought out the key and held it up.

He seemed almost afraid to touch it. But when he turned it over and saw the coding, he knew.

“Colene, I didn’t think you could do it!” he said, hugging her. “But you have! You have recovered the key! We can go to my reality!”

Now she was descending from her euphoria. She had not actually lost that much blood, but she had taken a phenomenal risk, and knew it. It had been her luck that Biff had been squeamish about letting his own blood, and that his criminal friends had had a sense of honor about a game played by their rules. In the letting of her own blood she had shown guts, not quite literally, and they had respected that. She knew that some killers had very conservative family lives and were kind to children. But some were otherwise. She had gambled that not only could she beat Biff, but that his friends would side with her. She had won, but she wouldn’t care to try it again.

Now she faced another gamble: that Darius wasn’t crazy or a con-man. Because either that key would work or it wouldn’t. And she knew it wouldn’t. Which meant that the lovely bubble would burst, and things would be back as they had been before.

She set down her bundle of food. “I think we’d better talk,” she said. She spread out the makings, and they began to eat.

“Yes, of course.” His actual speech was much more limited, but she liked to think of it as educated and courtly, and her fancy filled in the nuances. “I realize that it is a daunting decision, to leave your family and your entire Mode, without any guarantee that—”

“ ‘Snot that, Darius. I want to go. I love what you have described. I have nothing much to hold me here. And if you can’t marry me, but all the rest is real, well, I’ll be your lover instead. You’ve been up-front about that aspect. But there’s a problem.”

“You don’t believe me,” he said.

“I wish I could! But I just don’t.”

“When I take you there, you will believe. I will take you there now, if you wish. With the key—”

“Here’s the thing: suppose you take that key, and hold it to your head, and make your wish—and nothing happens? What then?”

“Colene, it will work. The same Chip that sent me here will bring me back. But as I said, you do not need to believe, because this is not a matter of faith. I will take you there, and then we shall discover whether you can multiply your joy, and—oh, I want so much to marry you!”

“You have faith, but I don’t, and these things don’t necessarily work unless you believe in them.”

He smiled. “If it doesn’t work, I will be amazed!”

“If it doesn’t work,” she said doggedly, “you will be crazy.” There: she had said it.

He glanced more intently at her. “You believe I am not sane?”

How she hated this. “Darius, I think I love you, but I’m a realist. I think you are deluded. I think you have a dream that’s a wonderful thing, and you’ve spent years perfecting it, but somehow you got out of the institution and I found you, and now it’s my dream too, but I know that’s all it is. When you try to use that key, the dream will be over. Because I’m not crazy, and I’m not going to be. So what do we do, after you try that thing and nothing happens?”

“You do not wish to try it, and discover the truth of it directly?”

“Discovering the truth directly can be a whole lot of trouble,” she said, pushing down memories that were trying to rise, like bodies buried in muck. “I’d rather know what I’m getting into first.”

“What would persuade you to try it?”

“If there were some way it could be believed. I mean, I don’t believe in ghosts either, but if one came in here and said ‘Boo!’ to me, I’d sure check it out and maybe change my mind. Same thing for a flying saucer, a UFO.” Here it took some time for her to get the concept across, and they finally settled on Ship Containing Alien Creatures. “But if one landed beside my house, I’d consider it. Can you show me anything to make me believe you?”

“I fear I can not. But perhaps I can clarify the rationale.”

“How about this: if you try it, and it works, we’re both there and we see about getting married or whatever. If you try it and it doesn’t work, you turn yourself in for mental treatment.”

He laughed. “If they provide food and shelter, I will not mind if they think I am deluded! If I can not return, my life will not be long in any event.”

“Because if they cure you, I’ll still marry you,” she said. And there was another crazy thing she was doing! Seriously talking of marriage to a man she believed to be crazy! But crazy or not, he was a lot better for her than death.

“Let me clarify the rationale,” he said. “Because then I can use the key, and it will be done. There are an infinite number of Modes, in which different people live and different fundamental laws obtain. The Chips enable us to establish contact with the others. In mine, magic—”

“Like computer chips,” she said.

“You know of the Chips?”

“A chip is a sort of section of a computer that enables it to do what it does,” she said. “To address a lot of memory, for example. The fancier the chip, the more sophisticated the computer. Take the 86 series, for example.”

“There are eighty-six of these ‘computers’?”

She laughed. “No, silly, that’s what they’re called! The 8086, 80286, 80386, and so on. There was an 80186 but I think it was the same as the 8086. Anyway, they may seem similar, but the amount of RAM they can manage is—”

“Ram? A male sheep?”

She laughed so hard she let herself fall over backwards, which was fun. She tended to be happy when she was with him, which was an exhilarating experience. Then she remembered that she wasn’t in her blue jeans now; she didn’t want to freak him out. Not right at this moment anyway; better to save it for when she needed it. He had endearingly quaint notions of propriety. She drew herself up and forced herself into sobriety. “No, RAM stands for random access memory. Memory you can change about, any which way you want. So you can do a lot with it. But that’s irrelevant. The point is that when you said you had chips to make contact with other realities, well, I thought of the way our computer chips make contact with a lot of memory, among other things. It’s just an analogy.”

“Perhaps,” he said seriously. “But it sounds so much like an aspect of what I was discussing that I think I had better learn more of it. Exactly what is a computer, and how does the chip relate to it? The chip is an integral part?”

“You really don’t know?”

“I really don’t know, Colene, and it may be important.”

“Okay. We use computers in school for homework papers and math problems and things. Oh, we still use books, but the computers make it easier. We can set up our problems and push a few buttons, and it’s much faster. We can write papers on the screen, and edit them, and print them out when they’re all done.”

“Where do you get these devices?”

“We make them. There are companies in California and Japan and all over. Where do you get your chips?”

“They are ancient relics apparently deriving from some other Mode. We do not know their origin, only their power, and we understand only a little of that.”

“Gee—mysterious ancient otherworld science! I like it!”

“You like everything. You are wonderful.”

She felt a warm thrill. When she was with him, that was the way she felt. If she could be with him forever, would she become normal? It was an intriguing notion.

But there was business to handle. She had to go into some detail about exactly what problems and papers were, and how they were done with computers. Then they got down to the essence: “So the 186 chip addressed one megabyte RAM,” she said. “One million bytes. Maybe 165,000 words if you used up all the space in writing a novel: one pretty solid book. But the software only addressed about two thirds of that, six hundred and forty kilobytes. Then the 286 chip addressed sixteen megabytes RAM, but the software was still limited to six forty K. So what was the point? They had to develop a new operating system to catch up with the hardware. The way I see it, the 186 was like a line: it did a lot, but was sort of limited. The 286 was like a square, adding a whole dimension to computing. Then the 386 was like a cube, because it addressed four thousand megabytes RAM and could do stuff the other chips only dreamed of. So it’s the 86 series, with the numbers telling how many dimensions: one, two, or three. And then four, for the 486, and so on. But each one is based on just that key chip.”

“Dimensions,” Darius said. “How many points does it take to establish a dimension?”

“Huh? We were talking about computers!”

“We were talking about an analogy. Chips, computers, and dimensions. In my reality, when we deal with a line, it requires two points to establish the orientation of that line. Is it the same here?”

“Oh, sure. You can measure a line with two points, marking it off.”

“And three points for a plane? Defining it in space?”

“You mean like balancing a tray on three fingers? Sure.”

“And four points for a three-dimensional object.”

“Sure, I’m with you. Length, width, thickness, and time, ‘cause if it doesn’t exist for some time, it’s not there at all. What’s your point?”

“Five points for a four-dimensional Mode,” he continued. “To fit it in space and time. The Cyng of Pwer mentioned that. The infinite number of Modes are each fixed in their own places, like planes in a cube, and one of these is mine and another is yours.”

“Oh, you mean like—like mica. That rock you can just peel apart?”

“Mica,” he agreed, after she had clarified the nature of the stone for him. “Each layer infinitely thin, but a universe to those who are of it. The Chip enabled me to cross vertically, from my layer to yours. Because it addresses many megabytes. But my finding you was essentially random, because there are only a few parameters we could specify, and infinity to choose from.”

“Gee, I wonder if it could set up a Virtual Mode?” she said musingly.

“What is that?”

“Well, I told you how each new chip addressed a whole lot more memory. But that’s not the half of it. The 386 can extend that way beyond by making it seem that there’s a lot more memory. There’s not, really, but you can use it same as if it’s real. Fake memory, I call it.”

“Pretend memory? But surely that would be a fantasy!”

“No. Like when you have the disk drive, and it’s too small for what you want to do, but you have a whole lot of memory, so you make up a virtual drive out of memory, and it acts just like a real disk. Or the other way around, making memory out of extra storage on your hard disk. When you turn off the computer, it’s gone, but as long as you’re running it, it works. Virtual memory is real, it just isn’t quite what it seems. The 386 can make your memory act like sixty-four million megabytes, which is a lot. And it can set up a Virtual Mode too.”

“Tell me of modes.”

Colene had been privately convinced that he was crazy, but he now seemed more like an ignorant but smart person. Like someone who was from another reality. She began to doubt, and to believe, as she talked. “I don’t remember all the computer modes; it’s been a while since I had that class. I think there’s Native Mode, that’s sort of whatever the 386 chip would do if left to itself. Then there’s Real Mode, used to run the regular AT software; it’s limited, just sort of choking down the chip’s potential to make it seem like a simpler one.”

“Like one slice of mica,” he said.

“Yes. And Protected Mode, used for the Operating System Two multi-tasking. That’s like a three-dimensional chunk of mica. And Virtual Mode, that will take the chip as far as it will go; it can be set up any which way, and however it’s set up, it acts just as if it’s real.”

“With that we could institute a reality that included you with your science, and me with my magic, yet we would be together, neither giving up anything.”

“So it wouldn’t have to be one or the other!” she agreed. “I’d like that, Darius! Then I could just walk across to you, and if I couldn’t marry you, I’d just walk back to here.”

“A reality that consisted of a slanting place across the block of mica, permanently linking us,” he agreed. “Unfortunately that is not what brought me here. I am a mere intruder into your reality, with no permanence. When I take you with me, you will be an intruder into my reality.”

She shrugged. “So I guess there’s no way you can show me your reality, without my actually going there and not being able to return.” A journey into madness?

“I see I have not convinced you.”

“Right. That computer analogy is nice, but I never fooled myself that I can step into the picture on the screen. My reality is a lot uglier.”

“Ugly? But you are beautiful and cheerful!”

She sighed. “Something you better know about me, Darius, before you marry me. I’m not happy. I’m suicidal.”

He was astonished. “You seek to destroy yourself? I can not believe—”

“Believe it!” She began unwinding the bandage on her arm. “I slice my wrists and watch the blood. Someday I’ll get up the courage to go all the way, and then I’ll be free.” She showed the inner padding, soaked in blood. “See this? This is how I got your key back for you. I challenged the punk who had it to a bleeding contest. He thought I was bluffing, but I wasn’t. Freaked him out. So I won. If I had lost, I’d either be dead or as good as dead, paying off my bet.”

“You are depressed!” he exclaimed, horrified.

“You bet! I think the only time I’ve been happy this year is when I’ve been with you. So I guess I’m crazy too. It’s been fun dreaming of being in your world with its magic, and loving you, and I guess I do love you, but I don’t believe you. It’s my misfortune to be too firmly grounded in reality, and I don’t mean your kind.”

“Oh, Colene, this is terrible!” he cried.

“Why?”

“Because it means I can’t marry you.”

“Well, if you get treatment and get cured—”

“Not so. If I take you to my reality, where joy can be transferred, you would have no joy to give me. You have the opposite. That makes it impossible.”

“You’re changing your mind?” she asked. Her feelings were horribly mixed. She wanted to love him and have him love her, but she knew that marriage between them had always been an impossible dream. Now that he had his key, and his fantasy would soon be dashed, it was time to end it. But now she wished this sweet interlude could have been forever!

“Colene, I love you, and I want nothing more than to bring you home and marry you! But that would destroy us both! I was willing to take you as long as there was a reasonable chance of it being right, but now I know there is not. I blinded my mind to one of the major possibilities for your availability, and that was my folly. My mission has failed. The kindest thing I can do for you is to leave you behind.”

So he knew the key wouldn’t work, and was calling it off. That did make sense. It also meant he didn’t have to make the deal, and go to a mental hospital when he failed to go where he thought he was going. He was defaulting, just as Biff had. Getting set up to walk out of her life when his bubble of illusion was popped.

She felt the tears starting down her cheeks. “I guess you’re right. I guess you’d better use your key now. You know where I am, if you ever change your mind.” For now she did not have to disparage the fantasy; she could let him depart in his own way. It hurt terribly, but it was for the best.

“If there were any way—”

“If there were any way,” she agreed.

He came to her and kissed her, and it was excruciatingly sweet. It was like an old movie, with them parting at the train station, knowing they might never see each other again. Maybe that analogy wasn’t so far off.

“I can’t even leave you anything, to repay you for your great kindness to me,” he said. “It has been for nothing.”

“For nothing,” she agreed. “But I really liked being with you, Darius. I’m sorry I can’t believe in you. If I did, I’d go with you, even if you had to marry someone else.”

“I would not care to do that to you.” He lifted the key to his forehead. “Farewell, Colene.”

“Goodbye, Darius.”

He closed his eyes, seeming to concentrate.

Then he disappeared.

Colene blinked her tears out of the way. She stepped forward and swept her hand through the space where he had stood. There was nothing except the faint smell of him; he had not been able to wash up well here.

The door was closed. He had not walked out. He had just—gone. Exactly as he had said he would.

Now she knew that she should have believed. She should have gone with him to his magic reality. Her disbelief had cost her everything.