Jeannine shuddered. (Catch her taking off her shoes in public!) "I thought I'd lost you."
"You didn't," said Miss Evason tolerantly. "Are you ready?"
"No," said Jeannine. But she did not repeat it. I'm not sure I'm ready. Janet led us put into the street and had us stand close together, all within one square of the sidewalk. She looked at her watch. The Whileawayan antennae come searching through the ages like a cat's whisker. It would have been better to leave from some less public spot, but they don't seem to care what they do; Janet waved engagingly at passersby and I became aware that I had become aware that I remembered becoming aware of the curved wall eighteen niches from my nose. The edge of the sidewalk, where the traffic. Had been.
Now I know how I got to Whileaway, but how did I get stuck with Jeannine? And how did Janet get into that world and not mine? Who did that? When the question is translated into Whilewayan, Dear Reader, you will see the technicians of Whileaway step back involuntarily; you will see Boy Scout Evason blanch; you will see the Chieftainess of the Whileawayan scientific establishment, mistress of ten thousand slaves and wearer of the bronze breastplates, direct stern questions right and left, while frowning. Etcetera.
Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh Jeannine was saying miserably under her breath. I don't want to be here. They forced me. I want to go home. This is a terrible place.
"Who did that?" said Miss Evason. "Not me. Not my people."
Praise God, Whose image we put in the plaza to make the eleven-year-olds laugh.
She has brought me home.
Dig in. Winter's coming. When I-not the "I" above but the "I" down here, naturally; that's Janet up there- When "I" dream of Whileaway, I dream first of the farms, and although words are inadequate to this great theme, while I live I yet must tell you that the farms are the only family units on Whileaway, not because Whileawayans think farm life is good for children (they don't) but because farm work is harder to schedule and demands more day-to-day continuity than any other kind of job. Farming on Whileaway is mainly caretaking and machine-tending; it is the emotional security of family life that provides the glamor. I do not know this from observation; I know it from knowledge; I have never visited Whileaway in my own person, and when Janet, Jeannine, and Joanna stepped out of the stainless steel sphere into which they had been transported from wherever the dickens it was that they were before (etcetera), they did so alone. I was there only as the spirit or soul of an experience is always there.
Sixty eight-foot-tall Amazons, the Whileawayan Praetorian Guard, threw daggers in all directions (North, South, East, and West).
Janet, Jeannine, and Joanna arrived in the middle of a field at the end of an old-fashioned tarmac that stretched as a feeder to the nearest hovercraft highway. No winter, few roofs. Vittoria and Janet embraced and stood very still, as Aristophanes describes. They didn't yell or pound each other's shoulders, or kiss, or hug, or cry out, or jump up and down, or say "You old son-of-a-gun!" or tell each other all the news, or push each other to arm's length and screech, and then hug each other again. More farsighted than either Jeannine or Janet, I can see beyond the mountain range on the horizon, beyond the Altiplano, to the whale-herders and underground fisheries on the other side of the world; I can see desert gardens and zoological preserves; I can see storms brewing. Jeannine gulped. Must they do that in public? There are a few fluffy summer clouds above Green Bay, each balancing on its own tail of hot air; the dust settles on either side of the highway as a hovercar roars and passes. Vittoria 's too stocky for Jeannine's taste; she could at least be good-looking. We strolled down the feeder road to the road to the hovercraft-way, observed by nobody, all alone, except that I can see a weather satellite that sees me. Jeannine keeps just behind Vittoria, staring with censorious horror at Vittoria 's long, black hair.
"I'll they know we're here," says Jeannine, the world falling about her ears, "why didn't they send someone to meet us? I mean, other people."
"Why should they?" says Janet.
JEANNINE: But we might lose our way.
JANET: You can't. I'm here and I know the way.
JEANNINE: Suppose you weren't with us. Suppose we'd killed you.
JANET: Then it would certainly be preferable that you lose your way!
JEANNINE: But suppose we held you as a hostage? Suppose you were alive but we threatened to kill you?
JANET: The longer it takes to get anywhere, the more time I have to think of what to do. I can probably stand thirst better than you can. And of course, since you have no map, I can mislead you and not tell you the truth about where to go.
JEANNINE: But we'd get there eventually, wouldn't we?
JANET: Yes. So there's no difference, you see.
JEANNINE: But suppose we killed you?
