stare right through her.
She cleared her throat uneasily. "I wouldn't exactly say I was sweet on him," she said.
Hoshi drummed. "Oh, no?"
She flushed. "Well, maybe a little. But how could I be really 'sweet' on someone I've never even met?"
Hoshi's smile became lopsided. "Easy. The way anybody gets hung up on anybody else. It just happens."
She thought, yeah, it just happens. "I suppose it's possible," she said, "but I don't think so. Not this time." She glanced at her watch. "Hey, it's getting late."
They pooled their money to pay the tab, then made their way to the exit. Outside, Mozy stuck her hands in her coat pocket. "See you later. Thanks for the drink," she said. Then she turned away and walked quickly home.
The apartment was still. She stood in the center of the living room, her mind still spinning from the conversation. She cast her coat aside and went into the bathroom and rummaged around for her hairbrush. She perched her purse on the edge of the sink and, pawing through it, found the hairbrush; she also found, unopened, the letter from Kink. She turned it over. When had she last heard from her sister? A year, anyway. She still used the same awful perfumed stationery.
Mozy carefully tore the envelope and extracted two thin, folded pages. The green-ink handwriting was the same—hurried-looking, and sloppy.
"Dear Mozy—I know I haven't written in ages, and I guess Mom hasn't, either . . ."
What else is new?
"Now I have to tell you that we should forget whatever squabbles we had . . . ."
Mozy brushed at her hair, scowling as she read.
Chapter 4
Bill Jonders glanced at the monitor showing the subject sitting quietly in the gloom. He keyed an inner circuit. (We're go to start in thirty seconds, Ben. Are you ready?)
(Ready . . . and . . . waiting,) came the answer, a silent whisper.
(Hoshi?)
(On line.) Hoshi's voice was soft and vibrant in Jonders's head.
After a last check of the board, Jonders opened his own link to the computer. His external awareness dissolved to internal signals: quasi-visual cues, light patterns indicating the activity of various program elements. A tone warned him of Kadin's presence, and the pale outline of a face appeared. (David? Prepare for transition. Ben Horton's waiting.) Kadin's face vanished again and Jonders said, (Initiating hypnotic blocks.) The abstract patterns flashed momentarily, then blinked out. An odd, phantom landscape appeared around him, etched out of the darkness by purely geometric, intersecting strands of light. Moving with ease across the field, he rose to the top of a steep pyramid form outlined in threads of amber. From this perch, he looked out across the "jumpoff field"—a midnight plain, crosshatched with violet tracers. There were two tiny figures out on the plain, moving slowly toward one another.
Jonders waited for the memory-blocking and memory-implant programs to run their course with the subjects. Two tones sang in opposite corners of his mind, indicating readiness. (Sequence start,) he murmured, nudging the lower pitch higher, and the higher pitch lower. As he brought them slowly into tune, the two glittering figures converged across the field.
He tripped one more cue, and the two figures accelerated down the plain—and vanished at the edge of the violet grid.
Jonders opened an observer's portal to their new world, a planet with an emerald sky and a ripe orange moon, and with two groups of aliens greeting the landing party.
* * *
He scanned the telltales flowing in the form of color-coded digits across the gridded field. In a window floating above the plain, images flickered of the scenario world, as seen by the two subjects. A difficult negotiation was being concluded, with uncertain results.
Not for the first time, Jonders wished that it were possible to gain a clearer perception of the subjects' thoughts and feelings. As always, he was faced with the dilemma of seeking to observe a process without interfering
She cleared her throat uneasily. "I wouldn't exactly say I was sweet on him," she said.
Hoshi drummed. "Oh, no?"
She flushed. "Well, maybe a little. But how could I be really 'sweet' on someone I've never even met?"
Hoshi's smile became lopsided. "Easy. The way anybody gets hung up on anybody else. It just happens."
She thought, yeah, it just happens. "I suppose it's possible," she said, "but I don't think so. Not this time." She glanced at her watch. "Hey, it's getting late."
They pooled their money to pay the tab, then made their way to the exit. Outside, Mozy stuck her hands in her coat pocket. "See you later. Thanks for the drink," she said. Then she turned away and walked quickly home.
The apartment was still. She stood in the center of the living room, her mind still spinning from the conversation. She cast her coat aside and went into the bathroom and rummaged around for her hairbrush. She perched her purse on the edge of the sink and, pawing through it, found the hairbrush; she also found, unopened, the letter from Kink. She turned it over. When had she last heard from her sister? A year, anyway. She still used the same awful perfumed stationery.
Mozy carefully tore the envelope and extracted two thin, folded pages. The green-ink handwriting was the same—hurried-looking, and sloppy.
"Dear Mozy—I know I haven't written in ages, and I guess Mom hasn't, either . . ."
What else is new?
"Now I have to tell you that we should forget whatever squabbles we had . . . ."
Mozy brushed at her hair, scowling as she read.
Chapter 4
Bill Jonders glanced at the monitor showing the subject sitting quietly in the gloom. He keyed an inner circuit. (We're go to start in thirty seconds, Ben. Are you ready?)
(Ready . . . and . . . waiting,) came the answer, a silent whisper.
(Hoshi?)
(On line.) Hoshi's voice was soft and vibrant in Jonders's head.
After a last check of the board, Jonders opened his own link to the computer. His external awareness dissolved to internal signals: quasi-visual cues, light patterns indicating the activity of various program elements. A tone warned him of Kadin's presence, and the pale outline of a face appeared. (David? Prepare for transition. Ben Horton's waiting.) Kadin's face vanished again and Jonders said, (Initiating hypnotic blocks.) The abstract patterns flashed momentarily, then blinked out. An odd, phantom landscape appeared around him, etched out of the darkness by purely geometric, intersecting strands of light. Moving with ease across the field, he rose to the top of a steep pyramid form outlined in threads of amber. From this perch, he looked out across the "jumpoff field"—a midnight plain, crosshatched with violet tracers. There were two tiny figures out on the plain, moving slowly toward one another.
Jonders waited for the memory-blocking and memory-implant programs to run their course with the subjects. Two tones sang in opposite corners of his mind, indicating readiness. (Sequence start,) he murmured, nudging the lower pitch higher, and the higher pitch lower. As he brought them slowly into tune, the two glittering figures converged across the field.
He tripped one more cue, and the two figures accelerated down the plain—and vanished at the edge of the violet grid.
Jonders opened an observer's portal to their new world, a planet with an emerald sky and a ripe orange moon, and with two groups of aliens greeting the landing party.
* * *
He scanned the telltales flowing in the form of color-coded digits across the gridded field. In a window floating above the plain, images flickered of the scenario world, as seen by the two subjects. A difficult negotiation was being concluded, with uncertain results.
Not for the first time, Jonders wished that it were possible to gain a clearer perception of the subjects' thoughts and feelings. As always, he was faced with the dilemma of seeking to observe a process without interfering
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