Hair Suite

by Piers Anthony

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  “It's unscrupulous!”

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

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

  “Yes. Fortunately the protocols conveniently enable it.”

  “How?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  “Information?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  “They know what we need?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

  “Like a play or a movie?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

  “The stopping must be in stages.”

  “Stages?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  “Something like that, yes.”

  “When do we do it?” Levi asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  *

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

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

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

  “Awww,” Tillo and Idola said almost together.

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

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

  “Oh, yes,” Idola agreed brightly.

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

  “Awww,” the children said again, laughing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  Chap

  ter 7

  The Tower

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

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

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

  *

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

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

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

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

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

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

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