Virtual Mode

CHAPTER 7—UNDERSTANDING

BUT why were you calling me? Colene inquired after recovering control of herself.

I need help to escape, Seqiro replied. I felt the invitation of the Virtual Mode, and accepted it. But I must step out of my stall to utilize it, and can not without breaking it down.

I can open it for you, she said. The latch looks simple enough.

The horse twitched an ear. For your human fingers, yes. For my hoof, no.

She stepped toward it. I will do it now.

He brought his nose about to intercept her. Not yet. I will need feed and some supplies before I travel, for grazing has disadvantages on the Virtual Mode.

But I thought horses liked to graze!

We do. But the food of other realities is difficult to assimilate, and best avoided until the journey is complete.

She was surprised. What’s wrong with it?

When you cross realities, what you have recently eaten remains behind, for it is not of your reality.

She had packed supplies because she had been uncertain what she would find along the way. Now she was very glad she had done so!

I’m going to find my lost love, Darius, she thought. Where are you going?

With you.

But you may not like it in his reality!

I will like it with you.

He wasn’t just saying it, he was thinking it, and the sincerity of his thought was not to be doubted. Oh, Seqiro, you are so much more than I ever dreamed of!

I know. I felt you coming from afar, and hoped you were human. It is a strain to think across realities, but with the Virtual Mode it is possible, and I had to find you and bring you to me.

This was sudden, but right. Colene knew her life had changed, in a way she had never expected. She had loved Darius quickly; she loved Seqiro instantly, but in a different way. Instant love was supposed to be foolish, as it was based on infatuation rather than knowledge, but with direct mind contact, that rule was irrelevant.

Soon she learned his situation, because he made a comprehensive explanatory mental picture: this was a reality in which the horses governed, just as the dogs, cats, and bears governed some of the realities she had passed. They did it by telepathy, imposing their will on human beings. To an outside observer, this was much like a human reality, but here the humans acted at the behest of the horses, feeding them, exercising them, and guarding them.

But Seqiro had too much of a mind for leisure. He wanted to explore new frontiers and gain new understandings. He also tended to be generous to his handlers. This had made other horses look bad, and finally they had acted by removing his handlers, effectively confining him to his stall. He was being pressured to change his ways. He had resisted—and then felt the questing of the Virtual Mode.

There had been such questings before, but he had not cared to risk them. Now he had to, for it was his only likely escape, physically and mentally. It was no coincidence that this connection had come; only those in great need established Virtual Modes, and only those in similar need attuned to them. They were like calls across the realities: I NEED YOUR HELP. SHARE MY ADVENTURE. But such adventure could be extremely strange. Thus only specially receptive minds felt the questings, and only the most strongly motivated folk accepted them.

But there was serious risk entailed, for though he knew he could escape via the Virtual Mode, he did not know who had instituted it, or for what purpose. He did know that other animals had mental powers, and that many of these were predator species. If this happened to be a tiger Mode, he would have difficulty relating and would probably perish. If, on the other hoof, it was a compatible species, he might do very well, and gain intellectual satisfaction.

When he had tuned in to her approach, he had perceived what seemed to be a human personality. Could it be a human Mode? That possibility had not occurred to him before, but of course any species could institute a Virtual Mode if it knew how. He had never noted any telepathic power in the human kind, but it was certainly possible that it existed in variants of that species in distant realities. Certainly a human animal could be compatible; human animals were a horse’s best friend here.

Then it turned out that the approaching human was only potentially telepathic. This was very promising, because such a human would need a horse for mental contacts, just as a horse needed a human for physical chores. Would the human be amenable to such cooperation? It was female, and females tended to like horses for themselves, apart from their power; that was another positive sign.

By the time Colene reached his stall, he had the answer. The sheer chance of the Virtual Mode had brought him the ideal companion. Their two realities might be different in most cultural and practical respects but they aligned in what counted most for this purpose: the affinity of horses and girls. It was a bond that needed no further justification.

Yes, Colene agreed.

Now you must get my things, for I can not do it, and bring them to me, so I can travel with you.

But I am limited to a ten-foot swath, she protested. If I step out of it, I will leave this reality and lose you.

Not once you pass through the anchor, as you did when you entered my stall. Now you are in my reality, until you approach it from the other side.

She found that hard to believe, but it turned out to be true: she could now leave the stall and cross the aisle without losing track of him. She was now in his reality, all the way.

They got it organized: she would hide her bicycle in his stall, then fetch his feed and supplies, then open his gate and they would depart his anchor, as he called it, and resume progress toward her destination. Seqiro had no destination for himself; he merely wished to be free to explore and learn, without suffering undue hardship.

He made a mental picture for her, how she should dress and deport herself so as to pass unnoticed among the local attendants. Any human folk she should ignore, but she would have to respond to any equine queries. She should indicate that she was on private business for her steed, and move on. The uniform was simple: a loincloth, cape, and sandals. There was a supply shed near the stall; she went and changed, under his mental guidance. She removed her own clothing, then put on the loincloth. It circled her waist once, looped into two ends in front, and one end passed down between her legs and up and over in back. It rather resembled the cloth worn by the American Indians, being supremely simple and functional. When she had that properly wrapped, she donned the cloak, which was a circle with a hole in the center; it came down to about her waist. Then sandals, each one fashioned of two slabs of wood linked by cord, for heel and toe, and a loop of cord for the ankle. Again: about as simple and functional as clothing could be. Obviously the human folk of this reality did not rate fancy outfits.

Then she donned the hat. This was what identified her status and affiliation. It was like a beanie with a hanging tassel, and the manner the tassel fell indicated her degree of autonomy. Some humans had more responsibility than others, and could act without constant direction from their horses.

Now she walked to the granary for the feed. She passed other humans, who were similarly garbed. They ignored her. She knew they would not have, had she appeared publicly in her own clothing. Had Seqiro not been guiding her as she first came onto these premises, she would have run afoul of others.

The granary was stocked with bags of grain. Take two, if you can carry them, Seqiro thought. Each represents approximately one day’s feed, and I will need eight.

She picked up two, putting their straps over her shoulders.

She walked back with them and set them in Seqiro’s stall. She made another trip, bringing two more. She was surprised how easy it was; others seemed not to see her at all. She could take the whole granary, load by load, and no one would care. She tossed her head, feeling carefree for the moment; this was fun in its ways. Her cap almost fell off, and she had to jam it back.

Then someone did notice. It was a young man. He glanced passingly at her, did a doubletake, and approached her. He stared at her hat.

Seqiro—something’s wrong, she thought, hoping he was tuning in. She could not broadcast her thoughts; it only seemed like it. He was able to think to her alone, so that others of his kind did not know he was breaking confinement, but he might not do that continuously now that she knew what she was doing.

I am here.

She pictured the situation, hoping she didn’t have to put it into words, because that would take too much time.

Give me your eyes.

Eyes? Could he see through her eyes? She relaxed, trying to let her mind go blank. She hoped that was enough.

Her eyes moved on their own. They cast about, then focused on the man. He is looking at your tassel. It must have changed position.

Oops! I did that without thinking.

He is sexually interested. Your tassel must be in the position of urgent invitation.

She had done that when she so blithely tossed her head? Sexual invitation? I didn’t know it could say that!

There is no spoken language among humans of this reality. Signs of several types suffice. We allow humans to choose their own times and partners for procreation, provided they are proper workers. You signaled him that you find him desirable and wish to conceive by him.

What disastrous luck! I don’t want sex with him! How can I get out of it?

That will be difficult without causing a commotion. Human males are unsubtle creatures.

What else was new! I don’t care how! Just do it!

Seqiro considered, while the man attempted to embrace her. Her two bags of grain got accidentally-on-purpose in the way. But that dodge would not last long. He was starting to untie his loincloth. Hurry! she thought.

Smile and make a fist. Move it slowly down, then open your hand.

She did as bid. The man watched intently, then did the same. Then he got out of her way.

She walked on toward the stall. What did I tell him?

That you would meet him here at sundown with your loincloth off.

But I don’t want to do that!

We shall be gone by then.

Oh. But I didn’t mean to lie to him either! That’s not right.

Actually there were qualifications; sometimes a lie was necessary. It depended on the situation.

I will mind-touch another female and suggest to her that one who finds her desirable will be there at that time.

So she would go to meet the man. That might do it. Obviously he had no great prior relationship with Colene! But I thought you couldn’t telepath to other humans.

I can do so. But my own servitors have been confined, and it is bad form to mind-touch others. However, a subtle touch on the mind of a female not otherwise occupied should pass unnoticed. It is any effort to gain freedom for myself that the authorities are guarding against.

But I’m helping you do that!

He made a mental suggestion of unconcern. You are not of this reality. They do not know of you.

And that made all the difference for them both! She needed help, he needed help, and they both needed to have nobody else know what they were doing. I guess it’s all right. I hope she gives him a good time. I never meant to be a tease.

When he sees her without her loincloth, he will not care about any other matter. This is the nature of humans.

These were primitive humans, she realized, stultified by having no real power over their own affairs, no pun. But perhaps not much different from those of her reality. She knew boys who would grab any girl they could, and girls who would tease unmercifully. She had done her share, when she got that key for Darius. In fact, she had done more than her share of teasing when she had come to sleep with him in her bottomless nightie and told him no sex.

Straighten your tassel.

She paused to do it. She didn’t need any more hot encounters!

She finished hauling the grain and got to work on the other things. There were small tools, and bags of water, and a kind of harness so that he could carry the things on either side of his body. She followed his mental guidance and got the harness put on correctly and the things set in it, working with far greater facility than she ever could have by figuring everything out for herself. This mental contact was like riding the bicycle: it tripled efficiency in a fun way.

She went for other things, and brought them back and put them in their loops in the harness. The horses were mental creatures here, but obviously they could handle physical work too. It was probably easier than making the relatively puny humans do it. The humans were for minor chores.

She loaded her bicycle on top of his other things, because he thought she would be unable to use it in this vicinity. She was amazed at how much of a load he could bear, but he was unconcerned.

But as she was fetching one of the last items, a block of salt, there was a different mind touch. What are you doing?

That wasn’t Seqiro! Which meant it was another horse. Which meant trouble. What was she to do? She shouldn’t answer, but if she didn’t there might be trouble too.

She kept her mind quiet. As far as she knew, a thought had to be conscious to be read. The ordinary mind was such a jumble of this and that and reactions and temporary concerns that it was hopeless as far as any outside perception went. But when she made something conscious, she formulated it, and that was what Seqiro read. So if she formulated no response, the other horse should find her mind a muddy slate. She hoped.

Identify yourself, the thought came imperiously.

Could she risk a thought directed to Seqiro? She doubted it, because she wasn’t sending, he was reading, and the other horse could do the same. Maybe Seqiro was able to read the other thought, so already knew. In that case he probably couldn’t send to her, because the other horse would pick it up. The other horses might not even know it was Seqiro she was working for; that was why they had to inquire. So she maintained her mental silence, or at least her mental mud. In fact, she should stop thinking of his name, in case they picked that up. It was best if they thought she was just a simple human intruder stealing things.

Pain lanced through her. It felt like what she thought a heart attack would be, hurting from shoulder to gut. The other horse was whipping her with its mind!

The block of salt fell from her twitching hands. She staggered and almost fell. These horses did have ways to enforce their demands!

Identify!

Instead she focused on her legs, and broke into as much of a run as she could manage. She had to get to Seqiro’s stall before that creature knocked her unconscious or worse. The boss-horses must have caught on that something was happening, and were investigating.

Now she heard rapid human footsteps. They were summoning the minions! She had to reach Seqiro before the others intercepted her.

But as she rounded a corner, she saw that she had not made it. Three young men were between her and Seqiro’s stall. How was she to get past them, even if the other horse didn’t blast her mind?

A notion percolated up through her mud-mind, and she put it into effect before a horse could read it. Humans! They are catching me! she thought loudly. That should satisfy the horse that he didn’t need to stun her; the situation was in hand. One threat sidetracked, maybe.

Meanwhile she reversed her course and broke into a run, away from the men. It was also away from Seqiro’s stall, but that was part of the point: if they didn’t know about Seqiro, this would keep the secret. Maybe she would be able to lead them astray, then duck back to the stall unobserved.

She whipped around the corner she had just rounded from the other direction. There was a supply nook here; she knew because she had recently fetched things from it. She swung herself into it, ducked down, and held her breath.

The men rounded the corner and pounded down the aisle. They ran right by the nook. It had worked! She had given them the slip by acting fast—by stopping here immediately after turning the corner, when they expected her to keep running. They couldn’t read minds; they depended on the horses for that, and meanwhile the horses thought the humans had the situation in hand. She was slipping through a crack.

She resumed breathing, cautiously. She listened, and heard only the receding footsteps. Good enough.

She stepped out of the nook, and walked around the corner. The way was clear. She approached Seqiro’s stall. She knew that at any moment things would heat up again, so she wasted no time. She reached into the supply shed near his stall and fetched her clothing and pack.

She came to stand before his stall. Was it safe to think a clear thought yet? She doubted it. Better just to get on with the escape without further mind talk.

She reached for the bar which only human hands could remove, not hoofs. It came up, releasing the gate.

The grain and supplies would have to be enough; she couldn’t chance going back for the salt. She got her pack on her back, stuffing her original clothing into it; there was no time to change now either. She pointed to the aisle before the stall, indicating her eagerness to go before anyone returned. She hoped Seqiro agreed.

Then she heard something. She looked back.

There were two more men, barring the way. They held pitchforks in a manner that made them look exactly like weapons.

Now we know whom you serve, the hostile thought came. We gave you the chance to show us.

Go, Seqiro! she thought desperately. She realized that their mental silence had been for nothing; the boss-horses had out-tricked them. Before they can attack you!

Seqiro started to move out. The men moved to bar his way, the tines of the pitchforks orienting on his head. They were the servants of horses, but not of Seqiro.

Colene ran out ahead. “Get away! Get away!” she cried, hoping to startle them into retreat just long enough to let Seqiro out of the stall.

Instead one man dropped his fork and grabbed her, while the other continued to hold his tines at Seqiro’s eye level. They were under expert control, all right. They had neither startled nor panicked.

She struggled, but all she did was get her cape jammed up against her neck; the man was strong. So she tried another tactic: she twisted some more, deliberately causing her cape to ride up farther, exposing her breasts. “See how nice I am,” she said. “Watch me, not the horse.”

The man holding her looked down, interested. He evidently did not understand her words, but he could see her body well enough. The other one was looking too now, his fork dropping low. Colene both loved and hated herself for doing this; it was akin to the way she made others laugh while she thought of the blood flowing from her wrists. She delighted in the power of her body to make men stare, while knowing that she was cheapening herself in the process.

Then, suddenly, the second man forgot her and turned back to Seqiro. The other horse had taken control of his mind! The horses got no sexual thrill from seeing her torso. The fork lifted again. But the man holding her did not let go. Instead he started to drag her back, away from the horse.

Go, Seqiro! she thought again. At least he would get free.

Then the man with the fork doubled over, the weapon clattering to the floor. The one holding her dropped similarly. Go, Colene! Seqiro thought back at her.

She realized that Seqiro had used his own power of stunning on the men, now that there was no point in further mind silence. She caught her balance and ran for the stall. She had to go into it, and then out of it on the Virtual Mode. Like passing the other way through a tunnel to another valley.

But before she got there, the other horse stunned her too. It was like a hammer blow to the head; she felt her consciousness fleeting. Just as the other horse had not been able to protect its minions from Seqiro’s blows, Seqiro could not protect her from the blow of the other horse.

But it wasn’t quite complete. The other horse was farther away, so some force was lost. She fought to hang on to what she could before it overwhelmed her. If she could make it through before losing consciousness—

She found herself falling into the stall. She had made it! But now that she was down, she could not get up. Her body would not respond. She could only lie here, at the anchor but not through it. So close, so far!

Go, Seqiro! she thought again.

Something brushed her face. It was the end of his tail. She grabbed onto it and clung with what she hoped was a death grip.

She felt herself being dragged forward, out of the stall. She was unable to fight any more.

SHE found herself face down in the aisle. Rise, Colene, Seqiro’s thought came urgently. Get on me.

She lifted her head. Only a few seconds had passed, she thought, but the men were gone. What had happened?

Up! Up!

She responded sluggishly to his thought. She dragged herself to her hands and knees, then caught hold of part of Seqiro’s harness and hauled herself up that.

A horse appeared down the aisle. It looked surprised.

Hold on. Seqiro stepped forward, dragging her with him. In a few steps the other horse disappeared.

At last she caught on to what was happening. They were crossing realities! Seqiro had dragged her from the anchor into another reality on the Virtual Mode, leaving the men and horses of his own reality behind. Perhaps that change had eased the pressure on her mind, allowing her to recover a bit. But the adjacent reality was very similar, with more telepathic horses, who would surely interfere if they realized what was happening, so they had stepped into a third one.

Buoyed by that realization, she clung to the harness and made her legs move. She started to walk beside Seqiro. The motion helped restore circulation and clear her mind.

They turned and walked down the aisle, then turned again at the corner and resumed crossing realities. The stalls began to change appearance. They were on their way!

Colene’s head cleared. Apparently the other horse’s stun-thought had done no physical damage.

They left the village, or maybe the village just faded away in the new realities. They were now in open countryside, with some trails going who-knew-where. It was nice. She realized that the details of her own anchor reality must have been constantly changing similarly, when she started out. She had been focusing only on the road ahead, and had been embroiled in her own confused thoughts, so had paid almost no attention to her surroundings. Also, it had been morning, in the suburbs, with little traffic, so she had not seen cars popping in an out of existence at first. From the first ten feet, she had been in a far weirder environment than she had realized!

“Say, maybe we can find a salt block out here, to replace the one I dropped,” Colene said brightly.

That will not be effective, Seqiro replied. She realized that she had spoken rather than thought, but it seemed to make no difference: he tuned in to her focused thoughts, and she had to focus them to talk. In fact, that was easier.

“Why not? Salt is salt, isn’t it? It won’t hurt you just because it’s from another reality?”

It will not hurt me. But we can not carry such a block across realities.

“Now, wait a minute! You explained about not being able to eat anything in other realities, but you’re carrying a whole big load of supplies across realities right now, just as I am.”

These are from our anchor realities. You may carry substance from your own reality with you, or from my reality, and I may carry from either reality, but not from the intervening realities.

“Are you sure? These realities seem pretty solid to me.”

It is easy to demonstrate. Pick up an object.

Colene stooped to pick up a pretty stone. She had always liked stones, and not just the pretty ones; she knew that each stone was a fragment of something that had once been much larger, and had formed by dint of terrific pressures or an unimaginably long time or both. How was it described in class? Metamorphic, which meant being squished; sedimentary, which meant settling in the bottom of the sea; and igneous, which meant being squeezed out like toothpaste around a volcano. But that was really one of the other two kinds, because it had to have started somewhere else before getting cooked under the mountain. So each one had its history, and every stone was interesting in its own way. She wished she could collect them all. This particular one looked like mica, which was about as appropriate as it could be.

Carry it across realities.

They stepped forward. The scenery barely changed, but the stone vanished.

Startled, Colene looked back. There was the stone on the ground, where she had picked it up. But she knew that what she saw was not the stone she had picked up; it was the one of this reality. She could not see across realities, as she had discovered with the bear that appeared before her. If she stepped back, she would then see the rock she had picked up.

So she stepped back. The rock was on the ground, but not where it had been. It was in the path where she had dropped it. Except that she hadn’t dropped it.

“So I crossed, but it didn’t,” she said, turning back to face Seqiro.

That is correct. We are on the Virtual Mode, and we can transport only substance from our own realities, because the Mode is tied into them. Other realities have only partial effect on us, and we on them.

Colene stared. She was receiving his thoughts, but he was not there! The countryside was empty.

Then she caught on. She stepped toward him, and as she crossed into the next reality he reappeared.

She went to him and hugged him again. “Point made, Seqiro,” she said. “I guess I just hadn’t thought it through. I hadn’t tried to pick up anything, or eat anything—brother! I guess food would vanish the same way, wouldn’t it!”

Yes, it should. My understanding is that it may be possible to retain the substance of intervening realities if it is digested, but that there is danger in doing that.

“Let’s not risk it! Oh, I’m glad I met you! I would have been in trouble pretty soon, just from ignorance.”

It is not shame to be ignorant, when you lack a source of information.

They resumed their walk, angling toward the route she had been following before she detoured to meet the horse. “How is it that you know all this, when you haven’t done this before?”

I learned it from reading the minds of other Virtual Mode travelers.

“But other horses don’t seem to read minds across realities. How can you?”

It is quite limited. I could read your mind because we share this particular Virtual Mode. I can read the minds of other creatures only when we intersect their particular realities. The other horses of my reality can not perceive the Virtual Mode, because only I am its anchor in my reality.

“Just as only I am the anchor in my reality,” she said. “And Darius is the anchor in his reality. Only it’s the place too, isn’t it? Because otherwise when we left our realities, the anchors would fade away.”

Correct. The anchor place becomes inoperative when the anchor person departs; only when the two are together can the connection be invoked or abolished.

“Abolished? You mean it won’t last?”

It will remain until you return and renounce it, just as you accepted it at the start. Or until the Chip that is the source of the full Virtual Mode is changed.

“That would be at Darius’ end.” She considered as they entered a forest and climbed a slope. When the way became difficult, she explored ahead a little to find a better passage for Seqiro’s bulk, because he weighed about a ton, literally, and could not squeeze through places she could, especially with his load making his body wider. “You read the minds of folk on other Virtual Modes before this one, though you were not part of those Modes?”

This seems to be my special ability. I have always sought to explore the unknown, and when I became aware of a trace mental current I could not identify, I sought it avidly. Perhaps others of my kind could do the same, but they have had no interest. In time I was able to fathom enough of the occasional Virtual Modes to understand their nature. I teamed that I could join one, if I wished, if I exerted my will at the time it was being formed. I decided that I would do so, when the time was right—and this was that time.

“I’m glad you did,” she said sincerely.

I’m glad it was you who was on it.

She turned and hugged him again. “I hope you don’t mind all this physical contact, Seqiro. I—I guess I have this need, and you’re so wonderful—”

I have not before been loved by a human girl. I feel your emotion, and I revel in it.

“I revel too,” she said. “I never knew I’d meet you, and I never want to lose you.”

I see no immediate need for us to separate. We shall find Darius, and then I will remain with you if you desire. There is no conflict between me and your human contacts.

“No conflict,” she agreed. “But suppose it is dull for you in Darius’ reality? You want to learn new things, and magic might not be to your taste.”

Then I can embark on another Virtual Mode.

“But then we would have to separate, because I’ll want to stay with Darius forever and ever!” she protested.

Unless he too wished to explore farther on a Virtual Mode.

She hadn’t thought of that. “Well, first we have to get there. From what I’ve seen so far, that’s not necessarily a cinch.”

True. We are entering the region of telepathic carnivores. I can feel their thoughts as we progress.

“Oh! Can they hurt you?”

That depends on their size. I would prefer not to get bitten or scratched.

“And you can’t read their minds until you’re in their reality,” she said. “So a tiger could pounce on you by surprise. But not if I go ahead.”

So it can pounce on you? We had better go together.

“Maybe I can get a weapon to fend off—oops, but I can’t carry it across realities!”

My hoof knife may serve.

She dug out the knife. It was a solid, ugly thing. “I don’t know. Most of my experience with knives has been cutting myself, not others. I don’t know whether I could use it effectively against a tiger or bear.”

With my direction you could.

“You mean you could tell me in my mind? But still I might miss, or drop it, or something. Girls really aren’t much for physical combat.”

Allow me to demonstrate. Pretend that tree is a tiger.

Colene took the knife and stepped to the side, toward the tree, remaining in the same reality. “Okay, it’s a tiger. Suddenly I see it, and it sees me, and it gets ready to spring and I panic and—”

She ducked down, then straightened like an uncoiling spring. Her hand snapped violently forward. The knife plunged into a knot on the trunk of the tree.

Colene fell back, letting go of the knife, shaking her hand, for it had taken a jolt. The knife remained in the tree. She had thrust with more speed and force than she had known she possessed. “What—?”

I guided your body. We are experienced in controlling humans.

“And that tiger has the knife through his snoot!” she exclaimed, amazed. “I didn’t hurt the tree much, but that tiger would have had one hell of a surprise!”

I believe the knife will be an effective weapon for you.

That was the understatement of the day! Colene went to the tree and tugged at the knife. It wouldn’t come. She pushed up and pulled down on it, trying to wiggle it free, but the wood clung to it. Then Seqiro sent a thought, and she wrenched and twisted with special force and skill, and it came out. She had physical ability beyond what she had thought were her limits. Seqiro seemed to bypass her restraints and draw on her full potential.

Holding the knife, she proceeded with more confidence. Actually the chances of encountering a bear or tiger right up close by surprise were small; her episode with the bear might have been the only one that would happen.

You thought of cutting yourself, Seqiro thought. I do not understand this.

She laughed self-consciously. “I’m suicidal. It’s a secret, but I think I’ll have no secrets from you. I think about death a lot, and blood. Or I did, before I met Darius. Before I got on the Virtual Mode.”

I still do not understand. Why should you wish to die? You are a comely and intelligent young woman.

“Well, that gets complicated, and maybe I don’t know the whole answer myself. I don’t think you’d like me as well if you saw what’s down inside me.”

I read a wellspring of pain. This does not surprise me. You would not have undertaken the Virtual Mode if you had been satisfied with your situation. Think through your pain while we travel. Perhaps I will be able to help.

She laughed bitterly. “Only if you could make me forget!”

This I could do.

Startled, she realized that it was probably true. He could read her mind, and could make her body perform in a way it never had before. Why not block off a bad memory?

“Okay, Seqiro. But stop me if you get disgusted, because I don’t want to make you hate me. When I told Darius how I was suicidal, he—” The pain of that misunderstanding and separation cut her off. At least Darius had changed his mind, and set up the Virtual Mode so they could be together again. She knew there were still problems, because he had to marry a woman with a whole lot of joy, but if she could just be with him, things would work out somehow.

She turned her mind back to the times of special pain. There were several, and she didn’t know what related most directly to what, or how they tied in with how she felt later. Maybe they really didn’t mean much; maybe she had reacted the wrong way, or maybe they shouldn’t have bothered her. Would they have bothered her, if her folks’ marriage hadn’t become a shell, forcing her to seek elsewhere for emotional support—which she hadn’t found? Maybe the whole business was too dull to review, and she should have forgotten it long ago. Maybe worse had happened to others and they had shrugged it off, and Colene was peculiar to have failed to have done that.

“I don’t know. Maybe this is a bad idea. I would feel foolish just speaking some of this stuff, and—”

Then feel it. I am attuning to you and learning to read your nuances. I can read your memories, if you allow me.

He could do that? He could reach deep into her and see her most secret things, if she did not resist? That was scary! Yet she remembered lying with Darius, telling him he could maybe touch her breasts but not her genital region, and he had done neither. Then later she had offered it all to him, and he had not taken it. She had respected him for that, yet also been annoyed. It might have been better if he had been unable to control himself. That would have given the control to her, odd as that seemed considering that he would be having his will of her. He had not, and so she had not had her will of him, which wasn’t quite the same.

Spreading her legs for Darius. Spreading her mind for Seqiro. What was the difference? One was a secret of the body, the other a secret of the mind. Of the two, the mind was more private. Yet it was something she wanted to do, wanton as it might reveal her to be. She wanted to tell someone, just as she had wanted to show her body to someone. To lay the guilt bare, just because it was there.

“Okay.”

She laid open her mind. It traveled back two years.

SHE was twelve years old, and visiting Catholic relatives in Panama, in the Canal Zone. One parent was Catholic, so maybe that made her one too, but she wasn’t sure whether it did or whether she wanted it to. She went to mass on Sunday, undecided and really not caring a whole lot. She just loved visiting here, where everything was so much nicer than back at home. If church was part of it, well, it was worth it.

And it did make her feel very close to God. God loved the sparrow as He loved His Son. Surely He loved this whole region, and that was why it was so nice. The American enclave was beautiful, very like paradise, with lovely gardens and ultimate contemporary luxury. After a distance it faded to the natural landscape, which was not manicured but which remained interesting in its tropicality. Every palm tree was a novelty, to one raised in Oklahoma.

She walked to the nearby native village, curious how the Panamanians lived. Was it the same as the Americans, or different in some intriguing way? They must be very happy, living in a place like this.

Nothing in her life had prepared her for what she saw in that village. The houses were huts with thatched roofs and dirt floors. The people were filthy, their clothing odd. Naked children of both sexes ran wildly in the streets. Young mothers held soiled babies to their bare breasts, nursing them in public. There were sores on the children’s legs, scabbed over, with flies clinging to the crust. Insects gathered around their mouths, and no one even bothered to brush them away. It was horrible.

She rushed back to the enclave, back to the church. “A priest, a priest!” she cried. A priest came to her; perhaps this was confession.

Tearfully she expressed her feelings of shock and grievance. Suddenly she had seen the real world, right next to paradise. It wasn’t better than what she had known, it was worse! It had been hidden from her. Hurt and outraged, she wept bitteriy. She felt betrayed. She blamed the church, she blamed the priest, she blamed herself, and she blamed God. Everything was wrong, and she wanted this wrong to be corrected.

The good father was patient. When she wound down, he spoke softly and kindly to her. “My child, you have seen reality, and it is as uncomfortable for you as it is for all of us. You now have a decision to make. Whatever you have or will get in the future, you may give equally to each poor Panamanian. It is possible to give each one a good meal for one day. Then you will be just as poor as they are. You are allowed to do this, but you are not required to give up your birthright.”

It was her first real lesson in logic, and a giant one. She had thought herself a fast learner, but now she saw how slowly she was learning about reality. Even then, she did not appreciate how much more she had to learn.

She remained shaken when she returned home to the States. She had not been satisfied with her life, and was less satisfied now that the crevices in her parents’ marriage had opened into significant faults. Yet she had material things and good health, which was much more than what she had observed in the villagers. What good would it have been to have a unified family if she had to run naked and hungry in the streets, the flies eating at her open sores? She had too much, and she felt guilty for being dissatisfied.

She went again to a priest. He advised her to donate some of her spare time to work at a charitable institution. She did so, helping out as a junior candy-striper, bringing mail, newspapers, drinks, and phone messages to the patients. She had a pretty little uniform and the patients liked her. She was, some said, a breath of fresh air in hell.

For these were not people in for pleasant recuperation following hangnail surgery. This was the accident ward, and some patients were bandaged all over, in casts, or with amputated limbs. Some could not move at all, yet their minds were whole. She read to them from the newspapers, and they appreciated it. She was doing good; she was giving back to the world some of what she owed it.

She was moved to the Sunday morning shift. The wee hours: midnight to six A.M.. This wasn’t properly candy-striper business, it was more like Gray Lady business, but few cared to take those hours, and she volunteered. The doctors knew she was underage, but she was a good worker and mature for her age of just thirteen, so they did not make an issue of it. The nurses needed the help, and it wasn’t as if she was alone. So when patients were restless, the nurses did not force sleeping pills on them, they had Colene come in and read the paper. As often as not, that did put them to sleep, and it was always appreciated.

One man was recovering from abdominal surgery. He had fallen on a spike and punctured his gut; they had had to cut out the affected intestine and sew the ends together. He had lost a lot of blood, and they didn’t have enough of his type. Infection had set in. But he was tiding through, though too weak as yet to lift his arms. When the nurses were busy at the far end of the ward, he spoke to Colene: “Not that dull stuff. There’s a novel under my mattress. Read me that.”

She felt under the mattress and found it. A visitor must have left it for him, or read it to him during the day. There was a marker in it. She opened it at the marker and started reading.

It was an erotic novel. Colene was fascinated. She had never read anything like this, and knew she wasn’t supposed to. The four-letter words were there, and not as expletives. The man didn’t know how young she was, probably. She did not let on. Instead she read the text as it was, about steamy hot women who approached virile men with indecent offers, and amply fulfilled those offers. Colene learned more about raw sex in one hour (with pauses; she had the wit to switch to the newspaper when a nurse came within hearing range) than in all her prior life. She learned exactly what men did with women behind closed doors squeeze by squeeze and inch by inch. She was doing the man a favor, but he had done her a much greater one, inadvertently: he had completed her education in a forbidden subject. She was grateful.

A week later, wee Sunday morning, she read to him again. The marker was well forward of the place she had left it, but that didn’t matter; plot was the least of this story. This time she read about man, woman, and animal, and it was a further education. It was as if God were rewarding her for her good work by sneaking in this secret information she so valued.

The third week the man was gone; he had recovered enough to be moved to another ward, along with his book. A new patient was in the bed: a perfect young man with a bandaged head. He had shot himself, trying to commit suicide. This, too, fascinated her. She offered to read for him, but the nurse told her not to bother. “He’s in a coma. He’ll die soon. He’s a vegetable. We are waiting for him to die.”

“But he’s so handsome!” Colene protested, as if that counted for anything in this ward.

The nurse laughed. She was old, with decades of grim experience; she had seen death hundreds of times, and was calloused. She lifted one of the man’s legs and let it drop with a thud onto the bed. “Look, he is as good as dead. He can’t feel, see, or hear. Don’t waste your time.” She went on about her business.

But Colene lingered, unwilling to believe that such perfection of body could simply die. Why had he shot himself? What reason could someone this handsome have to want to die? It was a mystery that lured her mothlike to a candle flame.

She bent over him. “Don’t die, elegant man,” she whispered. “God loves you—and I love you too. You are too beautiful to die!”

Suddenly his eyes opened, focusing on her. Colene was startled and frightened, for it was the first motion he had made on his own. She ran from the room and told the nurse. “He’s conscious! He looked at me!”

The nurse returned with her. She checked the man’s pulse and eyes. There was no reaction. “You are mistaken,” she said gruffly. “There is no change in him.”

Colene couldn’t believe it. She knew the man had looked at her. She went to the bed and took the patient’s hand. “Please open your eyes,” she pleaded.

His eyes opened. But when he saw the nurse, his eyes closed. Tears trickled down his cheeks.

The nurse was staring. In all her decades of experience, it seemed she had never before seen this happen.

Next week the man remained, undead. It seemed he had not moved a limb or an eyelash in the intervening time. But when Colene took his hand and spoke to him, his eyes opened, and his mouth tried to smile.

He began to recover after that. Week by week he improved, most dramatically when Colene was present, until he was well enough to be taken home. He could not speak or walk without help, but perhaps that would come.

Two weeks later came the news: the beautiful man had gotten his hands on another gun. This time his shot had been all the way true, and he was dead.

What had she accomplished, by interfering with the natural course? She had thought she was doing so much good; instead she had hastened the man’s death. She should never have done it. She should have had the humility to know that she could not change another person’s destined course.

Suicide. What was its attraction?

She continued with the wee-hours Sunday shift, but the heart was gone from it. What was right and what was wrong? She had no sure answers.

Then there was an emergency. A bus had been involved in an accident, and there were horrendous injuries. The call went out: all available personnel report to assist in the emergency room.

Colene went down. In the throes of it, no one challenged her. She carried bandages and ran errands for the harried doctors. There were so many bodies to deal with all at once, they were doing triage.

A teenager not much older than Colene herself was hauled in on a stretcher, his legs crushed. Colene passed the bandages as the doctor tried to stanch the flow of blood; as he said, succinctly, the legs would have to wait because they would do the kid no good if he bled to death. A woman was almost unmarked on the body, but she had been struck across the face and her eyes gouged out. Colene held her hand while the doctor gave her a shot to abate her screaming. A man was sitting, waiting his turn, coughing lip blood, helpless, bewildered, and in despair. Colene went to him and put her arm around his shoulders. “The doctor will be with you in a moment,” she whispered in his ear. He turned his face to her, started to smile, and slumped. Now at last the doctor came, performing a hasty check. “He’s dead.” And he was; they could not revive him.

Now a nurse recognized Colene. “Child, you don’t belong here!” she exclaimed, horrified.

“Yes, I do,” Colene said. But she left, knowing the nurse would not report her if she got out before anyone else caught on. Most of the injured had been classified by this time anyway.

But it was enough. She asked to be relieved of her job, saying the night hours were interfering with her sleep and her homework. The hospital administration, covertly aware of what had happened, gave her a fancy Certificate of Merit and let her go. It was their secret. Colene was learning about secrets, learning well.

Now Colene’s interest in death, a sometime thing before, became dominant. The last man had smiled as he died. Death had been a relief. The way those people had been suffering, death would have been a relief for all of them. What right did she, an undistinguished girl, have to be healthy and happy?

But she told no one of her experiences, and indeed she wasn’t sure what significance they had. Was death the proper destiny of man? If not, what was? Until she knew the answer, she hid her feelings and acted normal.

She started dating. Her mother thought she was too young, at mid-thirteen, but her mother didn’t want to quarrel about it. A quarrel could lead to a discussion of her mother’s drinking habits. Secrets—Colene was learning how to borrow against their power, how to finesse them, to get her way. So she went to the movies with a boy she hardly cared for, and let him kiss her, while in her mind ran the scenes from the dirty novel of twining bare bodies. What would it be like, actually?

An older boy asked her out. He had a car, but he didn’t drive her to the movie. He said it would be more fun at the party his friends were having. There would be great entertainment. Colene didn’t care about the movie either, so she didn’t object.

There were three other boys there at an apartment, and no other girls. They were drinking. They gave her a drink, and she tried it, curious. This, too, was a new experience. Soon she was pleasantly dizzy. She had another drink, and another, reveling in the feeling.

Then she was in the bedroom with her date, and he had his trousers off. Suddenly the descriptions in the dirty novel registered, and she knew what he was after. She started to protest, but he pushed her down on the bed and got her dress up and her panties off and rammed into her with a whole lot less art than the novel had described. By the time she realized that it was rape, it was done, and he was getting off.

Rape? Even tipsy as she was, she realized that no one would believe her. So she played it cool, and pretended she had liked it. That way maybe she would get home safely.

But the other boys came in, and she had either to continue the pretense or make a scene, and if she made the scene she feared she would not only get raped, she would get beaten up and maybe killed. That wasn’t the way she wanted to die! So she smiled and said it was all right, and one by one they pressed her down and jammed in, and it was so slick and messy now that it didn’t hurt the way the first time had.

She did make it home safely, and her mother was so drunk she couldn’t smell the liquor on Colene or see her condition. Colene went to the bathroom and washed and washed, but she couldn’t get the awful feel of those men out of her. The novel had been wrong; it was no fun for the woman.

She never told, and neither did the boys. Not where it counted. They knew the trouble they would be in if news got to the authorities, considering her age. So the secret was kept, to a degree. But Colene stopped dating. Her reputation in certain circles was shot. Her mother, ignorant and relieved, did not question that decision.

Time showed that she was neither pregnant nor infected with VD. She had gotten away with it, such as it was. But she was saddled with a deep, abiding disgust. The worst of it was that she couldn’t really condemn the men; they were what they were, opportunists. It was herself she condemned, for being such a fool. She had indeed asked for it, by her naïveté. How could she have read all about it in the dirty novel, and not caught on that to such men a girl was nothing more than a walking vagina waiting to be unwrapped and plunged? Fool! Fool!

Why was life such a grubby mess? She hated every aspect of this, but still didn’t know what to do about it. There seemed to be no justice, only opportunity and coping. Opportunity for the men and coping for the women.

After that her double life had come upon her. She was bright and cheery in public, suicidal in private.

Did you share your feeling with anyone?

She had forgotten that Seqiro was tuning in. Well, not really; she had gone through it all for his benefit, buoyed somewhat in the fashion of her nude display before criminals at the time of the bleeding contest. In that she had in a devious manner made up for her disastrous date: instead of getting raped by four men and having to pretend to like it, she had tempted them and beaten them in sheer nerve, and they had had to pretend to like it. They weren’t the same men and it wasn’t the same situation either, but it also aligned: instead of baring her fascinating body (it had to be fascinating, or there was no point) she was baring her fascinating mind, and there was a dubious glory in it, a thrill of release, almost of expiation.

No, this was not parallel to the physical business, she realized as she reviewed it. It was parallel to mental business. She had shared her feeling with a friend, once before. And that had been another bad mistake.

It was this past summer, at camp. Naturally her folks got her out of the house when they could, not because they disliked her but because they were more concerned with their own problems than with hers. Camp wasn’t bad, actually. There was swimming and hiking and dancing and woodwork and nature. She liked all the events, yet her depression remained. It was as if she were a mere shell going through the motions. What was real was the blood on her wrist.

But her roommate Mitzi spied the scars. Things could be hidden from parents, teachers, friends, psychologists, and the man on the street, but roommates were deadly. Rather than try to bluff through, which was a bad risk, she was frank, telling how she secretly wanted to die but didn’t quite have the courage to do it. So she flirted with it, and the flowing blood relieved something in her, a little, and one day she would get up the nerve to go all the way and truly be dead.

Mitzi expressed sympathy and promised to keep her secret. She watched out for Colene after that, as if afraid she would keep her head under water too long or eat poison instead of dessert or throw herself off the precipice instead of admiring the view from it. It was fun for a while, having this constant attention. But soon it became annoying, and then oppressive. For one thing, the roommate was alert at night too, and the toilet wasn’t sufficiently private. Colene just couldn’t cut herself, and was getting restive.

She tried to distance herself a bit, to go on events without the roommate, so she could get the necessary privacy to do what she hated to do. Otherwise she was afraid she really would hurl herself over a cliff, having been unable to alleviate her need in a lesser and more controlled manner. The problem with the cliff was that she knew she would be unable to change her mind in midair, and that the job might not be complete; she might survive, broken and ashamed. But mainly it would be messy. Instead of lying pale and beautiful in her coffin, she would be bruised and battered, with her nose broken and teeth staved in. That was no way to die.

It came to arguments, not about anything in particular, but about what wasn’t said: Colene’s need to do her own thing, even if that was self-destructive. First they were private, then they spilled over into public. Finally, in the last week of camp, the roommate blew up: “I’m sorry I ever tried to stop you from killing yourself!” she cried.

There was an abrupt silence in the mess hall. Then, studiously, the other kids resumed eating and talking, not looking at Colene. Colene got up and dumped the rest of her meal in the trash and left. She went to her room and bared her arm, but couldn’t do it; she was too humiliated and angry to focus even on this.

That night the roommate came, but they did not speak to each other. Camp life went on as usual. But something had changed. Colene realized that people were speaking to her, about nothing in particular and everything in the ellipses—and they weren’t speaking to Mitzi.

A girl approached her, seemingly by coincidence. The girl was younger and seemed perky. But she showed Colene her arm, and it was scarred where the sleeve normally covered it. “I thought I was the only one,” she murmured, and moved on.

A boy approached at another time. He was handsome, and Colene liked his look, but had had no personal interaction with him. “I, ah, she shouldn’t have done that,” he said. “I didn’t know. I didn’t ask you before, but now, ah, maybe there isn’t much time. The last-night dance, will you, ah—?”

“Because you’re sorry for me?” Colene asked witheringly.

“Ah, yeah, I guess. I guess I’d be mad too, if—”

“Okay.”

“What?”

“I will go to the dance with you.”

He seemed stunned. “Ah, okay, then.”

They did go. He gave her a small corsage of wildflowers he had made himself. He held her very close as they danced, and suddenly she realized something. She halted on the floor. “Was that the truth?”

He knew what she meant. “Ah, no. I lied. I just didn’t have the nerve to tell you I liked you. Are you mad?”

“Furious,” she said, and pulled his head down and kissed him firmly on the mouth.

There was applause from the other couples and those along the sidelines. A counselor forged her way to them. “Go to your rooms,” she said severely. “You know that’s not permitted.”

“See, I got you in trouble already,” Colene told him as they separated.

“Yeah. Thanks,” he replied, looking stunned again.

Mitzi was there in the room. Colene looked at her, surprised.

“No one asked me,” the girl said. “No one would dance with me.” She was near tears.

She was not suicidal, but she was suffering worse than Colene was now. “Maybe I can fix that,” Colene said.

“No! I don’t deserve anything from you. I’m sorry I—I said what I did. I knew it was wrong the moment I—Colene, I’m sorry!” She buried her face in her handkerchief.

“I know. But I guess you did me a favor.”

The head counselor arrived. “Colene, whatever possessed you to let him kiss you like that?” she demanded. “You know I shall have to report both of you to your families as well as apply demerits for discipline.”

“You kissed him?” the roommate asked, astonished.

The counselor glanced at her, startled. “Why aren’t you at the dance?”

Colene spoke before Mitzi could answer. “We had a quarrel. I got back at her. I got her date to take me instead, at the last minute, so she was frozen out. He didn’t kiss me; I kissed him. Ask anyone; they all saw it, except the chaperon, who only looked when she heard the applause. So I fixed them both good.”

The counselor stared at the roommate. “Is this true?”

“Why do you think she’s been crying?” Colene demanded.

The counselor was at a loss for only a moment. Then she acted in the decisive fashion of her kind. “Colene, I am appalled at you. I will deal with you later.” She turned to Mitzi. “You come with me. You will attend the dance with your date.”

In moments they were gone. Colene lay on her bunk bed, gazing at the ceiling. She was proud of herself. She knew her date would play along. Not only would it get him out of trouble with the counselors, it would make him a celebrity for the night. Two girls had fought to date him!

Next day the buses came and the kids went home. They were from all over the country and had no contact with each other apart from the camp. The counselors were busy keeping things moving, and there wasn’t much chance for any talking. But every time a camper caught Colene’s eye, he or she smiled and made a little gesture of a finger across the throat. It was a temporary camp convention, signifying credit for getting punished for doing something daring or decent. It had special meaning in Colene’s case. They all knew, and all were pleased. Naturally no one told the counselors. Secrets—secrets were the stuff of life.

That was it. When Colene’s mother received the discipline report, she was perplexed. “What did you do?”

“I kissed a boy in public.”

Her father burst out laughing. “About time!”

Colene wondered what he would have said if he had known about the rape. Her world was such a schizoid place, where a gang rape went unnoticed while an innocent kiss got a girl in trouble. For all that, the last week of camp, betrayal and all, had been a high point in her life.

Why did she want to die anyway? Now she felt far more positive. It was because of Darius, she knew: even the hope of him made her want to live, for she had to live to love, and she did love. Even the notion of sex, which had pretty much turned her off, now turned her on. With him it would be beautiful, she knew.

But it was also Seqiro. She had loved horses from afar. Now she loved one from up close. Very close. Right-inside-her-mind close. She could tell him her secrets, and he would not betray them. That made her feel much better about living.

“Seqiro!” she exclaimed. “Are you helping me? I mean, messing with my mind, making me forget the pain or whatever?”

I could do this, but have not, because I see that it was that pain that caused you to embark on the Virtual Mode. Without it you might give up your quest.

“You mean you’re selfish, Seqiro? You want my company?”

That is true. He sent a nonspecific companion thought of agreement that was so complete it had to be believed.

She was thrilled in much the way she had been when she learned that the boy at camp had really wanted to dance with her. It meant he was not just putting up with her. “Don’t worry. I want to get together with Darius, and I want to stay with you. I’m glad you didn’t mess with my mind. That means I really am feeling better. Just going through those memories with you makes me feel better.”

What is your desire of life?

Colene thought for a moment, and then it poured out of her. “I like to consider myself apart from the whole Earth. There is no dignity left. I would like to be able to float away with my books and music and my guitar. It just seems to me that there are few people left with any integrity, and two of them happen to be my favorite writer and my favorite musician. I do too much thinking for my own good. I compose poetry in my head, but it won’t come out right on paper. It’s depressing. I dream too much also. I have so many ambitions, and I am crushed when I realize how very few will ever be achieved. I want to be an author, a musician, a veterinarian, a researcher working with dolphins and other marine life, a friend of those I admire. I want to be someone who would die for her cause. I want to be creative. I want to be a starving artist. I want always to be traveling, never in one place for long. I want to be defending everyone’s rights, especially animals and women. I want to be free, inspiring, compassionate. I want to be everything. I want to live under a night sky with someone I love intensely, and never have to move. To sit and gaze at the heavens with someone. I want never to be tied down or held back as I am now. Above all, I want to be free. I want it to be nighttime forever.”

I share your feeling. But what you have thought is not all. His thought was sympathetic.

She laughed. “No, that’s not all! It’s not even consistent. I want never to have to stay in one place and never to have to move. I want total freedom and total irresponsibility and total dedication. I want everything and nothing, all at the same time. I know it doesn’t make any sense, but this isn’t sense, this is desire. So does it make any sense to you, or would it, if you were a girl?”

I am a stallion, neither human nor female, and I have similar desires. You express them better than I could formulate them.

She felt another surge of the continuing thrill of being with him, of telling him her secret heart and being understood. She was talking, but her mind was carrying harmonics that made her whole feeling come across, so much greater than mere words could ever convey. His mind was sending back background washes and waves of understanding and support, so she knew he meant it. Telepathy: it was like being in a hot tub together, their bodies dissolved away and their minds sharing the essence.

“Do you have religion, Seqiro?”

There was a quick exploration of the concept she lifted to the surface. No.

“Maybe that’s better. I don’t know whether I have religion either. I feel that it’s better for me to make my own decisions about religion than to have my beliefs dictated to me. I hate people who go to church just so they can feel better about doing other things that they know are bad. I think I believe more in nature than in God. I can see nature, and feel and be a part of it. God is more of a closed case. I like to feel a little different from other people and have a different view of things. That’s part of the reason I’m not too wild about school. Everyone is expected to be the same. It leaves no room for freedom of thought. If you’re not like everyone else, you stand out and are not tolerated. I want to break away from this everybody-must-be-the-same type of society. Routine is awful. To do the same thing every day, every week, is torture. I hope, someday, to do something that allows for a lot of freedom and creativity. To live in a small house with natural wooden floors that creak beneath my feet. My home will be on the coast where it stays dark for a long time. I will go outside at night and be inspired by the storm clouds over the ocean. There will be a rocky cliff that I can sit on while I think.”

Yes.

Colene opened her eyes. “So you see, I dream wonderful things, but in the back of my mind I have always known that I will just end up in some stupid job and live like everyone else. I couldn’t even speak of my dreams before, because people would just laugh. They think the dull world is all there is.”

Now you know about the other realities, and are on the Virtual Mode. Your life will after all be different.

“That’s right! Say, Seqiro, if everything else doesn’t work out, let’s you and me just keep traveling à la Mode!”

We do not know how far we shall have to travel as it is, or what dangers we shall face. The day is late; we had better seek sanctuary for the night.

“Yes, that’s right. I didn’t realize how tired I’ve gotten, with all this walking.” Which made her realize that it had never occurred to her to ride the horse. Seqiro just wasn’t that kind of horse.

They came into a series of realities in which there were thickly forested mountains. Colene knew that there was nothing like this within a day’s walking distance of Oklahoma, which meant that in nearby realities the geography changed as well as the creatures and the underlying rules of nature.

“You were right, Seqiro,” she said. “I can’t ride my bike here! But if we come to a region where it’s flat or paved, I’ll be able to.”

I shall be interested to see how this device operates. I have seen nothing like it before.

They found a clear stream. “That sure looks nice!” she exclaimed. “I’d like to have a deep drink and wash up, but if the water won’t stay with me—”

There is no problem about washing, for you do not need to have the water stay. As for drinking—perhaps it should be done, as we can remain the night in this reality and assimilate the water. We are sweating, so may excrete some of the alien water in the normal course, without being bound to its reality.

Colene, suddenly desperately thirsty, focused on one thing. “You mean it’s all right to use this water?”

Provided we remain here for some time.

“That’s good enough for me!” She threw herself down and drank deeply. All that water on top of all that exertion made her feel giddy, but it was worth it.

Seqiro drank more cautiously. Then they both washed. Colene got out of her loincloth and cape and splashed naked, screaming with pained pleasure at the shock of the cold water. Then she took a sponge they had packed and sponged off the horse’s hide where the bags of supplies weren’t in the way. Seqiro did not let her remove his burdens; wary of possible danger, he preferred to keep everything on him, so as to be able to step quickly into another reality without leaving important things behind. Colene had to admit that made sense. She was able to clean him pretty well by pushing away one bag at a time and sponging under it. His hide was steaming hot, but the chill water helped cool him.

It is a delight to have this attention from you without coercion.

“You don’t get washed off at home?”

Our humans act only under our imperative. We direct them in all things, and punish them when they do not perform.

“Where I live, girls do these things for horses because they love horses.”

It would seem that the activities are similar, but the motives dissimilar.

“It would seem,” she agreed.

Colene bent twigs and scuffed the forest floor to mark the borders of the other realities on either side, so they would not cross unawares. They had a channel ten feet wide and endlessly long to remain in. It was hard to believe, because the forest and stream were uninterrupted, but she had now had enough experience to treat the boundary with extreme respect.

I have quested through this vicinity of this reality, and found no hostile or dangerous creatures, Seqiro thought. There may be danger in the adjacent realities, but we need not be concerned about those until we resume our travel.

“That’s nice,” Colene said, relieved. “Are you going to lie down to sleep?”

That is not necessary. I can rest and sleep on my feet.

“The reason I asked is if you lie down, I can lie down with you, and be warm.”

That is true. As it is safe, I shall lie.

So it was that they lay down in their narrow channel beside the stream. Colene took a heavy blanket from Seqiro’s supplies and spread it over him, then settled down against his side, between two bags of feed. It was really quite comfortable, all things considered. She slept, feeling about as happy as she could remember since before losing Darius.