was certain she would soon be meeting people. Crazy.
Crazier still, the name thing. She was stark naked, about to front complete strangers. That in itself should have worried the hell out of her, but she was more concerned that she couldn't remember her name! It was all that mattered - just her name.
The only one she could think of was Richard. She glanced down, brushed sand from a breast, slid a hand over her belly to her pubic area, touched a mound of crisp hair. If she said her name was Richard, they'd look at her and laugh.
Whoever they were.
A movement caught her eye. A man was approaching along the pass from the direction she had come. She wasn't worried that he might see her, not now. There had been a couple of them back in the desert, a man and a woman, both heading in the same direction towards the passes. Neither had taken the slightest notice of her, or each other.
She figured they were from the Void. Where else? But they didn't seem as alive as she herself felt. Maybe they weren't. Or conversely, maybe they were and she wasn't! Now, that was a thought.
This latest joker continued up to her then walked right past, staring straight ahead without even glancing at her. It was the closest she'd been to one of them. She hadn't tried to make contact before, didn't bother now. What was to say? Apart from being naked, she had nothing in common with them. Even their respective personal bubbles were different: they couldn't see beyond theirs and she was outside hers.
The man had reached the point where she'd hesitated because she hadn't been able to remember her name. He must have known his because he walked right on. Like over the line. She was sure she saw his foot disappear first. Then all of him had gone.
She stared along the pass. He should have been walking still, making his way towards the end. But, as she'd observed before, this was the end. The pass had finished, despite what her eyes told her. Pure illusion and he had become part of it. He had crossed the line, was on the far side. Probably saying his name.
How? Another membrane? It seemed logical in a crazy kind-of way: an invisible membrane. Maybe she had to walk through like she did the first time. But to where? Two names sprang to mind - Lonfay and Nova. Maybe they were places after all, and she was on her way to one. What if she didn't like it - could she start again, pick the other? She had a feeling the choice had already been made. Something to do with destiny. You paid your money and took your chance.
Like all the other suckers. Another one was coming along the pass. She simply stood watching. No need to hide: he wouldn't notice her. If he saw her at all he would take her for another sleep-walker.
An immature thought crossed her mind, mischievous. One hand went to her breasts, began caressing them. The other stroked down over her belly, slid inside a thigh. Her eyelashes fluttered, lips pouted. Hello, sailor. Then she tensed.
He'd stopped, seemed to be looking at her. Couldn't be, of course: the others hadn't. Maybe he'd just lost his direction momentarily. Even lemmings must do it sometime. She laughed to herself - an uncertain giggle to renew a confidence which didn't quite return in full.
The man had started up again, internal compass back on track. He walked awkwardly as if he was limping. As if the stones hurt his feet like they did hers. Every so often he hopped, stumbled. Then he hobbled on.
Was it possible....? No. He was just another zombie. She quit her visual seduction. Not because she thought he could see. Just because. Put it down to boredom.
Thirty paces off he paused, looked, started hobbling again. Twenty paces and one hand dived to cover his genitals. There was a further brief hesitation. Following which, the other hand rose above his head, hung there uncertainly as if awaiting instructions. Then he smiled nervously and waved.
Christ! He sees me!
She fled in panic. Simply turned and ran along the pass. Only, the pass had finished. She was at the end.
And she was crossing the line.
6
The spot where the woman had been standing felt warm to his touch. Wishful thinking, of course. This patch of sand was the same temperature as the rest, the people he'd seen not warm at all. Sushi, that's what they were. Except for her, maybe.
He stared at where he'd seen the woman disappear, felt an urge to see her again, a desperate need. He had to go after her. Nothing seemed as imperative. Were these his thoughts, or those of the woman inside? My God, perhaps she was a lesbian! How would that affect his feelings?
He walked forward, took a deep trembling breath, froze. Then he went for it. Momentary blindness stunned him. Air exploded from his lungs. Something rammed into him. He clutched at it to prevent himself from falling. It was soft, warm. It squirmed. And it was yelling in his ear.
His sight cleared quickly, his mind too, and he realised it was a she. They parted, scrambled to their feet. He stood. She crouched, her eyes ablaze with bestial intent, her fingers curled like claws. Words failed him, so he tried an apologetic smile.
"Pervert!" The word was a rasp from a constricted throat that she hadn't used in a while.
A roar filled the air - cheers, catcalls, whistles. The pair spun, found themselves gazing at a huge crowd milling behind bands of green laser-light. An electrical barrier of some kind, its mere existence seemed at odds with the strange assortment of humanity it held at bay. Less than futuristic, these people were positively medieval, dressed like peasants from a bygone era.
The naked man gawped at the spectacle, at the out-moded clothing of the noisy rabble. "Good Lord!" he gasped.
She said: "Shit! So many! I never figured...."
A tumbler dropped. He stared at her. "You knew they'd be here?"
A sneer curled her lip. "Didn't you?" She bowed her head, dug fingers into her hair, massaging brain cells, thought: What the hell's my name? Then a comment to the man: "Someone's going to ask in a minute and I can't bloody remember...."
He was blinking, totally confused. "I don't understand any of this. What is this place?"
She watched him, tried to be objective. If anything, he was more afraid than her. Terrified, even. His eyes were all over the place, shivering like those of a cornered animal. Then they'd found something, locked onto it - something behind her. She turned, calmly, avoiding sudden movements. Don't want to fire up the natives. One was coming towards them - dark flowing robes, hood covering the face. Monkish. "You want to know where we are? Ask him."
It was meant as a facetious suggestion, but her naked companion didn't read it that way, obviously thought it was a good idea. Prick! He stepped forward, extended his free hand - the other was still doing fig-leaf impressions. He said to the monk: "Look, there must have been some mistake. I really shouldn't be here."
The hooded figure stopped before them, had either not heard or was choosing to ignore. His interlinked sleeves parted revealing hands of parchment stretched over lean talons. One cradled a small black box. A slim finger descended, tapped the box. The hood inclined slightly, not enough to reveal a face. "Name?" creaked a male voice, an old voice.
He was "looking" straight at her! Oh, God! Her jaw dropped. A gagging hiss emanated from her throat.
"Name?" repeated the holy man. No longer bored, he was growing
