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  The costume squad mobs you and gets you into the electronic bodysuit. The little director finds out you haven't been given the script for this scene yet and starts cursing people out. "I have scenes to film, and my female lead doesn't know what movie she's in!"

  While the costumers assault you, someone hands you a script. You skim it and blink. "'They kiss passionately'?"

  "So it is written," says Wylan, suited up already. "Don't worry about it, ma'am. It doesn't mean anything. Just a story."

  In a way that makes you feel worse. Wylan sees you drooping and says, "You get used to it."

  "Acting?"

  Wylan hunches his shoulders and looks off into a fake, painted sunset the stagehands are setting up outside the mock saloon. "I can pretend to be something I'm not. It's why people think I'm some kind of hero, when I'm just a pretender."

  You realize something. "You and the real Lenara..."

  "No," he says. "She was a swell lady, and I think she'll find a new place somehow. But the one I really cared for got taken from me, and I did nothing." Wylan gestures to the crossbows over in the prop chest. "Do you know how hard it is to pretend I'm brave enough to rush out and avenge someone, when I couldn't do it in real life?"

  "Avenge?"

  "My wife was in the war. When the Fens took over, they made an example of her." His ears and tail are held carefully still, but you can smell something clammy and frightening in his scent. "But that doesn't concern you. You're a tourist, if an unwilling one. Now show me how you pretend to be in love."

  Wylan has straightened up and smoothed his exposed fur already. You look at the script more carefully. Says here that he's just gotten back from clobbering the bad guys and finding some treasure, which he left behind for your sake. So get in character... do you really have to do this? There's the possibility of hiding under your bed for the next few weeks.

  No! You're going to do this right! Or at least get this movie done with, so you aren't making things in this world any worse for Lenara's absence. You bristle a bit inside your suit, step closer, and blush as he wraps one arm around you. You look up into his sad eyes, try not to bonk muzzles, and imagine him riding out to save you from a horde of muggers. He'd be good at it if he tried, with those keen eyes and strong muscles... You feel warm breath on your neck as the two of you touch, nose to nose, and embrace tighter. You're pulled into some kind of head-tilted, dizzying nuzzle with your co-star, and after a little while you pull back and catch your breath while staring wide-eyed at him. It was nice.

  Softly, the director says, "Cut."

  * * *

  You have time off in the afternoon. There's a library in town, so you walk in search of that. You're glad for the broad daylight as you pass the town's alleyways.

  The library is styled like some kind of fortress, even though it's only two stories tall. When you step in there's a lot of greenery, lit by sunbeams from the ceiling. They're growing vegetables in here.

  A librarian named Jahnbuck greets you and shows you the history section. You're quickly confused, even after you remember that the pages go right-to-left. So why are you here again? Well, you'd heard about this country having been conquered, and there's the too-personal subject of how magic works in this place.

  You bask in a pool of light, browsing a stack of dusty books that make your nose twitch. It looks like these Fen people are from an empire of deserts and jungles, and have some religious "Teachings" too weird to explain. Apparently they're very convincing at swordpoint though. The empire isn't obviously killing people these days, at least not locally, but it's not particularly nice either.

  A pair of ears twitches over the book in your hands. "Senorita?" says their owner.

  You look up and find a long-eared, sand-colored fox. He's the first you've seen in town, actually; everyone local seems to be the red or grey-and-red kind. His clothes are odd too, with many buttons and pockets on his dazzlingly white vest. He says, "The illustrious Lenara Vale, I presume?"

  You freeze. First of all, if your sense of the local language is right, he's one of the "Fens" people here resent. Second, are you Lenara for purposes of talking with a strange outsider? "Um, hi?" you squeak.

  "Bueno, senorita!" he says. (He's not speaking Spanish. That's just the easiest thing to compare it to.) "I am Eloy Alejandro, visiting town as an admirer of your studio. A 'fan', yes?"

  "You came here for a movie tour?" you say.

  "Unofficially. But I am here as a repairman. I mend things that are broken. Computers, mainly. A surprise very pleasant to meet you here. It speaks well of your intellect."

  You smile. "Just studying history before getting back to work."

  "I'm not interrupting you, I hope?" His ears droop in obvious pleading for attention.

  Oh, what are you doing letting somebody flatter you like this? "I have a few minutes."

  "Well. I want to say, I've noticed the theme of your work, and think it brave of your studio. Do you know Zellon Fabrosi personally? His 'Chalice' movie is brilliant in its own way. But the interactivity of your productions is something else again. You get to feel the anger, the resistance in the way Wylan moves. Or yourself."

  Lenara's been in other movies with Wylan, and they're mostly the kind where someone can hop into first-person mode using the motion-capture data. That means this Eloy guy has probably watched the things, and romanced you from Wylan's perspective. Or him from yours. Either way it's kind of disturbing. And he actually liked that Chalice thing? No taste!

  Wait a minute. Evil big-eared things were the villains, and the paranoia plot was about someone getting forcibly turned into one? That's more political than you'd imagined junky fantasy to be. "Thanks, I think. I'm not trying to make trouble, though."

  "Of course not," he says with a wink and a tailwag. "But it's nice to see some among your people having an influence cultural on the empire. Many young Fens watch films, and over time, who knows where that leads?"

  Time. "Oh! I need to get back to the studio," you say. It's strange to think about your having an influence on the world here, just by performing.

  Eloy bows to you. "Glad to meet you, in any case. I hope to take a studio tour later, if they'll allow it...?"

  "I'll try to get you a pass." His eyes light up at the offer. Fanboy fox!

  As you get up, the foreigner moves to fetch the books you've pulled out. "I will return these for you, senorita." He glances at the titles. "Oh, planning a magical tale next?"

  "Maybe," you say with a nervous smile that you hope gives away nothing.

  "Excellente! I shall look forward to it."

  You get out of the library, feeling flustered several ways at once by the foreign man with his odd compliments and questions.

  * 3. Method Acting *

  The rest of the work day is easy. The director bellows at you to say your lines with "more zest" or "more ennui". Come on, you're talking about cattle! You catch the stagehands smirking about it, and share in making fun of him when he's not looking.

  You're comfortable here in a way. You've got a job, a house, and friends. People admire "your" work and think you're having a good effect on the country. On the other hand, you're an impostor. People like you for things you didn't create. The filmgoing world has decided that you are an Upcoming Star and it's a self-fulfilling prophecy. If you keep at this, though, you could become a decent actor for real.

  In an idle moment you stare at the white-furred, clawed hands this world gave you, and can't help glancing at your soft-furred, ample chest. The body's not what you're used to, and it means a different life than you ever expected. Besides the obvious changes caused by your gender, you're expected to get used to brushing that luxurious tail and all your fur, to having a muzzle and seeing slit-pupiled eyes in the mirror. Then there's the fact that you've walked into some kind of long-term racial problem. You lost your life and got handed a completely different one.

  Is that so bad? Maybe your attitudes have shifted a bit. Your tail can be a nuisance, but yo
u could learn to like feeling it flick and curl around behind you once you quit getting startled by the thing. Depending on your feelings before you got zapped into the costume place, you might be disturbed to notice that guys like Wylan are actually... attractive, and that it's because of a random costume you put on. Who has the right to mess with your head like this? Then again, would it be any better if you'd hated every second as a half-animal woman and ended up killing yourself? Or if you'd gotten stuck with some kind of fish-monster costume, or replaced the Pretty Pink Princess of Pig World? In this form, you've got a choice about what to be and how to act. And there's always the chance of going back for a different costume, a different life. But you can probably never go home again. You want to meet the wizard behind this game, and have words.

  The filming for this movie is almost over, and people seem to like how you're doing. That's your excuse for taking a walk with Bragho that evening. Besides the two main filming halls, there're some shacks, a cafeteria, and so on. Some of the studio's land is left as natural forest, giving the place a peaceful scent. This new sense of smell and your night vision aren't as powerful as you might have expected, but you've kept your color vision. If the fox-folk were colorblind by human standards, would their screens use only red and blue?

  "What're you thinking about?" asks Bragho.

  You say, "This costume thing, and the differences between this race and what I was. How long have you been in this world, anyway?"

  "A few years. I got tired of the game of wandering between worlds, and this place is all right."

  "So you kept jumping to the next one as soon as you could?"

  He gives you a sheepish look. "Sometimes I stuck around to sightsee and help people out a bit. It was usually fun."

  You look around at the sunset over the valley. "Must've been a lot of lingering. You're really old, aren't you?"

  "A couple of centuries, I guess, though the different calendars make it confusing to tell." He tells you a bit about worlds where time is measured in terms of imperial reigns, or literal rains, or even deliberately kept vague.

  You whistle pretty well through your muzzle. "What were you to start with?"

  He scratches his ear and avoids your gaze. "I had tentacles. You'd have said I was ugly, in more ways than one. But those days're over." Together you walk into a prop warehouse, where in the dim light you spot dozens of ordinary movie costumes. "Since then I've been plenty of things. A human like you, an obscenely busty dragon — don't give me that look! — a superpowered cat-centaur race, you name it. Then there was that world of birds... That was a tough one. Long story."

  Your ears droop. "Not much chance of finding a human costume, then?"

  "I did, once, so there's a chance." Though you'd end up as someone else, and apparently kick some random human out of Earth and into the game you're stuck playing.

  "So why haven't you kept looking for a costume that'll turn you back into your own kind?"

  "I don't want to!" snaps Bragho. He grabs a sequined cape from a rack. "Listen. You'll probably never see your world again. I saw over a thousand costumes when I was in the wizard's maze, and I couldn't reach them all. Either settle down here and let yourself be Lenara, or run off and be an anonymous vixen who looks like her, or resign yourself to seeing other worlds. Some of which are terrifying." He looks about to shred the cape he holds. "Is it worth giving up what you have here for whatever is hidden behind the next outfit? Would you pick up a script and commit yourself to that role without reading it?" He puts the cape back, shoulders trembling. "From what you've told me, this is a good gig for you. Famous, gorgeous, and — ah, never mind."

  You blush, thinking again about the "deal" you've gotten here. Bragho's standards must have changed from his tentacled days.

  He says, "If you do go world-hopping, there are benefits. Over the years I've gained some shapeshifting abilities I can use voluntarily, among other things. But I'm done currying favor with the master wizard to get magic powers. Especially ones I'm afraid to show off around here. If I ran that costume-game, it'd be different!"

  "You said that most of the studio knows what you really are. How did you convince them?"

  Bragho looks around at length and visibly steels himself, setting his ears high and his tail straight out. He holds out one hand. Gradually, his fingers twinkle like stars and become bird-like talons. His arm's fur shifts into a mass of dark feathers. "I showed them things like this. As far as we... I mean as far as the fox race knows, this is impossible even by magic."

  You reach out to feel his talons, recoil from their sharpness, then touch again more carefully. "That's amazing."

  He lets his hand and arm revert, showing the same unearthly light for a moment.

  "This is a lot to think about. Thanks, Bragho. I'm glad to have somebody that knows what I'm going through."

  "Yeah," he says, looking off to one side. "If you need help with fox stuff, or girl stuff, or the local culture, ask. I've been through it."

  "What about this empire — the Fens?"

  He shrugs. "Doesn't affect us much. I've seen empires that murder their own people while bragging about their kindness. This one's mild."

  You think of your world's Communists and National Socialists, but instead you tell him about meeting Eloy. Bragho says, "Sounds like a fop. Fens usually are. Just don't tell him about the costumes, or you might get drafted as a supposed magic-user. And of course, don't tell him about me."

  You laugh nervously. "All right. Can we get him a tour?"

  "Once the major filming is done, sure. How's your house? Looked pretty bare from what I saw."

  "I've hardly noticed, but yeah. Didn't come with Lenara's things."

  "That's typical. Want to do some shopping? Holy day's tomorrow if you don't know; we're not allowed to act. We could go into the city." He pauses from his nonchalant inspection of more costume racks. "Although, it's kind of pointless to buy anything if you're leaving by month's end."

  You frown; he's right. "I do have free starting money though."

  "Yeah. You could treat it as just a game if you want. And you've got wages coming."

  It could be fun to see more of the world.

  * * *

  It turns out there's a bus running from here to Peacholt, the city you saw on the map earlier. As you ride out of the valley you spot billboards for restaurants, fur shampoo, new homes. "Not many cars," you say.

  Bragho watches the other buses, a few things recognizable as cars, and various motorcycles and odd tricycle craft. Some roar with internal combustion engines, shooting down your idea of "inventing" them.

  Bragho says, "Our kind needs permission for motors, especially the heavy kind. You might be able to get a scooter, or a motorcycle if you play up the famous actress role."

  "What're all these restrictions about, anyway? Racism by the Fens?"

  "Partly. There's only so much gas available too. There was one world —" He stops, noticing the other passengers.

  "There are solutions to a gas shortage," you say. "Though my people hadn't found a great one yet, last I saw."

  He leans back, smiling. "Ah, it's nice to find someone else well-traveled."

  Peacholt City dwarfs the town you arrived in. There's only one tower you could call a skyscraper, but lots of shiny white limestone buildings lining a harbor. Iron-grey warships lurk in the water, carefully avoided by the sailboats and some fishing craft heading out. All in all it's a pleasant-looking place. As the bus parks, your nose catches the scent of salty air with a hint of smoke.

  "Got your money? That's the biggest bazaar in the city." Bragho points to a huge blue canopy that flutters in the wind. Beneath it, hundreds of people mill around shaded stalls of merchandise. Eagerly you follow Bragho in to see the place. It's wild: part food market, part clothing store, part entertainment center with woodwind bands and drummers. You didn't know there were this many variations on fox-musk, perfume and the scents of cloth. Bragho grins at how your nose is sniffing everywhere. />
  The races mix here, including Fens and red foxes and even a slit-eyed white breed. Nice to see them getting along with... your kind.

  Bragho leads you past vegetables and fine leather jackets to a booth of ribbons and dresses. The sight makes you blush and say, "You're not serious."

  "Why not try them?" he says.

  The high-tech bodysuit from work was one thing, and the skirt you've got on now brushes comfortably against your legs and tail, but you're not really eager to walk around in some frilly silk dress. Much less in the outfits consisting of nothing but ribbons, like a couple of vixens are wearing! "I guess I'm a tomboy," you say, sliding a paw through racks of outfits. Dress, low-cut blouse, dress, blah. Bikini (whoa, you could fit that?), dress, griffin costume...

  You freeze. This does not belong here. The material of the soft white feathers is unlike anything else in the bazaar. You unconsciously run your clawtips against the fur of your own arm, which used to be part of a very similar costume. "Bragho, look!"

  He opens his muzzle to speak, stops, and shakes his head. His ears droop as he whispers, "Buy it. Explanation later."

  You find the shopkeeper, a Fen woman with elaborate earrings and with a blue ribbon winding all around her otherwise bare fur. You'd been told that haggling is expected in these shops. "I found something unworthy of your store, senora," you say. "This silly thing."

  She looks surprised herself to see it. "Oh? It's quite unusual, isn't it? You have a keen nose for the unique. For you, how about a special price..."

  Ooh, that was fun! You're grinning and clutching a shopping bag to your chest. The shopkeeper threw in a blue bikini and a ribbon-scarf like hers, and you even have money left over. As you strut away you find Bragho biting his lip, no easy feat with a muzzle. "What, what?"

  Bragho grins. "She totally played you."

  "Did not! I got her to throw in —"

  "More than you planned to buy, yeah. But hey, great bargaining, vix." He ruffles your ears.

  "Hmmph." It was still fun. "So what about the costume? It's one of those, isn't it?"