Hair Power

by Piers Anthony

  “It might,” Quiti agreed. “But I could have interpreted it all wrong, just wanted to make it easier on Speedo.”

  “We can test it now.”

  “Now? But your daughter is far away.”

  “Yes. But the problem is not with her. She’s fine with the way things are. It’s with me. I’m the one who needs to change. Maybe I can touch your hair and find out.”

  “I suppose that’s possible,” Quiti agreed, surprised. “For the genius I seem to be, I can still miss the obvious.”

  “Geniuses are notorious for that.”

  “Well, we can try it, but I’m afraid you’ll be disappointed.”

  “I’ll be disappointed if I don’t at least try.”

  “Yes.” At least they could do that much.

  Gena pulled the truck into a secluded lane and parked it. “May I touch your hair?”

  As if they were making out, there in the cab of the rig! “Go ahead.”

  Gena reached out tentatively and touched it. “Oh, my!” She drew back her hand.

  “What?”

  “It tingled.”

  “I didn’t feel that.”

  “Maybe you’re too much a part of it. May I try again?”

  “Certainly. Maybe—now don’t get me wrong; I’m thinking of Speedo—you should kiss it. Get your head really close so it is in range. And focus on what you want to accomplish. I really don’t know to what extent the hair has its own volition. I think it mainly interacts with my brain and body.”

  Gena leaned toward her, hesitated, then put her mouth to the side of Quiti’s head. She kissed the hair. “Oh!”

  “What happened?”

  “It kissed me back! And—”

  “Yes?”

  “I can live without Idola. I love her, I want to stay in her life, but I don’t want to take her away from it. I don’t want to interfere with her happiness. I want just to be Auntie Gena, as I was supposed to be.”

  This was hard to believe. “Are you serious? You’re not just saying it?”

  “Read my mind,” Gena said seriously.

  Quiti did. There was peace there. The tension was gone. “It seems to be true.”

  “You bet it’s true! Oh, Quiti, I love your hair!”

  Quiti was trying to sort this out emotionally. “That’s good. Because it’s going to grow, and gain power, and I’d like to be with you while it does.”

  “Oh, yes! I want to help it and you all I can. To see it achieve its full glory.”

  “Are you sure it didn’t tune you into what it wants? Rather than what you want? There could be a downside.”

  “If it did, I’m amenable. My life has been dull. I already know that it will never be dull with you.”

  Quiti spread her hands. “I hope it is for the best.”

  “Oh, it is. I know it.”

  They resumed motion. Gena was evidently quite satisfied, but Quiti remained uncertain. If the hair could change people’s underlying drives, what else might it do? Was it really helping her, enhancing her life, or was she a mere pawn in some larger game?

  The hairball had seemed benign. Was it really? She wished she could be sure.

  “So are we on for the duration?” Quiti asked. “I mean, for the next year?”

  “Oh, yes. I want you in my life.”

  “I am satisfied with that. But I am frankly uneasy about the way my hair seems to have affected your mind. It’s almost like a romantic relationship based on superficial attraction. It may not last.”

  “It’s not romantic. It will last. It’s clear that you have not experienced the power of your hair.”

  “Oh, I have. It turned me from suicide to boldly positive. But I’m wearing it, so its continuing power is not surprising.”

  “Hair power. I never dreamed I’d encounter anything like it, but I do like it.”

  Quiti shrugged. “If you are satisfied, so am I. If you change your mind, just let me know.”

  “I won’t change my mind. But Quiti, if you should change yours, or circumstances require you to move on, can I move with you? Continue as your friend?”

  “If you want to.” Then she thought of something. “I’ll need money. I said I’d pay my own way, and I will, but I was thinking shorter term. I’ll need to find a way to get moderate amounts without violating any laws or cheating anyone. I don’t want to sell my body, either.”

  “You could get a damn good price for your body.”

  “No.”

  Gena nodded, understanding. “Can your hair help there? Put on illusions for pay?”

  “I don’t want to attract attention to my hair. The whole point in being with you is to be able to develop whatever powers the hair has as it grows, without any authority or greedy person knowing.”

  “There is something. It’s not exactly illegal, but strictly off the record. Sometimes a trucker will give someone a long distance lift, Uber-style. There are places where they make connections. I know of one in the next town.”

  “A man could be trouble. He’d see two attractive women.”

  “Don’t I know it! But how about a woman? She might not want to ride with a male trucker, even if he offered to do it for free. Same reason you and I don’t.”

  Quiti nodded. “That might work. But that would be your contribution rather than mine. I’m trying to be financially independent, no burden to you.”

  “Maybe, maybe not. We could try it and see. You can have the money, regardless.”

  “Let’s try it once. If I don’t do my share, I won’t do it again.”

  In due course Gena pulled into the lot of an unimpressive diner. “We’re hungry anyway,” she said. “It’s lunch time. I’ve stopped here before. The food’s not great, but there’s plenty and it’s cheap.”

  “That’s the kind I need.”

  They went to the counter and ordered. Then Gena broached the matter. “Anyone need a lift east? We’re not looking for a man.”

  The proprietor studied them a moment. “There is one waiting. A child. She has to go from her father to her mother, 400 miles away. But she can be difficult. So can her dad. You’d have to meet them.”

  “Bring them here,” Gena said. “Meanwhile we’ll eat.”

  While they were waiting for the food, two men came in. They spied the two women immediately and nodded as they gave their order.

  “Crap,” Gena swore. “They’ll be hitting on us. We’ll have to back them off.”

  “I have an idea. Take your spoon and make like you’re scooping something off the table and eating it.”

  “You’re up to something.”

  “Indeed. An illusion. I hope it works.

  When the men completed their order they headed right for the women. Quiti caught the eye of one, then the other, and sent one of her prepared projections. Then she joined Gena, eating air from the table.

  The men came close and paused, staring. Then they moved on to the farthest other table without saying a word. The crisis was over.

  “What are we eating?” Gena asked.

  “Spilled vomit.”

  Gena dropped her spoon, looking momentarily sick. Then she laughed. “No wonder they changed their minds! They didn’t want to kiss our mouths.”

  “I thought that might be the case.”

  The proprietor brought their meal. “I made the call. They’ll be here soon.”

  “Thank you,” Gena said.

  Quiti rapidly packed away three quarters of it, Gena cooperating, and they were done by the time the ride seekers arrived, a man and a rather pretty girl child. The proprietor gestured to their table. “This is the pickup we want,” Quiti murmured.

  “Sit down,” Gena told them. “I’m Gena, a long haul trucker, and this is my companion Quiti. We’re following the highway due east for a thousand miles. You need a ride?”

  “Maybe,” the man said. “This is Fifi. She’s five. She doesn’t much like strangers.” And the girl was staring rebelliously at them.

  Quiti caught her eye. “T
ouch my hair,” she said.

  Surprised, Fifi did. Her eyes widened. Then she got up and hugged Quiti, crying tears of relief.

  “We like children,” Gena explained. “Children like us.”

  Amazed, the man did not even ask for references. He gave Gena a card with the delivery address, and money to cover the trip. “Her bag is in the car. She has a sandwich and pop. I will call her mother.” He departed, leaving the child with them.

  Soon they were on their way, Fifi sitting on the wide seat between the two of them. Now she was talkative, interested in the truck and the passing scenery. The single touch of Quiti’s hair had transformed her. Satisfied, Quiti positioned herself to intercept as much sunlight as possible. She felt better when she did that, knowing it was the hair sharing its satisfaction.

  Gena answered the child’s myriad questions, and Quiti realized that though the woman was now prepared to live with the situation with her daughter, she remained hungry for a daughter’s company. This child was that, for the moment.

  “You like the sun,” Fifi said to Quiti.

  “I do. It’s good for my hair.”

  “Stay in the sun,” the child advised.

  In three hours they stopped for a snack and restroom facilities, especially for the child. Gena saw to her in the lady’s room, not leaving her alone in any strange place. She was obviously experienced with daughters. She bought her an ice cream cone. Quiti didn’t comment.

  Then Gena broached something. “Do you care to drive, Quiti? It’s okay in this state as long as you’re competent, and I’m with you.”

  Surprised, Quiti agreed. “I can, once you familiarize me with the controls and the rules of the road. If you really want to trust your expensive rig to me.”

  “I’m ready. It’s insured.”

  So Quiti drove, quickly mastering the nuances. She glanced at her companions, and discovered Fifi sitting on Gena’s lap, resting against her bosom. Soon she was asleep—and so was Gena.

  That was why Quiti was driving. To let Gena have her heart’s desire for the occasion.

  It was nine in the evening when they drew to a halt by Fifi’s mother’s house. Her mother was standing outside, waiting for them. Fifi ran to hug her, bursting with news about the wonderful big truck trip. “I’ve never seen her like this,” the woman confided. “I feared the trip would be traumatic for her.”

  “She was no trouble at all,” Gena said.

  “She liked my hair,” Quiti said.

  “Hair!” Fifi exclaimed happily. “Sun!”

  The three adults exchanged a glance, bemused, albeit for different reasons.

  “You girls must have something to eat,” the mother said. “I’m so pleased you made the trip easy for Fifi.”

  So they had a late supper with her and the child, and it was good. When it was done, and time to move on, Fifi hugged and kissed each of them. “I hope it’s you again, when I have to go back to Daddy,” she said.

  Gena considered. “It might be. We go back and forth, depending on the loads.”

  “I’ll give you the schedule,” the mother said. “It will be spring, after school closes. She spends the summers with him. She loves it, except for the traveling with strangers.”

  “They’re not strangers,” Fifi said.

  “We’ll try,” Gena promised. Quiti knew she was serious.

  Back on the road, Gena driving, Quiti with the money, they discussed it again. “You were satisfied with the deal,” Quiti said. It wasn’t a question.

  “You know it. To hold a child again—that’s heaven.”

  “Next time it may not be a child.”

  “A woman would do, not that I would hug her. Or even a man, if your hair tamed him.”

  “How do you feel about being with a man, just in passing?”

  “I’m amenable, if I like him. Just so long as the decision is mine, not his. You?”

  “I’m satisfied to wait, at least until my hair fills out. As far as I’m concerned, this is all about the hair.”

  “Fair enough. If we transport a man, and he’s interesting, I’ll take him on. But you, with your youth and figure—you may have to turn him off you and onto me.”

  “I think I can do that, or rather the hair can. With luck he’ll never know he’s been swapped.”

  They laughed together. They understood each other.

  Then Quiti remembered her promise to send news to her parents. As she rode, she focused on Speedo. She hadn’t originally figured on going this far away from home. Could she reach him? Yes! He had accepted her departure, but his love for her remained. It made him an eager receptor for her mental beacon. Hairpower here, she thought. I am far away but in good hands. I will send again another day. That was it, but she trusted it was enough.

  Gena drove to midnight, then parked in a rest area. “No sense pushing it to the danger point,” Gena said. “Unless I’m in a hurry because of a deadline, I prefer to drive safely. There’s a bed behind the seat; do you want it?”

  “It’s your rig. Should we take turns guarding it?”

  “I sleep light. I also think that your hair can be alert.”

  “Yes. It will wake me if there is any near approach.”

  “I love your hair.”

  They took turns using the facility, then Gena slept on the little bed and Quiti stretched out on the seat.

  It had been a remarkable day, but a good one. A very good one.

  Chapter 6:

  Hair Skirt

  They delivered the tools to the machine shop, then picked up a cargo of mattresses destined for Florida. Each day Quiti sent a message to Speedo, reassuring him and her folks that she was well and happy. She did not say exactly where she was, lest someone or some computer catch on and check the location of Gena’s rig, but she did let him know she was on the Eastern coast.

  Three weeks had passed on the road, and Quiti’s hair was now four inches long. Gena had developed almost as much of a passion for exploring the new hair power parameters as Quiti herself had.

  There was no immediate load or destination available in Florida, but they were glad for the time off. They parked not far from a beach, and went swimming in their underwear. There were other vacationers on the beach, but any who looked curious lost their interest after meeting Quiti’s gaze.

  The hair absolutely loved the Florida sun. Quiti was concerned about getting burned on her bare shoulders, but discovered that the hair was fluffing out, intercepting the sunlight before much of it struck her skin. Was this to protect her from sunburn, or to deliver more energy to the hair? Did it matter?

  What would the hair think of the salt water? Quiti had discovered early on that the hair did not like to be washed. It repelled water and soap, so that none touched her scalp. When she had gotten caught briefly in a summer shower, the hair had not gotten wet. Now she damn well proposed to swim. Would the hair freak out?

  “Last one in’s a rotten tomato!” Gena cried as she splashed into the shallow water. Quiti saw how great she looked nearly nude. But of course Quiti herself looked good, per one of the myriad gifts of the hair.

  She had already lost the rotten tomato wager, but she was glad to join the fun. She waded to her waist, then held her breath, closed her eyes, and dropped the rest of herself into the sea.

  Something was wrong. There was no water pressing against her face. She opened her eyes and discovered a translucent shield in front of her head, holding back the water. Her eyes were dry, and she could breathe.

  Yet she really was under the surface. It was the hair, angling down from her forehead and forward from the sides, like the frame of a face mask. Not only did it keep the water at bay where it was, it seemed to project a field that blocked the water, letting only oxygen through. An effective gill.

  She could breathe!

  Amazed, she put her feet down and stood up, emerging from the water. Gena was there. “Quiti! Are you all right? You went under and didn’t come up!”

  “I am more than all right,�
�� Quiti said. “Gena, I can breathe underwater!”

  “Without gills?”

  “Yes. The hair is like an oxygen mask. I’ll show you.”

  She descended again, and Gena went with her, watching closely. The woman slowly poked a finger through the glass-like field. It did not pop; it simply surrounded the finger, sealing to it.

  Back above the surface, both of them were excited. “You can’t drown!” Gena said. “It repels the water, but lets you breathe. It’s a chemical filter.”

  “I wonder how far it goes? Could I swim any distance underwater?”

  “Let’s find out, girl! If you were aboard a cruise ship and it sank, you’d sure want to know about this!”

  “I sure would,” Quiti agreed.

  “We’ll go out to deeper water. I’ll swim on top, you swim below. If you have any trouble, grab me and I’ll haul you back to shallow water.”

  They tried it. Quiti stroked strongly, having more than enough strength. She readily outdistanced her companion, and had to slow the pace. It seemed she could swim indefinitely in this manner.

  “How well will you swim when your hair is full length?” Gena asked, awed.

  “I hope to find out.”

  They were now a fair distance out from the beach. “Uh-oh,” Gena said.

  “What?”

  “I see a fin.”

  “A fin?”

  “There’s a shark circling us.”

  Quiti felt a chill. “We can’t out-swim that.”

  “We can’t,” Gena agreed. “And I left my knife behind.”

  What to do? “I can make my skin hard. Maybe too hard even for that to bite.”

  “What if you’re wrong?”

  “Maybe I can reach its mind. Stay behind me. I mean, so I’m between you and it.”

  “Quiti, you’ve got no call to sacrifice yourself!”

  “I’m not. The hair’s not afraid, so neither am I.” Quiti oriented on the circling fin, then swam directly toward it. Go away, fish-face, before you annoy me, she thought at it.

  The shark actually looked startled. Then it turned tail, literally, and fled.

  “But let’s not push our luck,” Gena said, and stroked for the shore.

  Quiti followed, relieved.