Virtual Mode

by Piers Anthony

  He was hungry again, and hoped she would bring more of her strange food. He knew that she could not act with complete freedom, because she was young and had to maintain the semblance of her normal life-style. She seemed to be resourceful, and she was certainly healthy. How could it be that she would either have minimal impact in her Mode, or soon die?

  He thought of the night just past. He had expected to be alone. Evidently she had sneaked out to join him for a while, then stayed longer than intended. He was grateful for that; he had been cold, and her warm little body had been a great comfort.

  More than that. It was clear that she knew the effect such a body could have on a man, and she had addressed the matter forthrightly, considering their lack of a common vocabulary. She had set his hand on her head, breast, and hip, identifying what was a permissible touch and what was not. Then she had slept against him, trusting him. He liked that.

  Of course he had not touched even the part of her where the proscription was vague. It was not that her breasts were inadequate; they were extremely nice, being neither insignificant nor ponderous. They had the filling perkiness of youth. It was that he could tell by her nervousness and tightness that she was afraid. She had offered him somewhat, hoping that he would be satisfied with that, but even that much was not her desire.

  Why, then, had she come at all? Because he was cold, and she wanted to warm him. She was generous despite her fear. He liked that too; in fact, he was quite impressed.

  But that was not quite all. She had come dressed in only the sheerest of garments, no protection against the cold. No protection against any inclination he might have had. She had made sure he knew it, by causing his hand to touch it. Her pulsing breast might as well have been bare. Was it to tease him? No, for she had not labeled that breast "No."

  Why had she placed herself at what she surely believed was serious risk, when she could have avoided it by wearing more substantial clothing?

  Perhaps she had come out on a whim, and not thought to dress more appropriately. She had intended to sleep in her warm house, but stepped out to check on him; then, finding him cold, she had wanned him. Yes, that would explain it. She was young, and therefore somewhat foolish, not thinking things through. If he remained here another night, and if she came again, she would be better clothed.

  She was obviously the one he had come for, and he liked her very well. He had maintained a mental blank in lieu of a picture of the kind of woman he sought, but Colene was far superior to whatever he might have envisioned. As soon as he knew enough of her language to make his mission clear, he would ask her whether she would like to return with him to his reality and be his wife. He would of course have to make clear the nature of the relationship, which was no ordinary marriage. She would have to understand that if she turned out to be unable to withstand depletion, he would have to divorce her despite still loving her. He could appreciate how that might annoy her.

  Then the brutal realization struck him. How could he even risk taking this sweet maiden to be depleted? She was evidently no special type who would be immune to the effect. And even if that were not the case, how could be bring her back—when he could not return himself? He had lost the key!

  Dispirited, he returned to the blankets and buried himself under them. The cold was not merely of the body now.

  He returned to his review of recent events. What else was there to do?

  So Darius went to the alien Mode, armed with the signal chiplet and a pack with supplies of food and water, because he had no certainty of finding either quickly in the other reality.

  The actual process was simple enough, from his perspective. Just a matter of standing in the circle that marked the focal point of the Chip. Pwer did something—and Darius found himself standing at the edge of a level place, surrounded by what were evidently domiciles. But what oddities they were! Each had many crystalline windows, and peaked roofs, and bits of vegetation around. The level place sent out squared-off offshoots which reached right to the edges of the structures, and sometimes right into them, as if feeding on them.

  He stepped out onto the level region. It was completely hard, as if fashioned of stone. But it was not stone, and not packed dirt. He squatted, touching it with his finger. Less hard than stone, actually, but still impressive.

  There was the blaring of a hom. Darius looked up and saw some kind of creature charging him. It was not a dragon, for the smoke puffed from its tail, and it seemed to have no mouth. But it was definitely aggressive.

  He scrambled erect and stepped back. The creature charged on by him. There was the sound of a human shout. A human arm projected from the side of the creature and made a gesture with one lifted finger. Apparently there was a person inside who remained alive.

  Uncertain how to respond, Darius emulated the gesture. He signaled the creature with one finger.

  The creature squealed as it turned and slewed back toward him. Darius retreated farther. It halted, and mouths on its sides abruptly opened. Human men emerged, in unfamiliar apparel. They converged on Darius, shouting incomprehensibly. They looked angry.

  He tried to withdraw, as he did not want trouble, but the men attacked him. He was so surprised at this uncivilized behavior that he invoked an elementary pacification spell—and it had no effect.

  Then he knew: this was one of the realities in which magic was not operative. At least not the type he knew. He was defenseless.

  He tried to explain that he sought no quarrel, but his words seemed only to enrage the young men further. They struck at him with their fists, knocked him down, and kicked him. One of them grabbed at his pack and wrenched it away. Then they sent him rolling down the incline toward what might have been a stream.

  His head collided glancingly with a rock. His consciousness faded.

  AFTER a period, the maiden came again, bearing food. This time she was somewhat better prepared: she had a box and a jug and a bowl and a curious spoon. She opened the box and poured some bits of something into the bowl, then opened the jug and poured something he recognized—milk—into the bowl with it. She gave him the bowl and spoon, and made gestures as of using the spoon to eat the peculiar mixture.

  He tried it. He dipped out both milk and food-bits and put the spoon in his mouth. The bits were crunchy, and the milk not sufficient to slake his thirst, but of course this was only one spoonful.

  Colene smiled. Evidently this was the proper way to do it. She was now attired in a completely different outfit: a heavy shirt, solid cloth shoes, and some kind of tight blue trousers. No woman in his reality would allow herself to be seen in such clothing, for it was disturbingly similar to nakedness from the waist down. The muscle of her posterior flexed visibly as she walked, and there was no looseness at all in the region of her groin. The contrast between her decorous upper section and indecorous nether section was startling.

  She sat on the floor to watch him eat, folding her legs so that her feet were crossed and her thighs were wide apart. He tried to avoid looking at this embarrassing display, but he could not do so without turning his face completely to the side. The worst of it was that the maiden seemed to be completely oblivious to her erotic display. Her manner suggested that her concern was only with his consumption of the milk-and-bits concoction.

  He tried to be similarly oblivious, but her spread crotch was directly in the line of sight of his bowl and spoon, and his gaze could not help but center on it. There was no doubt: she wore no diaper beneath those alarming trousers. He was getting a reaction. He felt a flush coming to his face.

  "Trouble?" she inquired, becoming aware of his distress. "Food bad?"

  How could he explain, without similarly embarrassing her? But she insisted on knowing. Finally he set down bowl and spoon, put his two hands on her projecting knees, and pushed them together.

  For a moment she was confused, then startled. Then she burst out laughing. She laughed so hard that she fell over backwards, drawing her legs up against her body and kicking her feet from the k
nees. This was no improvement; not only was her indecorous region in view, it was flexing. His face was now burning.

  Finally she exhausted her mirth. Then she kneeled beside him, kissed him on the cheek, and gave him another lesson in clothing and culture. "Blue jeans," she said, touching the tights. "Okay. No show bad."

  Maybe so, by her definition, but the suggestion was nevertheless overpowering.

  She pointed to his crotch. "You. Sit. Same."

  That was true, but he was a man. Also, his clothing was considerably looser in that region, revealing no private contours.

  Colene was unconvinced. "Oh, Darius—you make me laugh."

  True, he had made her laugh—and he had experienced no depletion. But he realized that was because'magic was not operative in this reality. Here, it seemed, the transfer of emotion did not cost the source. Indeed, he had not even been trying to make her laugh; she had done it on her own.

  That gave him something to think about. Was it possible that she was a self-generating joy person? If so, she was perfect! But he could not presume too much; her ready laughter might merely be because her level was high, and could be as readily depleted as that of any other person.

  At least he had learned something: in this reality, the mere fact of physical material covering a region was considered sufficient discretion. Her entire genital region had been exposed in outline, but because there was opaque material between her flesh and his vision, she had no concern. That explained her action of the night too: her breast had been quite tangible to his touch, soft and warm, yet because there had been a thin barrier of material, she considered it no exposure. Apparently she believed that he could have no sexual excitement if he saw or touched the outline, rather than the direct flesh. Perhaps that was the way of men here, being unmoved by views that would have maddened men of his own reality. He would school himself to react accordingly, difficult as it would be.

  Now he was glad he had been cautious during the night!

  Had a woman of his own reality come to him in the manner Colene had, lightly garbed, sharing his bed, and placing his hand on parts of her body, it could only have been because she wished very much to fornicate with him. Her Yes and No would have been merely indications of the approach he was to make: first kissing, then fondling, and finally copulation if she did not change her mind. It would have indicated phenomenal trust in him, for men were not known for diffidence once embarked on the exploration of female flesh. He had assumed that her actions were not identical in significance to those of women of his own reality, and made no attempt at all to pursue a sexual experience. This, as it had turned out, had been the correct course.

  But how would it have been if he had not been greatly depleted from exposure, thirst, and hunger? At that time, the thing he needed most had been warmth. She had brought him that, and it had enabled him to sleep in comfort and to recover more of his well-being. A sexual effort might have been beyond his means. So he had taken her warmth, and nothing else, gambling that her ways differed from those of women in his own reality. Had he been robust, he surely would have interpreted her actions as an invitation. In that he would have been gravely mistaken, as he now understood, after seeing her way with clothing.

  He had, he knew, been lucky.

  "You. Think." She tapped her head as she spoke, watching him.

  "Yes. I. Think." He tapped his own head. That was a new word, but clear in this context.

  "Think. What?"

  "What" was a general query term he had learned to use. When he pointed to an object and said "What?" she would name the object. Now she was inquiring what he was thinking.

  How could he tell her? It was complicated, and he lacked the vocabulary, and perhaps the information would affront her. "No," he said, smiling to show that this was intended as a positive negation rather than bad feeling.

  "Yes," she said insistently. He was beginning to realize that she did not respond well to "No" when she wanted something. "Tell. Me."

  He was obliged to try. He cast about for some way, and saw a small inert figure in the corner, in the likeness of a very young girl. There was something common to both realities! Like all who were serious about magic, she had effigies.

  Serious about magic? But there was no magic here, as far as he had been able to ascertain! He had been making another potentially dangerous assumption.

  "Try," he agreed. He pointed to the effigy. "What?"

  Colene looked. "Doll," she said, picking it up. She cradled it as if it were a baby. "Play."

  Play? Was that what they called sympathetic magic? No, probably it meant something quite different. He would have to be extremely careful about that term, until he was sure of its nature. "Doll. Me."

  She gave him the effigy. He held it with his left hand, and extended his right hand. "Doll. Me."

  Colene considered momentarily, then went to the corner. There, in a box, was another figure. This one was male. Good.

  She gave him the second doll. He held up the male. "Me." Then the female. "You."

  She nodded. She was paying close attention.

  He put the male down and covered it with a corner of a blanket. Then he brought the female, as if she were walking. She came to lie beside the male.

  "Last night," Colene said.

  "Night," he agreed; that seemed to be the time of darkness. But he made sure. He waved his hand, indicating their surroundings. "What?"

  "Day. Light."

  "Night Light," he said, pairing the opposites.

  "No. Night. Day. Dark. Light. Night-Dark. Day-Light."

  After a moment they got it straight. This was Day, and the time of sleeping was Night.

  He indicated the dolls. "Day. No. Night. Yes."

  She nodded again. "You. Me. Night." There was no doubt of her interest.

  Now he needed to convey the concept of his home reality. That might be impossible. "You. Me. Things. Here." He gestured, trying to show themselves and their surroundings. "Day. Night. Day. Night. There." He tried to indicate something far away.

  Colene said something, seeming to understand. He hoped that was the case. "Here." He touched the two dolls. He moved the arm of the male to touch the female's head section. "Yes." Then her chest region. "Maybe." Finally her leg. "No." After that he put them close together without motion.

  Colene nodded. "Us. Last night."

  Us. Evidently the two of them. "Yes." Then he made the faraway gesture. "There." He moved the dolls to another place. Then he repeated the action between them. But this time the male doll did not sleep. Instead it became more active, covering the female.

  She still seemed to understand, but was not concerned. "You. Me. Here," she said firmly. "No. There."

  Clear enough. She understood that in his Mode, she could not expect to be left alone at night. But in her Mode, the local customs prevailed.

  DAYS passed. Each night Colene came to share her warmth with him, though she brought another blanket that sufficed against the cold. He held her and did no more, though his strength was returning and he did desire her. She was young, he reminded himself, probably not more than five years into nubility, but enticing.

  They continued to talk, and he learned enough of her language so that in due course they could cover more sophisticated topics. Now he could tell her where he had come from, and what his mission had been—and what had happened. Their dialogue was extended and fraught with misunderstandings and missing terms, but in essence it was this: "So you came all the way here from your fantasy world to marry me?" she asked. "Only you got mugged and lost your ticket home?"

  "This is too simple," he protested. "I came here to discover whether you were right to marry. But this is uncertain. Now it does not matter, since I can not return."

  "And am I?"

  She cut so quickly to her aspects that he often had to pause to follow them. "Are you right to marry? I am not sure, but I am hopeful."

  "What would make you sure?"

  "That is complicated to tell. But the
re is no need, since I will die here."

  "Why will you die?"

  "Because I can not endure without magic. I have no way here to support myself, and soon you will tire of bringing me food. Already I feel the depletion of my separation from my reality. When it becomes too great, I will seek as easy a death as I can manage."

  "You hurt, and you will die?"

  "Yes. I am not like you. But I thank you for the great comfort you have given me."

  She looked at him intently. "You are not joking, are you?"

  "The King of Laughter does not joke." This was hardly a precise translation of his role in his own Mode, but it was what she best related to.

  "If you were going back, would you take me with you?"

  "If I could return, I would want to do that. But only if I knew that it was right, and that you wished to. Marriage to Hlahtar is no easy matter."

  "Even though I am only fourteen?"

  Darius was startled. "I thought you were older! Unless our years differ."

  "I don't think they do. Everything you have told me suggests that your world is the same as mine, except for the way you live. So does it matter?"

  "In my reality it does not. Every person does what he chooses, if he can do it well enough. If you truly understood the requirements of the marriage, it would be honored."

  "Like having sex with you?"

  "No, marriage is not necessary for that. It is a more important commitment."

  "Because of the mergence of life forces?"

  "Yes."

  She shook her head. "You know I don't believe you."

  "Yes. I think you would believe only if you could be in my reality. What you have done for me has been most generous, since you can gain nothing in return."

  "Do you really live in a castle with many servants, and do magic?"

  "My servants usually do the magic for me. My ability is joy, not conjuring."

  "Tell me again what you do."

  "Colene, I will not be doing it any more, because—"

  "Tell me!"

  He did not understand her intensity. "I bring joy to the multitudes. I make them laugh."