A what? Gena was not conservative like her family, but this much had rubbed off: no abortion. She would carry the baby and they would take care of it together. It might not hurt if they got married first.

  He nodded soberly. Next morning he was gone without trace. She was alone in the motor home. It was underwater, which meant worth less than the remaining payments due on it. It would soon be reclaimed and she would be out on the street, literally. But for a few weeks, if she were lucky, she could still live in it.

  What to do? She knew she could not get and hold a job unless she lied about her pregnancy, but that was another bit of conservative lore that had rubbed off on her: she was not about to tell a lie. In any event, no job would last beyond the point she started to show.

  She was stuck for it. She swallowed her pride and wrote a letter to her parents, confessing that they had been right, and begging them to take her back at least while she carried the baby. She promised to be a good girl in all other respects, for the sake of the innocent baby. She hoped that would move them.

  The letter was returned to her, unopened, refused. She was simply no part of their existence. So they didn’t even know about her pregnancy.

  Now what to do? She was not equipped to care for a baby or child, assuming she found a way to live and eat through the pregnancy.

  So she posted a free ad on the internet: FREE TO GOOD HOME: A BABY.

  And she got a response, apart from the usual jokes and condemnations. A newly married couple could not have children of their own, so hoped to adopt. They sent enough information so that she believed they were serious, and she responded in kind. They were prepared to provide food and shelter for her until she birthed the baby, which they would then adopt. There remained details to be worked out, but it looked like a good fit.

  So she spent her last dollars on food and gasoline, and drove to the other state where they lived. She met the couple, and liked them immediately, and they liked her. They were good people, as she once had been. She moved in with them, and they went through the formal adoption process. This turned out better than she had dared to hope: they did not want to separate her from her child, but to have her remain in her child’s life. So it was to be an open adoption, the facts generally known. The baby would legally become theirs, but she would be recognized and have comprehensive visiting privileges, so that the child would know her.

  They were Sanford, an upright young man with an excellent office job, and Clyte, a lovely young woman who wore her hair in a low, loose brown bun that nevertheless became her. Her name meant “nymph” and her figure matched. But Clyte had a history that cast a shadow on the marriage. They made sure Gena knew this before committing, in fairness.

  It was this: Clyte was enamored of a former boyfriend, Merrill, who loved her back. But she was sterile, and his family wanted him to sire heirs, so opposed the relationship. Merrill needed his family’s continued support to complete his education. So they had reluctantly broken up, still very much in love. Clyte had then in effect married the dull boy next door, Sanford, who also wanted a family but was more open about how to get it. He had always loved her, and was a fine man, but lacked Merrill’s flair. He was the perfect backup husband, and Clyte did her best to be the perfect wife; they had a good if not spectacular relationship. But if Merrill ever came back into her life, “I don’t think I could tell him no,” she said candidly. “So our marriage could break up, and it would be my fault. It’s unlikely to happen; it’s been two years, and Merrill is surely happy with a fertile woman, and maybe has her pregnant by now. But there it is. Your child could suffer a family breakup.”

  Gena was intensely sympathetic, because of her own romantic history, but appreciated the risk. She could have used a backup husband. Yet what were the chances? This couple was ideal in other respects. In fact Sanford was exactly the kind of man Gena herself should have married, that her parents would have approved of, who would never have deserted her the way her rogue boyfriend had. She had learned the hard way, and would not make that mistake again, now that it was too late. It was a calculated risk, but the risk was small. She decided to gamble on it.

  So she birthed the baby, a girl, whom they adopted and named Idola, meaning “lovely vision,” and Gena nursed her for six months, then moved out of their house. It was time, because she was finding Sanford too attractive, though he had never made even a hint of any move on her. That was part of what made him attractive: his steadfast loyalty to his wife. Gena remained in close touch, however, visiting the child often, who came to call her “Aunt Gena.” Too close, Gena feared; she needed to let the child bond completely with her adoptive parents. Also to get away from Sanford. So Gena got a job as a long haul truck driver that would take her back and forth across the country, separating her for weeks at a time.

  It didn’t work. Years passed, and she still thought constantly about Idola, and Idola plainly missed her too. Their partings and reunions were blissfully tearful. Sanford and Clyte were supremely tolerant; they understood about difficult separations. Idola loved her natural mother, and loved her adoptive parents too. She would probably be completely happy only if they all lived together in the same house. Gena refused to entertain the idea; she had to remain the friend of the family, not in any way alienating Idola from her folks. Not being too close to Sanford. But it was difficult.

  Then Quiti came into her life. Gena was eating at a truck stop cafeteria when the girl walked in, shapely, green eyed, voluminous hair, and, it seemed, looking for Gena. She stopped by the table and said she needed to be hidden in the right setting, and would like to be a traveling companion. It was one weird pickup line, even for a woman looking for a woman. Gena dismissed her. “You’ll be better off riding with a man.” For the men in the establishment were covertly eyeing her; any would be happy to give her a lift.

  Quiti was undismayed. “Let me show you a trick.”

  Suddenly there was a fire blazing in the middle of the table. But it wasn’t real; no one else saw it, and it had no heat. It was a mental projection.

  That got her attention. This was no ordinary woman. They introduced each other and talked. Their acquaintance quickly solidified. Gena touched Quiti’s vibrant hair, then kissed it—and it kissed her back, and somehow eased her fixation on her daughter. Now she could visit Idola, enjoy being with her, but also be satisfied to exist apart from her. That hair was magic!

  Actually that was only the beginning of the hair’s power. She learned that Quiti had helped an alien hairball, who had returned the favor by planting the hair on her head. It was as yet not fully grown, being only six inches long, but in time it would make Quiti into a virtual super-woman. It enabled her to breathe under water, it had cured her brain cancer, rendered her into a genius, gave her the telepathic picture projection talent, and even enabled her to float, and finally to fly, spreading out like an umbrella. It also became her clothing, emulating whatever outfit she chose to wear. When men tried to molest the two of them, the telepathic hair reached into the men’s minds and made the women seem to grow wings and fangs, like vampires, and they scared the men away. Later scaring became unnecessary; Quiti could become physically invulnerable. Gena was there to see Quiti discovering the growing hair’s amazing properties.

  Oh, to have hair like that! But Gena suppressed her envy, satisfied just to be Quiti’s friend. She had excellent friends, and now the maturity to avoid even the temptation to abuse their kindness.

  In due course Quiti met Idola. The girl was shy at first; then she touched the hair, and became an instant devotee. That was the way it was, with the hair. Quiti became Auntie Quiti.

  But in time the authorities got wind of Quiti’s abilities, and closed in. Gena helped her escape the trap, though it meant parting company with her for some time, knowing that Gena herself was now being watched in the hope that she would lead them to Quiti. Gena hated that, but was glad to help. Later, Quiti, now with her full hair and powers, visited, and brought another hair suit, her adopted son Tillo, who promptly became an item with Idola. It was a bit weird, but good. Later yet Gena rejoined Quiti, who had pulled off an amazing coup, becoming part of her embassy staff.

  Which brought them to the present. Gena had envied Quiti’s hair. Now she had it herself. Half of it, at least, though that would soon be whole. Plus a chip. What did it mean? She felt the developing power of the two alien sources, compatibly remaking her mind and body. What was she becoming?

  But she had a more immediate problem: Idola’s family. Her daughter’s situation was in peril. She needed to find out exactly what was happening and decide how to deal with it.

  She marshaled Hair and Chip. “We must travel,” she told them. It was too soon for her to fly or perform other feats she knew Quiti could do; she needed more time. But her mature hair could accomplish some of them.

  She rose from the bed, naked, and wrapped her six foot long tress around herself in the manner of a cloak. She became invisible. She walked out of the room and the embassy, without the others realizing. Outside she formed the hair into the semblance of a simple print dress. This sort of thing was easy for the hair to do. She stood by the street, surrounded by an aura of unnoticeability, and watched the traffic. She would hail a passing cab. Not this one. Not that one. But the third one, yes; the hair approved it. The vehicle slowed to a stop beside her.

  Oops—she had no wallet, no money. What to do? She would have to improvise. She had kept her body lean and fit, exercising regularly, and at age 32 remained a handsome woman. Hair and Chip would enhance that, in due course, but what she had now would suffice for this purpose.

  The cab door opened. She closed it and got in the front seat, next to the driver. “I do not have money at the moment, but I do have this,” she said, making her hair cloak go translucent, showing off her torso. “Drive me where I need to go, awaiting payment until arrival, and you may feel this.” She took his right hand, passed it through the curtain of hair, and put it to her left breast. “Can you drive one handed?”

  “Yeah, on Auto,” he said. That meant the cab would largely drive itself, probably more safely than he would do it.

  “If you don’t get paid in Caesar’s coin, then I will pay you in pleasure, and you will be satisfied.” She sent belief, for it was true. But she intended to see that he got money rather than sex.

  She gave him the address and settled in close beside him, so that he could reach his arm around her shoulders and take hold of her right breast. She kissed his right ear. They had a deal.

  It was a long drive, in fact overnight, but the cabby was more than satisfied. Gena drew on another power of the hair to feed power from her flesh to his hand, and into his body, so that he had endurance and wakefulness to keep driving almost indefinitely. Meanwhile her bare breast continued to send delight to him, so that he was satisfied with that much and no more. It was a kind of balancing act to keep him at the right level, so that he neither lost interest nor became overcome with lust, but she zeroed in on the right dosage.

  While they drove, she rehearsed the ploy that Burn had described in her proposed seduction contest. Take the man’s hand, Sanford’s hand, put it on a breast, then stroke it on down to the buttocks and finally to the vulva. Put his finger into the vagina. Clench on it. Kiss him lingeringly. Keep going until he could no longer resist and had to complete the act. He’d better complete it, because by that stage she would be desperately turned on herself. This seemed to be a quality of hair and chip: they enhanced the host’s health, and the host’s libido. Sex was a natural part of the new state, and a woman could time her climax to match the man’s.

  In the morning they arrived at Idola’s house. Only Sanford remained there, his wife having decamped; she read it in his grieving mind. She formed her hair into a routine but attractive outfit and went to the door. He gazed at her, rumpled from lack of sleep. “Gena!”

  “Please, I have prevailed on the cabby to drive me here on a promise of payment. Can you take care of it? You and I have a serious discussion coming up.” She sent his mind reassurance: she was serious.

  Sanford went to pay the cabby, while Gena made herself at home, being long familiar with this residence. When he returned, she guided him to the kitchen table and handed him a glass of wine. “Merrill returned,” she said, prompting him.

  “We always knew it could happen,” he said. “Clyte was upfront about that. But I never thought it really would.” He was close to tears; she read that too in his mind. And the details: “Merrill won a million dollar lottery, and came for her,” Gena said, “just as he had promised a decade ago, and she could not resist, though she hated hurting you. And suddenly you are alone, and you don’t know how you’ll carry on, or take care of Idola.”

  “You may have to take your daughter back,” he said, not questioning the source of her information. “I know you could take care of her, now; you have a high class job. But I don’t want to lose Idola too. I love her!”

  “As do I,” Gena agreed. “As does Clyte.” She took his hand and squeezed it gently before letting it go. “There may be a solution. Suppose you found another woman?”

  “I could never love another woman as I love Clyte.”

  “Are you sure of that?”

  He gazed at her, perplexed. “What are you saying?”

  “Could you love me?”

  He stared. “Gena, we have never had that kind of relationship!” But there was a tinge of doubt in his mind; she read it there.

  “Times are changing,” she said. “The two of us together could take care of Idola. We both love her, and she loves us. We could make a marriage of convenience that she would accept.”

  Slowly he nodded. “We could. It makes amazing sense. Love does not have to be part of it.”

  “But it could become part of it. Suppose I seduce you, to see whether that kind of association is feasible? If it is, love could follow naturally, in its own time.”

  “But Gina, I love Clyte! Such a marriage would be a mere shell.”

  “As your association with Clyte was a shell on her part?”

  “No! She was a good wife!” He put his head in his hands as it sank in. “Oh, God . . .”

  Because he truly loved Clyte, he had gambled and lost. “You need to find an alternative, practically and emotionally,” Gena said. “I am that alternative.”

  He shook his head. “Gena, you’re a fine woman, and you mean well; I know that and respect it. But you could not seduce me, let alone win my love. It’s hopeless.”

  “Shall we put that to the test? Let me try to seduce you. If I succeed, it will indicate that there is a potential relationship for us. If not, then I will leave you alone hereafter.”

  He laughed bitterly. “Lotsa luck.”

  “But first I need you to know that I am no longer an ordinary woman.”

  “You were never an ordinary woman. I’m not questioning your merit.”

  “This is beyond that. I am becoming a, well, a super woman. Like Quiti, only more so. I will be able to fly, to read your mind, and more. Could you live with that?”

  “Would I have a choice?”

  “I’m not sure. Certainly I don’t want to force you.”

  He considered. “If you won my love, I believe I could accept you whatever way you are. Idola loves Quiti, because she resembles Tillo in the hair, and I like her too. If you had hair like that, I’d notice. But this is academic.”

  “Perhaps.” She extended her hand. “Give me your hand.”

  *

  Gena woke. She was lying on Quiti’s bed in the embassy, with Burn in attendance. “Oh, my,” she breathed. “It was a dream.”

  “It must have been some dream,” Burn said, bringing food. “You slept an hour after Quiti woke. Wrapped in your new hair.”

  “It was more than a dream,” Gena said, reconsidering. “This was reality.”

  “Honey, you’re not making much sense. You’ve been sleeping here throughout.”

  Gena puzzled it out further. “It was—a dream of the past, present, and future. It’s real, or could be real.”

  Quiti appeared. “My hair is your hair. We have a special connection. I believe you. But that’s a problem.”

  Burn looked at her. “It looks from here like a problem of sanity. The dream is either real or it isn’t, or maybe parts of it are real.”

  “The problem,” Quiti said seriously, “is that we don’t believe in divination or accurately foreseeing the future. The future is malleable; it constantly changes. Therefore it can be foreseen only in the vaguest sense. But your vision is not the least vague.”

  “Not the least,” Gena agreed as she wolfed down the food without even noticing what kind it was. She was ravenous.

  “I hate to say this, but I think you should test it. Because the implications go beyond anything we anticipated. If you can actually dream the future . . .”

  “I can,” Gena said with certainty. “I think.”

  “How can you test it?” Burn asked. “Why is that a problem? You don’t want to disprove it?”

  “The immediate problem is that she’ll have to go overnight without eating any more than she can cram in right now. Because eating’s not in the dream.”

  “I’m famished,” Gena said. “But this is more important. I’ll do it.” She jammed the rest of the food into her face and walked to the door.

  “I will track you,” Quiti said. “But I can’t talk with you, even mind to mind, lest that change it. You understand.”

  “I understand,” Gena said over her shoulder. Her belly was full for the moment, but she would soon be hungry again. Discipline, she thought. She needed to suppress the coming hunger. She could endure for a while without eating.

  The scene was familiar, because she knew this area, but also because she had recently seen it in the dream. Traffic was passing. Her mind reached out to sense the minds of drivers. There was a cab, but not the right one. There was another. And there came the third one, the right one. She flagged it down.