“While you were asleep I looked under your clothes and my weenie got stiff,” Chu now told Thuy.

“That’s more than enough, Chu,” said Ond.

“Why not say everything, since we can read each others’ minds?”

“We have that issue with the orphidnet, too,” mused Thuy. “It’s all a matter of what you call attention to. Being polite means not emphasizing certain things.”

“You mean like—”

“I mean shut up.” Thuy flashed a grin at Chu so he wouldn’t take this to heart. Good for him if he thought she was sexy.

They’d come to the end of the interesting part of this street. “You want to turn around and walk back?” Ond asked Thuy.

“Sure,” said Thuy. “Sooner or later she’s bound to notice us.” They were waiting for Gladax to pop up and capture Thuy. Part of the plan. But Gladax was being slow on the uptake, which gave Thuy time to examine the stores.

The clothes on display were funkier than at home, each item unique, and everything very colorful. Things weren’t so industrialized here in the Hibrane. With no digital computers, the vibe was much more kicked back.

The leathers and wools were individually tweaked by craftspeople called coaxers. Fashion coaxers got into telepathic synch with animals’ bodies so as to influence the colors and textures of the creatures’ skin or hair. They coaxed fiber plants as well: cotton, sisal, flax. Some of the coaxed fabrics harbored special psychic properties. For instance, you could buy underwear that emanated shame-and-outrage vibes, positioning you as forbidden fruit.

Down the block, some well-dressed Hibraners were enjoying a late lunch in a cozy restaurant. Each plateful of food was teep-tagged with the history of how the ingredients had been produced, plus images of the chef’s preparation process, plus eating advice: “I’m crisp and lemony”; “Pry up this trout cheek to get a nice nugget of meat”; “Dip me in that green sauce.”

Next door was a bar, but Thuy found it hard to teep inside, as the drinkers’ vibes were screened off by the aggressive mental stylings of a so-called distractor. The distractor was visible in the doorway, a black swami with a shaved head and his muscular arms crossed. He wore a calfskin coaxed to resemble a leopard pelt. He was a living hub of links, assessing people’s interests and instantly routing them to minds and scenes likely to divert their focus of attention. It took a real effort to teep past him.