Hair Peace

by Piers Anthony

  “She was aware of me! But she’s dead.”

  “That is illusion. It is a to-all-parties message, personalized by category and user, addressed to the unknown reader. But it is oddly effective.”

  “It is indeed,” Quiti agreed. “I am not a Gypsy nor a Ghobot, but I feel for her and by extension for them. If this is what Flower’s folk face, I do have to try to help them.”

  “How?”

  “Maybe by inviting them to Earth?”

  “Where in two generations they will be hounded and slaughtered as your Gypsies were?”

  That set Quiti back. She did not want to be responsible for the kind of mischief she had seen in the recording. But neither did she want to stand idly by as a species was driven to extinction. “What would you recommend?”

  “First we need to understand exactly what it is that causes them to be ultimately rejected. It is not precisely what the interpretations of the listeners may suppose.”

  “Not really young sex or banned gambling or untested drugs, maybe, but they could be part of it,” Quiti agreed. “The Gypsies are providing services that are in demand but not officially approved.”

  “Which eventually gets them in trouble,” the Sorceress agreed. “But I suspect there is more to it than that.”

  “There must be. We need to know precisely what, so we know whether we can handle it.”

  “Exactly.”

  “How can I find out, when official channels are obscure?”

  “I believe you need to interview your lost child.”

  “But he’s innocent. He doesn’t know.”

  “Innocent in the manner your girl child was in the recording. He surely has seen much, as it seems to be their policy to educate their children in preparation for what they will face in the future, even if they don’t yet properly fathom the implications. There should be things you can glean with adult understanding even if he can’t see them.”

  Quiti nodded, appreciating the thoroughness of what she had seen in the recording. “There should be. I’ll go have another talk with him.”

  “Perhaps you should bring in Gena, your more mature friend.”

  “Gena!” Quiti exclaimed. “Yes! Not only that, but she is both Hair and Chip, with a truly broadened perspective, and she can dream the future. She can figure it out if anyone can.” Then she paused, remembering. “But Gena is tied up in one of our Galactic Fantasy productions at the moment. That’s how we pay our way.”

  “Not so. She just finished her role there, ahead of the others, and will return to Earth about the time you do.”

  Quiti was surprised. “How do you know that?”

  “I checked around while you were romancing the stone.”

  Oh. Of course. Why should the Sorceress twiddle her thumbs (or whatever) while Quiti zoned out on the recording? “Thank you so much. This may be our key. I shall hurry home.”

  “It is always a pleasure to dialogue with you.”

  “Oh, Sorceress, I would kiss you if there were any feasible way to do it.”

  “Air kisses, one of your kind’s mannerisms I have learned.” The Sorceress kissed her own formed fingers and wafted them gently toward Quiti.

  Quiti returned the equivalent gesture in ribbon fish terms, then took her wormhole home. She certainly had a lot to think about, and a lot more to learn. She was excited by the prospect.

  Chapter 4: Ghobot

  In fact, Gena had preceded her, and was in the process of meeting Flower. It was clear that he took to her immediately, perhaps because she was a real mother, and a galactic twice over, being both a Hair Suit and a Chip Monk, although of fairly recent vintage. She had six-foot long hair just like Quiti’s own, by no coincidence, brown eyes, and was a shapely woman of 33. The hair was because Quiti had transferred half of hers, and now both halves were filling out into full complements.

  Idola saw Quiti’s arrival, in the form of the animation of her formerly unconscious body. “Mom’s handling it,” she said brightly. “Hope you have news.”

  “I have some,” Quiti said cautiously, uncertain how much she should say in Flower’s presence. “Maybe I should talk with Gena while you and Flower get to know each other better.” She sent a thought to their minds to indicate she had good reason.

  “Okay,” Idola said. “Let me show you around the embassy, Flower.” She took the boy out of the room.

  “Something significant?” Gena asked when they were alone, mind shields up for privacy. They had first met when Quiti was fleeing her neighborhood, to escape undue investigation into her new powers, and Quiti had gotten privacy by riding with Gena in Gena’s long-haul rig. They had been close friends ever since.

  “Let’s touch hair.” They were both telepathic, thanks to the hair, but closer was better, and actual touch, hair to hair, enabled an instant complete gigabit transfer. That way Gena would immediately know Quiti’s full experience.

  They leaned toward each other until their hair touched. There was no electric tingle, but Quiti felt Gena’s acceptance. Then they straightened up.

  “Wow,” Gena said, sitting down. “Of course it wasn’t necessarily sexual, but it was equivalent.”

  “Loss of innocence,” Quiti agreed. “You must decide whether you want to share this with Idola.”

  “Oh, she can handle it. Chips don’t have telepathy, but I share with her, so she knows what’s on every man’s mind. She remains virginal by choice, not ignorance.”

  “As did the Ghobot girl, until her choice was forced.”

  “She used her best judgment, as will my daughter.” She smiled faintly. “But of course Ghobot culture differs from ours: I don’t expect Idola to follow that course.”

  Quiti believed that, knowing Idola, who was one savvy girl and a perfect match for Quiti’s son Tillo. So they were still children; but they were also Chip and Hair children, quite another matter.

  “The Ghobots have something that others want as much as they do money or sex,” Quiti said. “But I don’t think it is either of those. Until we figure it out, we really don’t know how to help Flower.”

  “We’re probably best off simply returning him to his folks and exiting the scene without further involvement.”

  “I believe that was the Sorceress’s sentiment.”

  The older woman met her gaze. “But she knew you would not leave it at that.”

  “Why do you remind me of the Sorceress?”

  Gena laughed. “Why don’t I hold down the fort here, while you and Idola take Flower on a broader tour and quietly discover his capacities? Then we’ll have a better notion how to proceed.”

  “Done,” Quiti agreed. She liked the girl and was happy to work with her, and she was really curious about the Ghobots.

  Quiti and Idola took Flower back to the field. “Now the blazes,” Quiti said. “Can you show us exactly how they work, Flower?” She was talking aloud while projecting the focused thought to him.

  The Ghobot child brightened momentarily, his equivalent of a smile. Then he walked, in his fashion, about a hundred feet, while they paced him on either side. Then he disappeared.

  What?

  They both looked around. There was Flower, back at the starting point. He had instantly and silently jumped there.

  “This smells like teleportation,” Quiti said. That was interesting indeed.

  “Unless we suddenly blanked out for a minute while he walked back.”

  Quiti looked at her watch, noting the time to the second. Then she beckoned Flower.

  He disappeared from the distance and reappeared beside them. You asked to see the blazes work, he reminded them. So I jumped back to the one I set.

  No time had passed. They had not blanked out. “So we did,” Quiti said. “And so you did. That was very nice, Flower. We can’t do that.”

  Hairs and Chips can’t blaze, he agreed. But Hairs can read thoughts and Chips can read regions. He meant telepathy and clairvoyance.

  “That we can,” Quiti agreed. “Each species has it
s own talents. When we work together we accomplish more than we do alone.”

  Can I go home now?

  He was homesick, of course. “Not yet, but soon. We understand that there are hostile species on the Worm Web, and we believe we can do a better job of returning you safely if we understand you and your kind better.”

  I guess. He seemed to be impatient with adult caution, as children tended to be.

  Idola spoke. “When you do a favor for citizens of your world who are not Ghobots, what do you do? Do you take them on blaze jumps?”

  No.

  “Why not?”

  We can do it only for ourselves.

  The girl was getting somewhere. “So what do you do for them?”

  We emote.

  Quiti exchanged a blank look with Idola. “You make a show of emotion?” Quiti asked.

  No, we enhance it.

  “Remember, we are not Ghobots,” Idola said. “We don’t understand everything you do. Can you show us how to emote, your way?”

  I guess. But nothing happened. They had asked him a question, not told him to do something. As a child he lacked some of the context adults routinely applied.

  “How can we emote?” Quiti asked.

  Maybe with a game.

  Another blank look. Then Idola came to the rescue again. “A game. Like maybe tick-tack-toe?”

  I guess. He clearly did not know the game.

  Quiti got a notion. “I will play it with Idola. Can you make us emote?”

  One of you.

  ‘Me,” Idola said.

  You, he agreed, moving close to her.

  Were they getting somewhere? They cleared a place on the field so as to have a patch of dirt. Quiti drew a plot of four lines making nine spaces. Idola made the first move, putting an X in the center. Quiti put an O in a corner. “Oh, this is exciting!” Idola exclaimed.

  Nothing like a little drama for a little game. When properly played, the game always ended in a draw. But, curious, Quiti played to lose, and soon Idola had three X’s in a row. “OOO!” she exclaimed jubilantly, jumping up and down. “I won! I won!”

  She was an exuberant girl, but this was too exaggerated, especially since she had to know Quiti had let her win. Then she sobered and looked at Quiti. “Do it for her next,” she said.

  Flower moved from her to Quiti.

  Do what? But Quiti said nothing. Instead she smoothed out the board, made new lines, and put her O in the center. This time Idola played to lose.

  Quiti won, and suddenly was totally thrilled. “I won!” she cried, dancing much as Idola had. She had not had joy like this in a long time.

  “It’s the feeling,” Idola said.

  Then Quiti caught on. “Emotion,” she said. “He enhances emotion. So little victories become phenomenal emotional rides.”

  “He emotes us,” Idola agreed.

  They played more games, this time enhancing the losers, and discovered utter dejection. It was as though every tiny feeling was magnified to a giant feeling. This was true even though they knew the effect was artificial.

  “It’s like a drug high,” Quiti said. “Only without the drug.”

  “And no crashing after,” Idola said. “When it stops, it stops without consequence.”

  Quiti faced Flower. “You have shown us the enhancement of joy and sadness. Can you do other feelings?”

  Yes, if I know what feelings.

  They discussed it with him, and concluded that though he was not telepathic, he could perceive and affect brain waves, tweaking them to make particular wavelengths stronger. He did not share the feelings himself, but did perceive their effects, and could further enhance them when he oriented on the right ones. He was feeling his way, as it were, but it was effective.

  “Think what he could do for an orgasm,” Quiti murmured.

  “Wow,” Idola agreed. “Sexual orbit!”

  Oops! “I forgot you are a child,” Quiti said, embarrassed.

  “A child whose mother has educated her on what counts,” Idola said. “She sent me an orgasm so I would know it when I found it.”

  Oh. With telepathy there were very few secrets, especially when a mother was educating her daughter to be knowledgeable, as was the case with the Ghobot recording. “Similar enhancement during sex could rapidly addict a person.”

  “Maybe we’re getting a handle on what gets the Ghobots into trouble,” Idola said. “They’re like drug dealers.”

  “Can’t get rid of the market, so have to get rid of the dealers,” Quiti said. “Which doesn’t really solve the problem, but it makes it look as if the authorities are doing something.”

  “Let’s try something else,” Idola said. “Just in case we don’t have it nailed yet.”

  “Good thought. Something really boring, to see how it makes it interesting.”

  “Baseball. I hate it.”

  “Oh, do you? I always liked it. Softball, at least.” Quiti remembered playing with the boys, who had treated her courteously.

  “You have to wait and wait for every ball and every strike. It’s dull as school. Even the popcorn and soda gets to taste like warm poop and piss.”

  “Baseball it is,” Quiti agreed, smiling. “I believe the local third tier team has a game this afternoon. We’ll go see it, and take turns getting thrilled.”

  Idola grimaced. “If emoting can make me like the Sad Butts, it’s a super winner.”

  They returned to the embassy to let Gena know, then went off to the game. They used Quiti’s car, which was a battered old jalopy with scrapes on its paint and smudges on its glass: what a poor girl could afford, clearly no prize. She called it Carmen, as in the operatic “If Carmen loves you, that’s the end of you.” What did not show was that it was thoroughly armored, bullet and beam proof, with invulnerable tires, and could do a hundred and fifty miles an hour if there was a track for it. If any unauthorized person entered it, the doors would lock and the seat belt would snap into place to restrain him while a signal went out to alert Quiti. Carmen loved intruders, and it was the end of them.

  Idola, of course, was no intruder. In fact if she were ever in trouble, such as being chased by a bully (not that she couldn’t readily handle a bully, using her Chip powers), she could dive in and say “Carmen, help me!” and it would. Carmen was attuned to Hairs and Chips and ready to serve them.

  But at the moment they were simply driving to the game inconspicuously. Quiti did not even have to use her telepathy to discourage curiosity: Carmen was inherently ignorable.

  What is this? Flower inquired, amazed when the vehicle started to move.

  “It’s a car,” Idola explained. “The regular folk of this planet can’t teleport the way you can or fly the way we can, so they use powered vehicles. We use it so we won’t seem different from them.”

  We do that too. We hide among the natives.

  “Close enough,” Idola agreed. Flower wasn’t belted, having no beltable anatomy; she was holding him on her lap.

  They parked in the partly-filled stadium lot and went in for tickets and the game. Idola carried Flower, who was now invisible. It wasn’t that they were sneaking in a spectator, it was that it might be extremely awkward to explain him to an official. They found their seats and settled in to watch.

  The Star Bucks, nicknamed Sad Butts, were in their usual feculent fettle, seemingly unable to hit the easiest pitch or catch a fly ball after two bounces. They were losing badly, which was par for their course. But that was hardly the point of this trio’s attendance.

  Idola took her turn first, emoted by Flower. “Wow!” she breathed as a strike whizzed past the somnambulant Butts batter. “What a pose!”

  She was admiring the posture of the player? Well, he was a halfway handsome man and the girl did notice such things.

  Then the batter swung and actually hit a little pop fly. “What a marvel!” Idola said, impressed. “The height, the placement.”

  “I could do better than that,” Quiti grumped. “Without Hair enhan
cement, I mean.”

  The ball was easily caught for the out. “Such magnificent form,” Idola said.

  “Give me that emote,” Quiti snapped, and Flower moved over.

  The next batter struck out. “What phenomenal form,” Quiti exclaimed, admiring the activity, while Idola groaned. Their roles had changed, and Quiti was truly impressed by the man’s swings; Idola wasn’t.

  They watched more of the sorry game, alternately thrilled and appalled, depending on who had the emote and whether it was set for positive or negative. There was no question of its effectiveness.

  Then Idola perked up as if listening. “People are approaching Carmen. They look like carjackers.” It was her clairvoyance, which was oriented on the car.

  “Lotsa luck with that!” Quiti said. “Carmen will eat them for dinner.”

  “I just thought—”

  Quiti read her thought. “You’re right! Let’s try it.”

  They exited the game early and made their way to the parking lot. Three men were looking at the car, suspicious because it was such an obvious if lowly target. Quiti hardly needed to read their minds to know that.

  “Flower, I’m going to tune in those three men,” Quiti said. “Can you change their brain waves with my guidance?”

  He agreed, not familiar with this process, but willing to try.

  She made a close picture of the three heads with their radiating brain waves. Such waves were not visible to ordinary folk, but her telepathy made them appear as wavy lines. “Amplify Fear.”

  Flower focused, orienting, finding the right waves, strengthening them.

  Suddenly the men cried out in alarm and fled in terror.

  “Bingo!” Idola exclaimed, watching them go.

  “I think we’re a team,” Quiti said, gratified.

  “My clairvoyance, your projective telepathy, Flower’s emote,” Idola agreed. “We got it together.”

  Later, back at the embassy, they reported to Gena. “So it is the emoting you think does it?” she asked.

  “Yes. When it is positive, any minor little success is thrilling,” Quiti said.

  “And when it is negative, any little lapse can make you feel suicidal,” Idola said.