Hair Power

by Piers Anthony

  “Oh, I know,” Idola said. “I’m not a hair suit. But maybe if I stick close to you, some of it’ll rub off on me. I can feel your minds when they read mine.”

  “Maybe,” Tillo said weakly. Quiti knew from his mind that no girl of any age had ever found him interesting for any reason, and the idea of associating with this one excited him.

  “Come on. I’ll introduce you to my folks.” Idola grabbed Tillo’s hand and led him out of the house and toward her own, which was not far. He went quite willingly, and Quiti and Roque followed, bemused by this development.

  Her family was working in their back yard. “Auntie Quiti’s back!” Idola called. “And she’s married! And they adopted a son my age!”

  The parents took it in stride like the tolerant folk they were.

  “Here’s Tillo,” Idola said. “He’s my new boyfriend.”

  Quiti froze, caught by surprise by this additional aspect.

  “You’re too young,” her mother said, smiling.

  “Well, I’m adopted. He’s adopted. So I adopted him as my boyfriend.” She turned and kissed Tillo in a decidedly romantic fashion; he was similarly frozen.

  “Idola, you hardly know him!”

  “Sure I do.” But now the girl paused, remembering that she couldn’t tell anyone else about the hair suits, which was the real basis for her attraction.

  Quiti thought fast. Bring her butterflies, she thought to the boy. But not to eat.

  Tillo raised one hand and summoned butterflies. They flocked to him, many kinds, landing on the hand. Then they moved across to Idola, perching on her lifted hand and on her head, decorating her hair. It was an impressive and delightful little show.

  Her mother threw up her hands, knowing how her daughter could be, and having more than a hint of how her daughter’s friends could be. Then butterflies came to her too. The adoption logic might be strained, but it was allowed to stand. The gift of butterflies was a gesture that could not be denied. Idola had a boyfriend.

  The upshot was that instead of parking Desiree at Gena’s house, they parked Tillo. Instead of taking Tillo to Quiti’s neighborhood, they took Desiree.

  “But be on guard,” Quiti told Tillo as they parted. “There’s an ambush in the making. We don’t know exactly where it will strike; it could be here.”

  “I’ll be alert,” he agreed, more interested in having a real live girlfriend than in the follies of the authorities.

  Speedo was waiting for them, having been alerted by Quiti’s thought. Then he met Desiree. She was 21, close to the age Quiti had been when they were close, and attractive. He was now 18, of age. He hesitated, evidently fascinated.

  “Yes, you may kiss her,” Quiti said, laughing.

  Speedo didn’t laugh. He kissed Desiree, and the contact was sexually charged. She was shaken by the gesture, as Tillo had been with Idola, but hardly averse. She had not touched a man since entering the government program, because of the AIDS and her desire to go straight. Speedo was a handsome and virile young man who knew and liked Quiti as Desiree did; they had that in common. The sudden ramifications of this encounter were another surprise.

  But it made a certain sense. Speedo knew that Quiti was now married, so was off the table, even if she did grant him one sexual event per her promise. Desiree could take or leave sex, but was highly competent at it. If she wanted to do it for fun instead of money, why not? Yet she hesitated because of her condition. She didn’t want to expose another man to AIDS.

  You’re in remission, Quiti thought to her, amused. Not infectious.

  “Let’s get to know each other,” Desiree said to Speedo. “There are things about me you may want to know.”

  “Yes,” he agreed enthusiastically. Whether that attitude would remain once he learned Desiree’s history would simply have to be seen. Probably it would.

  “Be careful. We may be about to walk into an ambush, and it could affect you.”

  Both Speedo and Desiree laughed. “Those ambushers don’t know what they’re getting into,” Desiree said, and Speedo nodded. They smiled at each other, sharing the secret. Trying to ambush hair suits was an exercise in folly.

  Quiti left the two of them to get to know each other better while she took Roque to meet her family. Even the limited amount she could afford to tell her parents was likely to shake them, but they would see that she had found a worthy man.

  “This is where the trap is baited,” Roque said, reading the ambiance.

  “Then let’s spring it. It’s time.”

  As they approached the house, a man appeared wielding a cell phone. Quiti touched his mind. He was a spy, set to catch her if she ever showed up again. They still wanted her, as if there had ever been doubt. The police would be here in minutes.

  She turned to Roque. “We have a choice,” she said, repeating a dialogue they had rehearsed. “We can fade out, collect Desiree, and get the hell out of Dodge City. Or we can tough it out with the locals and make our stand.”

  “We can’t let them confine us,” he said. “We still have to find the hairballs.”

  “So we do.” Then she did a double take, departing from the script. “The hairballs—I know where they are!”

  “Where? Why haven’t they shown up, since they promised that we’d see them again?”

  “They’ve been with us all along. We’re wearing them.” She touched her hair.

  “You’re right,” he said, amazed, touching his own hair. “They seeded us with their essence, and now they are part of us.”

  Isn’t that right? she thought at her hair.

  It is right, the hair agreed. The original seeders are gone, as they could not endure long without proper hosts, but their spirits are with us, and you. We are hybrids.

  “What do you want of us?” she asked aloud.

  To be our ambassadors on Earth. To represent our interests before your people, so that we may exchange ideas and technology on an equal basis.

  “You want us to set up an alien embassy? A place considered part of your planet, sacrosanct, that will not be intruded upon?”

  Yes.

  “That would require a formal building, and a staff to operate its offices, diplomatic relations with the several nations of Earth. A big project.”

  Yes.

  “And of course we’ll do it.”

  “We already have several staff members lined up,” Roque said. “Your friend Gena, and maybe her daughter Idola. Also Desiree and Speedo. I think they’ll be glad to serve.”

  But Quiti had one more question for the hair. She had learned to look gift horses in the mouth. “Why did you choose us?”

  Four qualities of character, in ascending order of importance: Need, Tolerance, Compassion, Constancy.

  She reviewed those in her mind. The three of them had been in dire need at the time of encountering the hairballs, so that checked, and the hairballs had delivered in spades. Tolerance? None of them had been repulsed by the appearance of the aliens, accepting their right to be as they were. Compassion? All of them had tried to help the creatures, who seemed to be in distress, not knowing that no help was needed. But constancy? Their lives had changed wildly, as had their relationships. Everything had shifted, and the future remained uncertain. That did not seem to fit.

  We wish to establish diplomatic relations with the human kind on an equal basis. To do that we must win human respect, which in turn means showing equivalent power. But most humans are not emotionally equipped to handle power. Money is power to an extent. Poor humans who gain windfall riches are poor again within five years in more than nine of ten cases. Political power is more durable, but tends to corrupt, leading to mischief for both those who wield it and those who are wielded by it, as myriad dictatorships demonstrate. We need representatives who will not be corrupted by their power. Those were difficult to find.

  Quiti saw the sense if it. The three of them had never sought power or expected it, but they remained decent people despite acquiring powers unknown to their kind befo
re. The aliens had chosen shrewdly.

  But there was not time to ponder these revelations at the moment. A siren was approaching. “First there may be some pyrotechnics, as we demonstrate that we are not to be trifled with,” Quiti said grimly. “We may have to show our powers openly.”

  “We are ready,” Roque agreed. “We’ll try to avoid violence.”

  Quiti hoped that was really the case. Much depended on the nature of the opposition they would face. Pacifism was not always effective.

  They walked toward the house. The door opened and Quiti’s mother appeared. “Quiti! Get away! It’s a trap!”

  Quiti was about to say that they knew it, but paused, realizing that it was more than they had anticipated. Suddenly they knew from Speedo and Desiree’s minds, to which they had remained attuned in the background, that they were in trouble. What appeared to be a swat team was coming for them. At the same time, another team was going after Tillo in the other city. This was an elaborate sweep, exquisitely coordinated, preventing them from helping their friends. They were not just going after Quiti, Roque, and Tillo; they were taking their friends too, as hostages against any possible resistance.

  “The idiots are getting smarter,” Roque murmured. “They’re playing dirty.”

  “I’ll advise the others,” Quiti said. “You work on this team.”

  She sent a thought to both Speedo and Desiree: The trap is sprung. Stay put. Do not resist. Merely question them. Stall. We’ll be there soon.

  Got it, Speedo replied.

  Then she tuned to Tillo. Do the unexpected. Summon animals, but don’t attack unless you have to. Merely distract. Stall them. We’ll handle the main thrust here.

  I’m on it.

  Then she waited while Roque tuned to the squad coming after them. It was no longer necessary to catch a person’s eye, but it did facilitate the implanting of illusions. During this pause she followed Tillo’s situation as if standing behind him.

  He was with Gena and Idola. “Do not move,” he told them. They, knowing his nature, obeyed. He was new to them, but they knew him through Quiti: a hair suit.

  The swat team came to stand before them. Five tough looking men. “We’re taking you in, the three of you,” the team leader said. “It will be better if you don’t try to resist.”

  “We wouldn’t think of it,” Tillo said. “We’re just a woman and two children here.” However, the team had no idea what they were up against. They would soon learn. “But what about the animals?”

  “The what?”

  “The birds. The insects. The snakes.”

  The team members looked around. Wrens, robins, hawks, and an eagle were perching on nearby trees and shrubbery, and other birds were flying in. Several snakes were slithering close, some poisonous. A thick cloud of mosquitoes was forming.

  “The pets,” Tillo added.

  Now dogs, cats, a potbellied pig, and several sheep were coming in. The animals formed a wide circle around the team.

  “What gives?” the leader asked, realizing that something odd was occurring.

  “They won’t attack unless you do,” Tillo said. “Fair is fair.”

  The leader took an angry step toward him. The circle of animals abruptly constricted, and all the creatures focused on the team, their eyes almost glowing. The mosquito cloud hovered closer, ferociously dense, now abetted by a swarm of bees. They were plainly ready to move in.

  “Those mosquitoes look pretty hungry,” Tillo remarked.

  They did indeed. The men were armed and armored, but they were not prepared for this particular threat. Idola tittered.

  “We have a situation,” the leader said into his personal mike.

  It was a standoff. It would hold for a while. Quiti had to return her attention to her own situation.

  The swat team stood before them. “You’re under arrest,” the leader said.

  “Whatever for?” Quiti inquired innocently, putting on her teen girl look with an accidental flash of cleavage.

  “Disrupting the peace.”

  She frowned cutely and the flash deepened. “We wouldn’t think of doing a horrible thing like that.”

  “Well then.” The leader relaxed marginally, but the mission had not changed.

  Do the unexpected, she thought to Roque.

  Statue of Liberty, he agreed.

  They went into action, mentally coordinated. Quiti’s form appeared to change. She became a human sized Statue of Liberty, the 150 foot tall figure reduced to five and a half feet without sacrificing any grandeur, complete with spiked crown, tablet, and torch, her body more shapely than the original. Roque became Adonis, enhanced by musculature that would have done any comic book superhero credit. Both wore seeming capes that swung back to reveal their beautifully naked bodies.

  The team members stared, and not just because of the seeming magic of the remarkable transformations. Quiti’s natural figure was enough to stun the average man at ten feet, and these testosterone charged men were by no means average. Apart from her potent physical endowments, her torch actually seemed to be burning. But mainly, how could they arrest the Statue of Liberty, the ultimate symbol of American values? Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free... The statue was conceived as a gesture of international friendship, and became a world symbol of freedom. How could that symbol be abused?

  But the swat team had a job to do, and would not be halted long by such a vision.

  The unexpected.

  Liberty and Adonis opened their mouths and sang, loudly, clearly, and passionately:

  Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord:

  He is trampling out the vintage where the grapes of wrath are stored;

  He has loosed the fateful lightning of his terrible swift sword,

  His truth is marching on.

  At the reference to the sword, a bolt of lightning seemed to flash from it, and bright sparks radiated from the points of Liberty’s crown as her torch flared. It was the “Battle Hymn of the Republic,” the words by Julia Ward Howe, feelingly sung, soprano and tenor.

  The swat team members stared. Then the leader stepped forward, turned smartly to face the others, lifted his arms, and conducted them as they broke into song, joining Liberty and Adonis.

  Glory, glory hallelujah!

  Glory, glory hallelujah!

  Glory, glory hallelujah!

  His truth is marching on.

  Now the neighbors were coming out, amazed by the performance, along with Quiti’s parents. They joined the chorus and fell in behind the swat team, which had become an honor guard.

  Quiti and Roque turned in place and marched down the street, singing the second stanza. The swat team followed, singing and marching in step. The neighbors joined in behind, singing and marching. They all seemed to remember the words, culled from the common mindset.

  A news helicopter appeared, having spied the activity. What was going on?

  They came to where Speedo, Desiree, and their escort waited. Those folk smoothly joined the ensemble and the song.

  They continued along the street, preempting traffic, singing one stanza after another. Folk poured out from every house and building to join the throng. It had become a patriotic parade. More copters appeared, tracking the impromptu spectacle.

  They came at last to the city hall in the center of town. The crowd spread out, surrounding it, now thousands strong. The mayor and his staff emerged, thinking it was some kind of demonstration. He was correct, but he had underestimated its power. The song surrounded him.

  In the beauty of the lilies Christ was borne across the sea,

  With a glory in his bosom that transfigures you and me;

  As he died to make men holy, let us die to make men free,

  While God is marching on.

  After the final refrain, they halted both the march and the song. The crowd stood, silent at last.

  “And to what do we owe the honor of this remarkable serenade?” the mayor ask
ed, not one to be daunted by a demonstration.

  “We have come to establish an Embassy representing the alien Hair Brains,” Quiti said, reverting to her natural form, modestly surrounded by her cloak of hair. “We need to appropriate your city hall as a temporary site until the formal one can be authorized and constructed.”

  The helicopters were hovering, recording the event for all the world to see, live. Reporters were making notes for phenomenal news stories. It was a highly public moment.

  “Of course,” the mayor said. He knew which way the wind was blowing. He was also conscious of the immense positive impact of the first alien world embassy, set up in this town. The local recession would be vaporized, and this region would become the center of global attention. Even a hoax would be great publicity.

  The throng cheered. That included the swat teams. If any of their members realized that their thoughts had been subtly adjusted, they did not care to advertise it.

  There remained formidable details to put in place, but Quiti knew that the corner had been turned. The authorities would not again try to interfere with this particular new order. Detente with the hair brains would be established. She looked forward to learning more about them.

  We chose well, Quiti’s hair thought.

  “Yes you did,” she agreed without false modesty, and Roque nodded.

  They had an Embassy to organize.

  Hallelujah!

  Author’s Note

  On August 6, 2015, I turned 81. That seemed like a fair accomplishment, because the average American man is several years dead by that age. On the 8th I made out with my wife, gratified that I was still capable of it. We’ve been married 59 years and will make 60 if death does not us part. On the 9th we had a visit from my collaborator on Virtue Inverted, Kenneth Kelly; that one’s about a boy’s adventures traveling with two tough men, and his relationship with a truly lovely and nice vampire girl, Virtue. On the 10th I had major dental surgery, with 11 teeth removed and 7 implants put in; with luck, that should end my chronic dental problems, as tooth implants don’t decay. They are expensive; I will be most annoyed if I don’t get at least a decade’s use out of them, so I don’t want to die too soon. Meanwhile I’m on the dread soft diet, unable to chew because I have no upper teeth. It’s a nuisance, but part of what it takes to get my mouth in order.