Virtual Mode

CHAPTER 2—DARIUS

DARIUS woke as the maiden jumped out of bed in the wan light of dawn. For a moment he was disoriented, but it quickly came back: she was Colene, and she had come back to spend a chaste night with him, warming him with her company. He appreciated that very much.

She hurried out. She did not speak his language, unsurprisingly, but had taught him some of hers. She had made it plain that she shared her domicile with her parents, who would not understand Darius’ presence here. That too was understandable. Certainly he did not want her to be distressed before he could get to know her well enough.

He felt something cold against his ankle. It was her key. She would need that to enter her locked house. He picked it up and moved to the door.

In a moment she appeared, shivering in her pretty nightdress, her breath fogging in the chill morning air. He saw her small high breasts heaving enticingly. He extended the key. She took it and ran back the way she had come. He shut the door.

Colene. She was young, but by the same token fresh and pretty. She had courage too, and intelligence. She seemed eminently suitable. But would she want to do it? It was too soon to tell.

He had time to find out. Unless there was trouble before he did. If there was trouble, he would have to—

Then he remembered that aspect. He couldn’t! He had lost the signal key!

What was he to do? Without that key he couldn’t return. He would be locked in this reality, and he had already discovered that he was not equipped to survive here.

Well, did it really make a difference?

It was pointless, but the knowledge of his likely demise here caused him to set a higher value on his life than hitherto. With renewed interest, he reviewed the events of the last few days.

THE post of Cyng of Hlahtar was an enviable one, but it had its desperate drawback. A castle was provided, fully staffed and supplied. The Cyng’s magic was virtually limitless. As long as he performed.

It was impossible to endure alone for long; every Cyng soon was depleted. The only practical way to survive was to marry a strong, abundantly happy woman, and draw on her resources until she was depleted, and then cast her aside in favor of a new one. Because the post was prominent and the perquisites excellent, many women were willing to endure this, and it was feasible to maintain a chain of marriages indefinitely. But Darius, new to the post, had rebelled after divorcing his second wife. She was not a bad person, and they got along well, but she was depleted. He did not want to marry a series of women for their life forces, daring to love none. He wanted to marry one for love, and to remain with her for the full tenure.

The wiser heads had nodded. It was often thus with newlings; they just had to learn from experience. Once a Cyng came to proper terms with the inevitable, he generally settled down and performed adequately.

Darius went to the Cyng of Pwer. “What are my options?” he inquired.

“If you will not heed the wisdom of experience, you must learn in your own fashion,” the old man said. “You may marry for love, but you can not keep her long. She will die if you do not let her go in time. I think you will find it better to marry for other than love.”

“The Modes,” Darius said. “What are my options there?”

“The Modes are dangerous,” the man reminded him. “Of every ten folk who risk them, three do not return. Of those who do return, half do not achieve their desire. This leaves about one in three who is successful. I do not recommend this course.”

“You would have me suck the joy from endless innocent women instead?”

The Pwer shook his head. “No one forces them. They do it to escape poverty, nonentity, or pointlessness. It is a good bargain for them. They do not die, and they recover slowly after you turn them loose. It is a feasible system.”

“Not as I see it!” Darius retorted. “I see love and marriage as ennobling.”

“You are young.”

“Tell me more about the Modes. What can I expect?”

“You can expect the unexpected. Do you understand the theory of it?”

“I understand only that when I appealed to the Cyng of Mngemnt, to provide me some better way, he sent me to you for the Modes. I never heard of them before.”

“Then I will tell you in capsule what we know of them. As you surely do know, I handle the broadcasting of the magic power that enables all other magic to operate. That power must have a source. The first Cyng of Pwer found the source in the Modes. We have a number of what he termed Chips which enable us to relate to the realms beyond our own, and one of these has limitless raw power. He constructed mechanisms to harness this power and convert it to a form we can use. It is my special ability to channel it, and to keep the mechanisms operative. The Chips still relate to what seems to be an infinite number of other Modes. But we explore these others at our considerable risk. We conjecture that they are alternate realities, and that each Chip attunes to the spot where it would be in that other Mode. In many Modes that spot it empty, without even earth, water, or air, and whoever goes there immediately dies. In other Modes there is something there, but not what we like. We have brought back the bodies of those we have sent through, and they have been burned or dehydrated or mauled, as by some monster. But in some Modes there are worlds like ours, only different. By that I mean they may have a comfortable environment, and people, but those people have drastically different customs from ours. In fact, it seems that even the fundamental laws of magic differ in them, so that much of what is truth here is falsity there.”

He looked hard at Darius. “We have located a region of fairly safe Modes. But even there, the risk is as I described. Also, there seems to be imprecision in the tuning of the Chip; no person seems to go to the same other Mode that any other person has been to. Thus we can not get to know any one of them well, and it is always a serious gamble. I suggest to you that it is unwise in the extreme for you to take this gamble, because not only do you risk your own life, you risk the welfare of our society, which truly needs your ability as Cyng of Hlahtar.”

“Another can assume the post,” Darius said.

“But not one as talented as you. That is why it came to you, after the retirement of the prior Cyng of Hlahtar. You can be the best, and if we lose you, we will have only the next best, and that will hurt us all to some degree.”

He spoke truth. Darius felt guilt. But it was not enough to sway him from his purpose. “What I may gain must be worth the risk,” he said.

“Exactly what do you hope to gain?” Pwer asked sharply.

“A woman who will not be depleted by close association with me. A woman I can love and not lose. A woman I can marry and never divorce.”

“There is no such woman.”

“Not in this reality,” Darius agreed. “But elsewhere, where other fundamental rules obtain, there may be women of another nature, who can not be depleted. If I can find one of them, and bring her back here—” He broke off, alarmed. “Can I bring her back?”

“Oh, yes. If you are in contact with her when you signal for the return, she will come with you. Your problem will be finding her—and if you do, convincing her to come with you. There are several problems in that connection.”

“This has been done before?”

“Yes. Not by a Cyng of Hlahtar, but by others. They have brought back people or things. Some women have brought back babies or odd animals. But if you want to marry and love her, you must explain to her what this entails; you must not abduct her, for then she will hate you and be no true wife to you.”

“Well, of course I wouldn’t abduct her!” Darius exclaimed. “If I were inclined to treat women in that manner, I would be better off simply marrying a chain of wives here and casting them aside!”

“Precisely.”

“If that is the only problem, then certainly I will—”

“No. There is worse. We have ascertained through sometimes bitter experience that not all people or things can be taken. It seems that any person who plays a significant role in his or her or its Mode—”

“Its?”

“Some Mode-folk are sexless, and some are mechanical.”

Darius shuddered. “Go on.”

“No person of significance can be taken. Apparently there is a certain stability; a Mode will not let go of what it needs to make it what it is. This has a peculiar effect.”

“Go on,” Darius said, experiencing a chill.

“In general, only those folk who are destined to have minimal impact on their realities can be taken. It may be that their Modes know that these folk are soon to be lost anyway, and do not try to hold them.”

“Do you mean they are about to be accidentally killed?”

“Not necessarily. They may have some terminal malady. You could bring such a one here, but she would soon die anyway. Or possibly she merely is of little account, so will live but will have no significant impact. You might find that she has similarly little effect here.”

Darius was still struggling with another aspect of this. “You said their Modes know, and hold those they want. The Modes are conscious? The Modes are like people?”

“We don’t think so. It seems more like a stone that does not readily give up any of its substance. But if part of it has been cracked, a chip may be flaked off with less effort. So you will have to find a loose flake.”

Darius pondered this. A diseased woman? It would be better to take one who was about to be killed. But what kind would that be? A criminal? He did not want to marry that kind either. The prospects were dimming.

“I anticipate your next question,” Pwer said.

That was good, because Darius didn’t know what to ask next. “Yes.”

“How do you locate such a woman?” the man said. “The answer is that we can help you there. There are settings on the Chips. Not many, but enough. We can put you through to a reality that is livable, with human beings much like us, and where one is suitable. We can make that one female. We can not guarantee that she is not already married, but of course if she dies that will not matter. We can not guarantee her age or health or personality. But we can put you close to her. Not completely close, for our command of this alien device is imperfect, but in her Mode and in her vicinity. Then you can inspect her, and bring her back here with you if that seems appropriate. Which brings up your final question.” “Yes,” Darius agreed, as before. “How do you return? And the answer is that you will have a signal device, an aspect of the Chip. When you activate that, I will receive the signal, and will revert you and whatever you hold to this reality. If you do not signal within a month, I will assume you are not going to. Because you are dead or unable to signal. Without this signal we can not bring you back, because the Chip is unable to fix on you.”

So now Darius had all the information, and was not reassured. He understood perfectly how three of ten could fail to return, and three or four others would not attain their desire. But at least some did succeed. That left him hope.

“Suppose I go, and return without a woman?” he said. “Could I then go again, and perhaps that time find one?”

Pwer stared at him. “Go again? Few have been interested in that! Each time a person goes, he has about one chance in three of not returning. If you went twice, you would double your chance of that.”

“But I would also double my chance of finding what I need,” Darius pointed out.

“Perhaps. But you could not return to the same other Mode. There are too many of them, and our way is imprecise. Some few have tried to go again to the same one, but none we know of has succeeded.”

None we know of. Because some did not return. “Could that mean that they liked it there, and stayed voluntarily?”

Pwer shrugged. “It could. But it does seem doubtful. It seems more likely that they found a wholly new situation, and could not survive it. Those who did return the second time reported that their experience was just as difficult as the first time.”

“I want to do it,” Darius said. “If I lose once, I may try again. If I lose twice, I may decide to do it the conventional way, and marry the chain of women.”

Pwer sighed. “We are a free society. Your position and your need entitle you to take this foolish risk if you choose. Return tomorrow, and I will have the Chip prepared.”

“My thanks to you,” Darius said gratefully.

DARIUS got up, for he needed to urinate. The maiden had brought a pot and indicated that he should use it for such purpose. Her method of communication in this respect had been quaint: she had made a vulgar poop noise. He was not easy about this matter, but realized that it was best to oblige her desires. Surely she had reason to keep him out of sight; his limited experience here had suggested the merit of her case. So he remained confined, and did what was necessary. He used the pot and covered it.

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 warmed 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 horn. 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 knees. 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 there 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.”

“Then you are a comedian.”

“No. I do not tell funny stories or do funny things. I infuse joy directly, so that they can laugh at what merits it.”

“That’s what I don’t understand! How can you—I mean, that’s not the way it works!”

“How does it work here?”

“Each person’s pleasure and pain come from inside him. If he sees or hears something funny, he laughs and feels good. If he sees something bad, he is unhappy. If something hurts his body, he feels pain, but the pain is from his nervous system, not the other thing. If he loves or hates, the emotion is all in himself. He can’t receive it like an electric current from anyone else.”

“Physically that is true for us too. But emotionally we can transfer it. It is my post to transfer joy to others.”

“But if you can do that, that doesn’t mean you lose it yourself!”

“Indeed it does! It is my emotional substance being shared.”

“But then you would be miserable after making one person happy.”

“No. I have a special qualification for the post. I can magnify my joy as I transfer, making a thousand people happy, while I suffer only a little depletion. Most people can exchange only on an even basis, as you say, but some can multiply, and I can multiply better than any other. That is why I am Cyng.”

“Then what’s your problem?”

“There are many thousands who need joy. So many that I can not serve them all without eventually being depleted. But I can not stop, because then everyone would become unhappy.”

“What does a wife have to do with it?”

“My wife shares her joy with me. I can then share it with others, multiplied. Were she able to share on an even basis, that would double my ability to serve. But normally women are found who can multiply somewhat themselves, so that I may receive what two or three others might provide. That can enable me to carry on for a year or more, before we are both depleted.”

“What happens then?”

“I must divorce her before she dies, so that she can recover. Then I must marry another, so that I can continue my work.”

“How could you do that to one you loved?”

Darius spread his hands. “I can not. That is why I elected to search in other realities.”

“So you could find me, and take me back, and deplete me, and cast me aside after a year?”

“Oh, no, Colene! I am looking for a woman who can multiply the way I do, so that I can love her and never cast her aside. There are none in my reality.”

“And you think I might be one like that?”

“I hope you are. The Chip oriented on women who might be like that. But the Chip is fallible. It may be that it is a misreading.”

“How can you tell?”

“There is no sure way except to bring you back with me.”

“And if I am not right?”

“Then I could not marry you. You would be provided for; I could make you one of my servants.”

“One of your servants!”

“The Chip can not focus on precisely the same reality twice. You could not return to your own realm. But you could have a good life with me. Just not as my wife.”

“Thanks a lot!”

She was evidently angry. “I do not understand.”

“That’s for sure!” She lurched to her feet and charged out of the shed.

But later she returned, with more food. “I am sorry I blew up at you, Darius,” she said. “I know your culture is way different from mine, and you didn’t think you were insulting me.”

“That is true. I am sorry I insulted you. Please tell me in what manner I did that, so that I can avoid doing it again.”

“With us, a wife is different from a servant. A wife you love; a servant you maybe don’t care much about. If you see me as a potential servant—”

Darius was stricken. “No! It is this way in my land too! It is that at least I could be with you, if I couldn’t marry you.”

She stepped close to him. “How do you really feel about me, Darius?”

“It is my hope that you are suitable, and that you will be willing to—”

“Forget suitability! What about we?”

“I can’t forget suitability, because marriage to me would kill you if—”

“But you can’t go back, so that doesn’t matter! All there is, is you and me. So how do you feel?”

That made him pause. She was right; he could not go back. All he could do was remain here until he died. “I can not marry you here either, because—”

“Nobody asked you to!” she flared. “Will you answer the question!”

He looked at her with an altered appreciation. He had been so girt about by the problems of his isolation and his dependence on her for food and information that he had not allowed himself to think of her as a feeling creature.

She was small, the top of her head reaching just above his shoulder. Her hair was brown, with slight curving, just touching her shoulders. Her face, framed by it, was rounded, except for a slightly pointed chin. Her eyes were large and round and brown. She wore a dress, perhaps in deference to his problem with the blue jeans, and she never sat in that particular position when wearing it. But now she was standing, nicely proportioned, small of chin, breast, waist, and hip but well balanced and extremely feminine.

But appearance was only one aspect of a person. Colene had shown great patience, teaching him her language, and good judgment in the food and clothing she had brought for him, and had been responsible about things like emptying the privy pot. She had wanted him kept out of sight, and though it made him a virtual prisoner here, he felt she was correct in her judgment about this. She had made it as comfortable for him as was feasible. Her personality was nice; she laughed often, and was direct in her dealings with him. She was generous, going to the trouble and discomfort of sharing her warmth with him at night despite the risk of discovery.

Yet still he could not answer, for there was more than all of this in the question. Feelings were bidirectional things, and if hers were not there, his could not be either. There was one more thing he had to know.

“May I handle you?” he inquired.

“You want to have sex with me?” Now she was guarded.

“I must give that a qualified answer. I do find you desirable, but that is not my intent at the moment.”

“You may handle me,” she said, understanding that this was not a casual thing. He had to do this in order to determine the answer to her question. How he felt about her depended in considerable part how she felt about him.

He put his arms around her back, drawing her in close. Her body yielded to him, and she lifted her face. He knew that magic did not work here, but perhaps just a bit of his peculiar power could be invoked. His power to relate to the emotions of others: to receive and return their joy. Perhaps, with the closest and most evocative contact, he could know.

He kissed her: just a touching of his lips to hers.