Hair Power

by Piers Anthony

  An alarm sounded, reminiscent of a prisoner escaping. They were closing in already. She hurried toward the exit.

  A man appeared in the hallway ahead. “Stop, miss! You haven’t been cleared to leave!”

  What to do? She stared him in the face, orienting on his mind. Then she projected the Nude illusion.

  The orderly stopped, staring at the image. Quiti could see only its outline; it was his brain that was generating it, while her mind served mainly to place it. But she knew exactly what he was seeing.

  She sidled past him and resumed progress toward the door. But then a nurse appeared. “You can’t—” she started.

  Quiti met her eye and projected the rattlesnake. The woman screamed.

  Then Quiti was past her and out. She ran to her parent’s car and got in, grabbing her cell phone. “Mom, I’m through,” she said urgently. “I’m in the car.”

  “Already?”

  “Yes. Let’s go home now.”

  Her mother emerged from the waiting room. She walked slowly toward the car. Hurry!

  The door opened behind her. “Wait!” a man called.

  Could she do it at this range? Quiti leaned forward in the car, focusing on the man’s head. She projected the alligator.

  The man paused. Was he seeing it?

  He stepped back, his mouth forming on O of surprise. Yes!

  Betty had paused when the man called, but now resumed progress, as she was not seeing any alligator. She got into the car. “Why didn’t you meet me in the waiting room, dear?” she asked.

  “I was in such a hurry to get home, I forgot.” Close enough to the truth.

  “Did they tell you the result?”

  “They never have results at the time,” Quiti reminded her. “They have to develop and analyze the pictures first. But this time there was a glitch, so they couldn’t do it.”

  “Then we should make another appointment.”

  “We can do that by phone. Let’s just go now.”

  “Of course, dear.”

  They made it safely home, to Quiti’s immense relief. Betty made a new appointment by phone. The next day’s newspaper had no mention of a disturbance, and certainly not of a nude woman in the hall, a rattlesnake, or alligator. Evidently the folk who had experienced these things thought they were exactly what they were: illusions, and did not want to embarrass themselves by publicizing them.

  Speedo found the whole thing hilarious. “You used the spooks! They worked! I wish I had seen their faces!”

  “My arsenal really paid off,” Quiti agreed, similarly pleased.

  “But now they know something’s up.”

  “I can’t afford to go back to the lab,” she agreed. “But what can I do?”

  “Damn,” he said. “You’ll have to disappear, at least until your hair finishes growing. Then maybe you’ll be so sharp with the special effects that you can return as Lady Excelsior or someone else and they won’t know it’s you.”

  “You’re right. I’ll go tonight.”

  “I figured that. That’s what I hate.”

  “Hide me tonight, maybe in your room. Don’t tell your folks. I will sleep with you.” She held up a warning finger. “As Excelsior, with the plastic flesh. You can have at me all night as I sleep, if you want to, with that one limit.”

  “I’ll take it,” he said sadly. “But maybe, if I’m of age when you return—”

  She laughed. “I’ll turn off the plastic flesh. I owe it to you, for the help you have given me.”

  “I love helping you!”

  “And I have taken advantage of that, in my desperation. It is time to return your life to you.”

  “Time,” he agreed. “I know it, but it hurts.”

  She told her parents. “I may have had a miraculous remission of my cancer. They will want to lock me in the hospital and study me forever. I couldn’t stand that. So I will have to leave you tonight, and disappear. I promise I’ll send you messages so you’ll know I’m all right. But I must go.”

  “Quiti!” her mother wailed.

  “She’s right, Betty,” Bill said. “We can see how healthy she’s become. She’s not going to die. But they’ll never let her go. She has to hide, at least for now.” He looked at Quiti. “We don’t have much extra money.”

  “I’ll get by,” Quiti said quickly. “I’ll find ways.”

  “You can’t use your credit card or your cell phone; those will track you. And how will you message us, without giving away your location?”

  Quiti thought fast. “You know the neighbor boy, Speedo? I’ll send him messages to relay to you. And Joe, of Joe’s Eatery. You can trust what they tell you, and it won’t be traceable.”

  “But we’d so much rather have you with us,” Betty said tearfully.

  “Mom, you faced the loss of me, completely. Now I’m going to live, but apart from you. Isn’t that better?”

  “Yes.” But she looked none too certain.

  Quiti packed efficiently, taking only one solid bag. She left her cell phone and credit card behind. She had a good dinner. Then as darkness came, she kissed them both and departed.

  She circled the block, her mind ranging out to be sure no one was noticing her, and came to Speedo’s house. I’m here, she thought to him.

  He came out immediately, and ushered her inside and to his bedroom. She stripped and got into his bed without comment. He stripped and joined her. “I know it’s no go,” he whispered. “But I can’t help trying.”

  “I hate teasing you like this, but it’s all I can offer you.” Then while he kissed her mouth and breasts, she told him the rest. “I know your mind better than any other, because of the interaction we have had. I believe I can communicate with you telepathically from a distance. I will send you messages for my folks that you can relay, so I can’t be traced. Will you do that?”

  “Yes! Anything.”

  “The messages should get stronger with practice, and as my hair grows.”

  “I’ll live for them.”

  “Speedo, get a girlfriend. You know I was never destined to be that for you. But our connection is in certain ways more intimate. It’s friendship with unusual benefits.”

  “I know it, even though I wish it were more.”

  She did not argue that case. “Now I must get my sleep. You have the freedom of my body, with the limit.”

  “Yes.”

  She slept. She could do that now, as if clicking a switch.

  In the morning, before dawn, she woke refreshed. Speedo woke the moment she stirred. “Quiti—”

  “You know I must go.” She got up, used the bathroom, and dressed.

  “It’s not that. You need to know this. I kissed your hair—and it kissed me back.”

  She looked at him. “Say again?”

  “Read my mind to verify it. It’s sort of love you, love your hair; that’s what makes you what you are. So I kissed it beside your ear, and I swear it formed lips and kissed me back, passionately. And it sent me a thought: there will be a role for you.”

  It was true; his mind did verify it. “My hair likes you,” she said in wonder.

  “Yes. And it gave me the patience and courage to let you go, except for your messages. I can do that now.”

  “I’m glad.” Indeed, it was a huge relief. She had paid for his help in the only way she could, but had hated teasing him.

  She departed as dawn was just arriving, keeping to the shadows. Her new life was upon her, whatever it might be. She knew it would work out, because her hair thought so. She owed everything to the hair.

  Chapter 5:

  Gena

  “What now, hair?” she asked rhetorically as she walked to the nearest through street. And the hair answered, in its fashion, sending her thoughts ranging out through the neighborhood, seeking certain minds. She waited, letting it do its thing. The experience Speedo had had, getting kissed by the hair, had to be significant: the hair had shown self will, independent of her awareness, though it had surely drawn on
her dozing brain. It was another confirmation that the alien hairball had given her not a toy flute, but an orchestra. She had left her wig behind, as she no longer needed it; the hair could make her seem to have a head of short dark locks, or little blond curls. At the moment she had a red cap with brown wisps peeking out from beneath. The rest of her outfit was modest, masking her attributes to the extent feasible without denying her femininity: heavy outdoor plaid shirt, canvas skirt, sneakers.

  There. Before she knew it she was stepping out onto the edge of the street, flagging down an approaching motorist. The car screeched to a halt, and she opened the passenger door and climbed in.

  “Where you going, miss?” the driver asked. “I almost didn’t see you.” He was a middle aged man. His mind was benign; he was not about to try to molest any woman.

  “Isn’t there a truck stop cafeteria a few miles along? I heard they were hiring waitresses. That’s what I’m looking for.”

  “There sure is. I’m going right past it. Good thing you caught me. It’s almost like fate.”

  “Almost,” she agreed. There was no coincidence to it; the hair evidently had known where he was going as well as that he was no threat to her.

  They chatted amicably. He seemed glad of the passing company, especially of a pretty girl.

  “There it is, miss,” he said, and pulled to a stop outside the cafeteria. There were several big rigs in its capacious parking lot. This was definitely the place. “Good luck with the job.”

  “Thank you so much.” She leaned across and kissed his ear. “It would have been a long walk.”

  Thrilled by the kiss, he drove on. Quiti reflected momentarily on the way her life had changed. Pre-hairball, her innocent kiss would have thrilled no one.

  She walked to the entrance and stepped inside. Four tables were occupied by men, one by a woman. She went to the woman, assessing her on the way: about 30, long dark hair, brown eyes, and shapely. She was, it seemed, a long-haul driver.

  Quiti paused at the table. “I have committed no crime. I’m not a criminal or a prostitute. I have a serious need to avoid discovery in a setting I can trust. I have money for my own needs, and I don’t care where I go. I can be dropped off anywhere you choose, at any time, and I promise to make no fuss. Could you use a traveling companion?”

  The woman eyed her cannily. “You les?”

  “No, hetero. But saving it for the right man.”

  “You’ve got a shape on you. This is a rough neighborhood, long-hauling cross country. Ninety five percent male.”

  “I can defend myself if necessary.”

  “Can you drive?”

  “Yes. I’ve never touched a rig, but I’m a very fast learner when I need to be.”

  “You were looking for me.”

  “I’m looking for someone who meets my need. I believe you are the one.”

  The woman laughed. “I’ve never heard that pickup line used by a woman before. Not on another woman. Go your way; you’ll be better off riding with a man.”

  “Let me show you a trick,” Quiti said, looking her in the eye. Then, having zeroed in on the woman’s mind, she projected a sample illusion. It was a small fire blazing in the middle of the table. “It’s not real,” Quiti said. “No one else can see it. Pass your hand through it.”

  Cautiously, the woman did. “No heat!”

  “A token hallucination. I am not an ordinary person.”

  The woman was clearly impressed. “I’ve never met a stage magician before.”

  “No stage props. No sleight of hand. It’s mental. Not something I care to advertise.”

  “Okay, you got my attention. Will you tell me your story? I can keep my mouth shut.”

  “As we drive.”

  Now she smiled. “Of course. Okay, it’s a deal. Ride with me ‘till you bore me. Sit down.”

  “Thank you.” Quiti drew out the opposite chair and seated herself.

  The waitress approached. “Your morning special,” Quiti said. “Doubled.”

  “Pay for it first.” Evidently not every trucker could be trusted.

  Quiti paid for it, then settled down to talk with the woman while the order was in process. “Shall we exchange introductions? I am Quiti, age twenty, single, three weeks into the most remarkable adventure I never heard of.”

  “Gena. Thirty. Single, sort of. Driver. It’s mostly dull work.”

  “Hello, Gena. I am very glad to meet you.”

  “How do you know I won’t slip you a mickey, rob you, and dump you on the highway in your briefs?”

  “I can read your mind, or at least your mood and nature. I know I can trust you. You’re a good person.”

  “You’re guessing.”

  “No.”

  “How smart are you, Quiti?”

  “I’m probably the smartest person you’ll ever encounter. But that’s coincidental. I was a grade C student in school, and remain at heart a dull ordinary person. I was never a geek until recently.”

  “How honest are you?”

  “I try to be ethically perfect, but it’s difficult in an imperfect world. I won’t lie to you, steal from you, or seek to do you harm. But I am hiding from the authorities, and will have to lie to conceal my true identity.”

  “You will tell me why.”

  “I will tell you everything you want to know, trusting your discretion, when we are private.”

  “What do you think of me, based on what little you know of me?”

  “I think you are a nice person who has struggled with a moral issue without a perfect resolution. Who does her best regardless. The kind of person I’d like to have for a friend.”

  “And you can read my mind.”

  “Your mood. I can’t get specific thoughts unless they are directed at me. But in time, with a friend, yes, I could read your mind.”

  “I’m choosy about my friends.”

  “Yes. I hope I can qualify.”

  Quiti’s order arrived, a double dose of pancakes, scrambled eggs, milk, and sweet rolls. She piled into it, soon eating every part of it.

  “You eat like two stevedores,” Gena remarked as she sipped her coffee.

  “That, too, I will explain when we are private.”

  In due course they moved out to the rig. “I’m hauling machine parts to a factory in Connecticut,” Gena said. “Several days’ drive. Dull as hell.”

  “That’s fine with me. I have no destination other than anonymity.”

  Gena cranked up the rig, and pulled slowly out of the lot. Quiti sat beside her, looking around.

  Once they were out on the highway and traveling at speed, Gena spoke again. “I’ve got a notion that your story is more complicated than mine, so I’ll tell mine first.”

  “Fair enough.” The morning sun was out now, and Quiti angled her head so that her hair got the brunt of it.

  “I was a history student your age when I discovered I was pregnant. I didn’t believe in abortions; I mean, a baby in the belly is not just a lump of protoplasm, it’s a person, still forming, and deserves its chance at life. I was not about to marry, and not just because my weasel of a boyfriend disappeared about ten seconds after he learned I was gravid. He was wrong for me, and would never make a good father. So I decided to put it up for adoption, but not anonymously. I wanted an open adoption, so I could participate in the life of my child, even if I couldn’t keep it myself. It used to be that the sadistic adoption agencies put up rafts of walls to prevent the donor mother from ever knowing anything about her baby. They sure wanted to punish her for the sin of careless sex. But we’re getting beyond that anal retention attitude now, and more than half of adoptions today are open. Am I boring you yet?”

  “No! This is new to me.”

  “I researched, and did due diligence, and chose the adoptive family myself from a number of prospects. We made a formal agreement that I could maintain lifelong contact with my daughter, as she turned out to be. They named her Idola, meaning a lovely vision. It was perfect. I did m
y part; I nursed my baby for the first six months, though she lived with her new family, not with me. We all wanted her to have as healthy a start in her life as possible, and that meant staying off the bottle, and no one else could nurse her. It was wonderful! I truly loved her.” She sighed. “And therein lay mischief. When I nursed her, I bonded with her. I didn’t want to give her up. She was with a good family, and they were doing everything right, and I knew I had no business even thinking of reneging on the agreement. It would be a serious breach of trust on my part. I couldn’t take care of her on my own anyway; I’d just mess up her life. So I hung on as the years passed, being Auntie Gena, though the child knew the real story. But that sense of loss never faded. So what was I to do with my irrational impractical longing? I didn’t trust myself. I knew I had to wean myself away from her, to be rid of the guilty temptation.”

  “I never dreamed of such a situation,” Quiti said. “But of course I never expected to have a child of my own anyway.”

  “That’s why I took this job as a long hauler. It takes me across the country, far away for weeks and sometimes months. But in my case absence really does make the heart grow fonder. All I think about is Idola. She’s nine now, a lovely girl. I long to see her again, but also dread it, because I know it will stir up the guilty longing.”

  “So all you need is to be able to interact with her normally, but without the wicked temptation,” Quiti said.

  “That’s it. If it hasn’t faded in nine years, when is it ever going to?”

  Quiti remembered how her hair had eased Speedo’s longing, so that he could live with the situation. “There might be a way. But I’d have to study it further.”

  “Your turn. What’s so special about you, and I’m not being sarcastic.”

  Quiti told her the story, beginning with the alien hairball. “So I think I’ve lost the cancer,” she concluded. “But I can’t get it tested. I’ll just have to see if my health holds.”

  “You’re right. That’s weird,” Gena said. “And that fabulous hair of yours just might be able to ease my wrongheaded longing.”