“We don’t want to meet them,” Provos said firmly.
“I wonder what sort of people live in this reality?” Colene said musingly. She realized that they must be getting closer to the beginning of the woman’s experiences on the Mode, because in the past she had usually managed to wait for a question before answering it. Now she did not, as if she had not yet learned to. Maybe she had discovered, early in the experience of the others but late in her own with them, how to give her answer before hearing the question, just as the others were learning to ask their questions after hearing the answer. The convolutions of such interactions might become as devious and intricate as those of the filaments of the Mandelbrot set.
They resumed their march. The castle shifted several more times, then disappeared entirely before they reached it. They crossed over a wooded hill, and kept going. Colene was getting tired, but did not complain. She wanted to reach Provos’ safe anchor before nightfall, if they could. Not all dragons might be chickens.
They trekked into the valley beyond, forging through thickening forestland. The trees had gradually changed, and now they had yellow trunks and blue leaves. Colene didn’t worry about it; if that was the only odd thing about this region, they were well off. Trees were trees.
Then they came to it: the anchor. It was no more visible than the one on Oria, but Colene could tell; there was a feel about the region. Provos had oriented on it unerringly, because it was her own, but now that it was close, Colene could spot it also. It was just a place in a glade in the forest.
They stepped through. Colene felt a kind of firming around her, and knew that she had entered the anchor reality. This was where Provos lived.
Provos paused, as if remembering. Indeed, that must be what she was doing: assimilating the future experience she would have in this place she had left behind. Colene would take similar stock of her past experience when she set foot back on her own reality of Earth. Everything was comfortable, for Provos.
But the pause was brief. This meant, as Colene figured it, that they would not be here long. That was the way she wanted it; she hoped to get to Earth, get the information, and return to Oria as fast as possible, because she felt alone and naked without Seqiro, and tense and depressed without Darius. Without them she was incomplete.
Then Provos led the way through the glade, along a path through the blue-trunked trees, and to a cleared region. There was a house. It was odd, by Colene’s definition: it seemed to be about ten feet on a side, square in cross section, and reached up six stories. There were guy wires holding it in place against the wind. In the distance were other houses, of similar type.
Yet as they walked toward it, she realized that it did make sense on its terms. On Earth houses tended to sprawl across the landscape; only in cities did they become taller than they were wide. But on Earth much of the natural terrain had been destroyed by man’s advance. Here a house took up no more space than it had to, and the trees and other vegetation remained. This was a nice region. The field seemed to consist of cultivated plants of a number of kinds, all mixed in together: wheat, beans, cucumbers, carrots, potatoes, and roses. No weeds. How did they manage that? Did they remember where the weeds would be growing, and take them out before they got started?
They came to the door—and it wasn’t a door, but a window, screened by light mesh instead of glass. Provos opened the mesh and stepped inside, and Colene followed.
The chamber was cubical, maybe eight feet on a side, with the furniture set into the walls. There were cabinets and a closet against one wall, a narrow table with built-in chairs on either side against the next, a thin sink and stove against the third, and a thin stairway climbing the fourth. That was all; the center was bare.
Provos went to the stairs and climbed. Colene followed, feeling increasingly out of place. Just how well did any of their party know Provos? Could she, Colene, find herself trapped in this towerlike edifice? But she reminded herself that Seqiro had known what was in the minds of all of them, and had accepted Provos; the woman had to be okay.
The stair was strange. Each step was just about one foot square and one foot high—but the steps for the left and right feet were offset by six inches. It was like two sets of stairs, one for the right foot, the other for the left foot. Each stairway rose at a forty-five-degree angle, so that by the time it crossed from one side of the house to the other it also reached the next floor. But the ascent was not steep, because only six inches separated the height of the alternate feet. This was efficient and effective. But only just big enough; it was essentially one-way. Two people could not pass each other at all conveniently, because the full width of the sides together was only two feet. But then how often did people need to pass on a stair, especially if this was a residence for one person, as it seemed to be?
The second floor was comfortably set up with shelving on three walls, with books, and a thick soft mat on the floor. Evidently the library or living room.
The stair turned the corner and continued on up. Provos showed the way.
The third floor was a bathroom: sink, tub, toilet, all close enough to what Colene knew to be no trouble. That was a relief!
The fourth floor was storage; there were bins and boxes and jars, and what might be a deep-freeze. Colene wasn’t sure what kind of technology existed on this world, but surely they knew how to store their food.
The fifth floor was empty. It was a spare room, perhaps available for expansion when there was a family.
The sixth floor was the bedroom: clothing hung on one side, and a cushion bed was on the other.
The stairs continued to the roof. That was a railed platform. From it the surrounding landscape could be seen, forest, field, and houses.
Provos smiled, acknowledging a compliment.
“Oh, I like it!” Colene exclaimed. “This is a nice world.” She was not being facetious; she wished her own world were more like this.
Then they returned to the storage room, where Provos fetched what looked like red potatoes and green eggs. Down to the kitchen, where she prepared something like a cross between a green omelet and red mashed potatoes, with pale orange milk. The food was served on square blue wooden plates, and the milk was in a yellow cup which appeared to have been fashioned from a thick, glossy yellow leaf. The stuff looked weird, but tasted good, and Colene ate heartily.
But with this relaxation came fatigue. Colene had known she was tired, and now realized that she had underestimated the case. She was starting to feel at home here, a little, and that meant she could become aware of lesser things. Such as fatigue. She was ready to drop.
Provos smiled. She did not seem as tired. She was old—about sixty—but tough. Maybe because of living in a house like this, with all the climbing, and walking around the farm. Or maybe she just concealed her wear and tear better.
As they finished, Provos took the plates and cups. “I’ll wash the dishes,” Colene offered unenthusiastically, trying to do her part.
But Provos was already shaking her head. She set the dishes in the sink and stepped back. From the screen behind the sink a vine entered. It curled down among the dishes, dripping glistening sap and stroking them with little tonguelike leaves. It was the dishwasher!
They went upstairs. Colene used the toilet facilities, then followed Provos up to the bedroom. Then she remembered that there was only the one bed, and had a horrible thought. Provos had never expressed any interest in men. Maybe she was too old. But was it possible that her interest was in women? Like maybe fresh clean young women? Colene had some scores to settle with men, who could be crude, brutish, and perpetually sexual, while women were in general more refined and decent. But that did not mean she had any desire to—