XLIV

"-where do we get the corpse?"

Zeb:

            "The question," said my wife Deety, "is where do we get the corpse? With timing that precise, Gay can make the pickup. But a corpse has to be left behind. Lazarus, not only do your movies show it, but you remember Maureen's death; you went to her funeral. It's got to be a fresh corpse of an elderly woman that the cops will accept as Maureen Johnson."

            Six of us-Deety, me, Jake, Sharpie, Lazarus, and Libby-were seated around our kitchen dining table at "New Harbor" (our wives accepted that compromise) in Beulahland, trying to make plans for the "snatch." "Snatch" in the literal sense if the rescue of Maureen Johnson were to succeed.

            Lazarus had a motion picture that showed that we would succeed (had succeeded) (were about to succeed) at a precise time and place and date on an analog of Earth-zero one quantum away on 't' axis.

            Easy! Success guaranteed. Can't miss. Do it blindfolded.

            But suppose we did miss?

            The frames showed that a roadable had passed through the space where Gay had been (would be?) grounded, and, in so doing, ran over (would run Over) (will run over) (is, was, and forever will be running over) the dumped corpse. Suppose the timing or placement was offjust a touch. On his first time travel (1916-1918 Old-Home-Terra), with Dora piloting, Lazarus had missed not by a split second but by three years.

            Lazarus had pointed out that it was his fault, not Dora's; he had fed her Imperfect data-and we had jumped on him from five sides: It was not a

question of "whose fault" but the fact a mistake could be made. Or could it?

            Four mathematicians, one mathematical engineer (yeah, I include me, as resident expert in Gay's responses), and one intuitionist all disagreed.

            Hilda was certain that nothing could go wrong.

            I am a firm believer in Murphy's Law: Given any possible chance, it will go wrong. Anything.

            Libby had been wholeheartedly converted both to Jake's six-axis plenum of universes to the awful Number of the Beast but also to Sharpie's multiple solipsism, and asserted that they were two sides of the same coin; one was a corollary of the other and vice versa. Combined, they (it) constituted the ultimate total philosophy: science, religion, mathematics, art, in one grand consistent package. She spoke of a "ficton" being a quantum of imagination/reality ("imaginary" being identical with "real" whatever that is) as casually as a physicist speaks of photons. "Could a mistake be made? Yes. And would create a new universe. Jacob, you spoke of the empty universes your family had visited. One by one they fill as fictons are created." She added, "But a mistake was not made; we snatched Maureen safely. We ourselves create the fictionsfictons-ficta that will make it real."

            She was euphoric. I attributed it to excitement over the coming adventure. I was mistaken.

            Lazarus, a highly competent mathematician although not the unique that Jake is or Libby, was in this case not a calm abstractionist; his mood was grim determination to win or die trying-causing me to recall how he got his arse shot off.

            Jake turned out to be a determinist (he himself being one universe's prime example of utter, rambunctious free will!).

            Deety is a pragmatic mathematician, unworried by theory. Oz is real, she is real, "fictons" don't interest her. "Don't fret, Lazarus. We can do it, Gay can do it-and we won't do it until Gay is certain of her program."

            This discussion had started midafternoon in Dora. Sharpie had worked out her difficulties with Lazarus (to my enormous relief; were those two to wind up on opposite sides in anything more serious than Parcheesi, I yearn to be elsewhere-say Timbuktu under an assumed name); she, Jake, Lazarus, and Libby were in the flag cabin, arguing, when Sharpie had Dora page Deety and me.

            There were endless matters on the agenda Uncluding the preposterous notion that we four were 'Missing Howards' and that Lazarus was registering us as such. I'm not sure I want to live a thousand years or even two hundred. But I am sure of this: a) I want to live quite a piece; and b) I want to be alert, healthy, and active right up to the last. Not like my great-grandfather who had to be spoonfed at a hundred and five, and could not control his secretions. But the Howards have got that whipped: you stay young as long as you wish, then die by choice when you feel you've had your full run.

            (Yes, I was willing to be a 'Found Howard' since it included Deety, plus little Deeties ad infinitum.)

            Lots of other business, all of it postponed (including the problem of "Black Hats"), in order to deal with rescuing Maureen Johnson.

            We were still discussing knotty aspects when Lor's voice said: "Commodore?"

            "Yes, Captain?" Sharpie had answered.

            "Ma'am, I hesitate to disturb you-"

            "Quite all right, Lor. The Captain must always be able to reach me."

            "Uh, Ma'am, Dora told me that she was forbidden to call you. She has for you a variety of New Rome styles for women and men, a military uniform for Doctor Jacob, and one for Doctor Zebadiah, and evening formals for Doctor Elizabeth and Doctor Deety-and she's not sure where to send any of them."

            "Send all the clothes to the flag cabin, please."

            "Yes, Ma'am. They should be appearing in your delivery cupboard now. Do you know where that is?"

            "I'll find it. What are you and your sister wearing tonight? Or is it a secret?"

            "It's not a secret; we just haven't decided. But there is still an hour and thirty-one minutes till dinner."

            "Time enough to pick out pretty clothes. Or will you wear formal skin tonight? That takes anywhere from two seconds to two hours, does it not? Off."

            Sharpie used an unusually rough expression of disgust, which told me that she now included Lib and Lazarus in her inner circle. "Woodie, do you know any exceptionally strong cuss words? I detest the thought of wasting time pretending to be festive when we have so much to settle, especially our procedures for Maureen."

            Deety looked at Libby. "You and I are kind o' stuck with a promise, too. How about some new cuss words from you, too?"

            "Deety, I have no literary talent. But I would like to hear some soul-soothing cussing. We ought to stick with this, with snacks to keep going and sleep when we must, until it's perfect. Three hours or three days or three weeks."

            I said, "We shall!"

            Sharpie shook her head. "Zebbie, you can skip dinner. I can't. Lazarus should appear, too."

            He agreed. "I'm afraid I must. But, Commodore, I must advise you that your flag chief of staff should be present, too, for esprit de corps." He cleared his throat noisily. "Libby and Jacob, being passengers, could skip."

            Lib shook her head. "Deety and I made a reckless promise."

            Not being a genius myself, it's kind of fun to make a roomful of 'em look silly. I stood up. "No! We will not let a dinner party interfere! We can settle it within three days. But if you all are going to chase rabbits- What's the matter with you, Sharpie? Getting stupid in your old age?"

            "Apparently I am, Zebbie." She said to Lazarus, "Please issue orders cancelling dinner. We'll stay with this until we finish it. There are beds and lounges whenever anyone needs to nap. But we won't adjourn. Three hours or three weeks. Or longer."

            "Don't cancel dinner, Sharpie."

            "Zebbie, you have me confused."

            "Beulahland is on a different time axis."

            Five minutes later we were in our old farmhouse. We hadn't stopped for clothes as we would have wasted twenty minutes, whereas the idea was to save time on that axis, use time on this axis. We stuck Lazarus and Libby back in the after space, with the bulkhead door dogged open, so they could see and hear, but required them to use the web straps, and cautioned them that the lumps under them were loaded firearms.

            The only thing not routine was that we would be making rendezvous later with a moving ship, something we had done before only from bounce range in the same space-time. So I had asked Gay whether she was sure she could do it. She assured me that she could, because she wasn't concerned with the ship's vector; she would return the instant she left.

            I turned to Commodore-now-Captain Sharpie. "Ready for space, Captain."

            "Thank you, Astrogator. Gay Deceiver. Beulahland. Execute. Gay Deceiver, open your doors. All hands, unbelt. Disembark. Gay, it's sleepy time. Over."

            "Goodnight, Hilda. Roger and out."

            Our passengers were dazed-they all are, first time. They stood outside our barn, looking at the setting sun, acting like zombies, until I shooed them inside. Although Beulahland does not have body taboos, they wear clothes most of the time, and six naked people outdoors in a clump as the chill of the evening was coming on was odd. I like a low profile.

            Once inside, Libby said, "Feels like Arkansaw."

            Lazarus replied. "Feels like Mizzoura."

            "Neither," I told them. "It would be the St ate of \Va~h I n~ton if' it weren't Beulahiand, and what ought to be Puget Sound is about a kilometer over that way."

            "It still feels like home. Lazarus, I'm happy here."

            At that moment I decided we would never give up New Harbor. Apparently we were going to be citizens of Tertius, or maybe New Rome on Secundus, or both (commuting is no problem when light-years mean nothing), on another time axis. We could take a rest from city life anytime and have it cost not one day's work on Tertius. Contrariwise, only such time would pass on New World as we spent there.

            Hmm- Maybe we could sell vacations. Or extra study time for that student who has his big exam, the one he must pass, tomorrow morning. Sell him room and board and transportation and three weeks not in the calendar. At a slight markup, of course.

            I built a cheerful fire in the fireplace, and Lazarus washed dishes, while Libby insisted on proving that she could cook on a wood range, even though she had learned centuries ago by her time scale, as a gangling boy. Yes, Elizabeth can cook.

            We ate and sat around and ta~ ked, puiz~io~ ho~ Ia ba ~uI a at ~laureen Not make that one tiny mista ke, It was then thaI Deetv bl'I)ught up the root ter of the dead body, \ouve seen how ocr urate (day can be But Icn~r' do we get a freshly-dead corpse to replace Maureen?

            Lazarus told her to forget it, "I provide the corpse."

            "That's not a good answer, Lazarus."

"Deety, don't worry. It'll be dead and I will dump it." I said, "Lazarus, I don't like that answer a damn bit." "Nor do I," Jake seconded.

            "Nor I," agreed Sharpie. "Woodie, you're asking us to make a snatch-a hanging offense many places, bad trouble anywhere. We don't mind the technicality; saving an old woman's life isn't the sin kidnapping is. But what about this freshly-dead corpse? We don't deal in murder."

            Lazarus glowered.

            Libby said hastily, "If I assure you that it is all right, will you let it go at that?"

            "No," pronounced Sharpie, Woodie must come clean."

            "All right, all right! I own this corpse. No murder or any other crime involved. Now will you quit riding me about it?"

            "Jake?"

            "I don't like it, Zeb."

            "I don't, either. But we needn't do anything. We go limp. He may not last long in a culture that 'balances,"

            "Possible. But that's his problem."

            Sharpie said quickly, "Did either of you promise him a ride back to my ship?"

'~Whose ship?"

            "Mv ship. Woodie. Gentlemen?"

            "I didn't promise him. Did you. Jake'?"

            No. Did you, Deety'? Hilda'?"

            'Not me, Pop."

            "Nor me, Jacob. Woodie, earlier today I thought you had seen the light. Conceded, 'I am but indifferent honest' myself. But even pirates need to feel safe with their shipmates. You and I shook hands as partners. You don't seem to understand what that means. However I'm not going to abandon you here. You'd be balanced in a week. Dead. Or worse. So we'll take you back. By the way, it is impossible to steal Gay Deceiver. Yes, I know you once stole a ship enormously bigger than Gay. But not as well protected."

            "Lazarus! Tell them."

            "Lib, I was waiting for the Commodore to finish. That corpse wasn't murdered because it was never alive other than as a vegetable." Lazarus looked embarrassed.

            "About thirty years ago we started a medical school on Tertius. A one-horse deal, more of a branch of the clinic. But genetic engineering is taught, and student genetic surgeons must practice. Ordinarily a clone that goes bad is 1'f!led and frozen and its tissues studied. A clone that takes-shows no fault.

            deviation--is either cared foi' and allowed to develop if~ its genetic source rots a spare body and will pay for it, Or, more likely, a healthy clone is aui'el\' a laboratory exercise~ an ethical medical school requires supervised destruction during the first pseudo trimester. befoi'e quickening shows in the 'ave form,

            "Neither student nor tissue donor is likely to be upset by this quasi-abortion.

as the student is almost always herself the donor-if it bothers her, she's in the wrong vocation.

            "If the student is not the donor, emotional upset is hardly possible. The student thinks of the clone as a quasi-living histological specimen the usefulness of which is at end-and the tissue donor can't be upset, being unaware of it."

            "Why so, Lazarus? If anybody is tinkering with my cells, I want to know about it, I do!"

            "Deety, that tissue may be years, even centuries, old; the donor may be parsecs away. Or still warm and the donor just leaving the building. Or anything in between. A sperm-and-ova bank insures the future of the race; a tissue bank insures the future of the individual. But somebody has to pick up the check; it's a tanstaafl situation. A few of the very wealthy-and neurotic- always have a quickened but unawakened clone in stasis. I'm wealthy but not neurotic; I don't have a reserve clone."

            I caught sight of Libby's face as Lazarus made that last statement-her mouth twitched in a half smile about to become (I think) a snicker, had she not suppressed all expression. No one but I caught it.

            I made note to ask her about it later-then I remembered what the mouse told the cat and decided not to.

            "But I do what any prudent Howard does; I have tissue on deposit. One may do this either of two ways: Pay high. . . or pay much lower and sign a release on half the donation for research and instruction." He grinned. "I'm stingy. My tissue is available to medical students."

            He went on, "Not all medical schools are ethical. I can think of at least three planets where-" Lazarus looked directly at my wife. "Deety, you raised this issue. While I can think of three planets where one can buy any sort of monster, I can think of at least thirty where, for a much lower fee, I could simply say, 'I want that one' "-he pointed at Sharpie-"and the answer would be, 'It's a deal, Mac. How freshly dead and when do you want delivery?"

            Sharpie looked around behind herself as if to see at whom Lazarus had pointed.

            "That's the cheapest way-"

            "Then you weren't pointing at me!" Sharpie interrupted. "Woodie, it's not polite to point. For a moment you had me worried. I'm never cheap-highpriced, always."

            "So I found out, Commodore. Deety, that's cheapest, and safe for the buyer in the places I have in mind. But how can I convince you that I never gave even a moment's consideration to that method? You seem to know a lot about me-more than I know about any of you. Is there anything that you have ever read or heard, anything that I've said or done, that would cause you to think that I would murder or contract for a murder-same but nastier-in order to further my own ends? I'm not saying that I have never killed. A man who has lived even half as long as I have has found himself more than once in a killor-be-killed situation. But the best way to deal with such a situation is not to get into it. Anticipate it. Avoid it."

            Lazarus Long stopped and looked sad, and for the only time of my acquaintance with him, looked his age. I do not mean he suddenly looked decrepit. But he had an aura of ancient sorrow. "Professor Burroughs, if it would do any good, I would junk all my plans, accept being forever stranded here, for the privilege of taking a twenty-pound sledge and smashing your space-time twister."

            I was shocked (damn it, I like good machinery). Jake looked hurt, Deety and Sharpie looked stunned.

            Jake said tightly, "Lazarus. .. why?"

            "Not to hurt you, Professor; you have my highest respect. You are one of three: the man who invented the wheel, the man who discovered how to use fire-and you. But, in making this supreme discovery, you have accomplished something I had thought impossible. You have made interstellar war logistically practical. Interstellar? Intergalactic-interuniversal !"

            Lazarus suddenly straightened up, threw off his gloom, grinned. "All the King's horses and all the King's men can't close Pandora's Box again. Once it hits the fan, the only thing to do is sweep it up, package it, and sell it as fertilizer. Hilda has plans along that line. But I'm going to have to start thinking in military terms again. Figure out how to defend my home place against what appears to be that Ultimate Weapon much talked about but never achieved. I am glad to say that Hilda plans to keep it a close-held secret as long as possible; that may buy us time."

            He turned his attention back to my wife. "Deety, I have never murdered,

I never will. The nearest I ever came to it was once being sorely tempted to

strangle a five-year-old boy. I admit that the thought has often passed through

my mind that this character or that would look his best as the centerpiece of

a funeral. But can I convince you that I have never acted on such thoughts?

Think hard, please-all that you know of me. Am I capable of murder?"

            Deety doesn't dither. (Remember how we got married?) She jumped up, hurried around our kitchen table, and kissed Lazarus-and stopped hurrying. It was a kiss that calls for a bed, or even a pile of coal-had there not been urgent business before the house.

            Deety broke from it, sat down beside him, and said, "Tell us how we get this unmurdered fresh corpse. It's clear that we're going to have to go pick it up-in Gay. So we must know."

            Libby said gently, "Lazarus, this is what you have been avoiding. May I tell it?"

            "Thanks, Lib. No, you would pretty it up. I-"

            "Pipe down!" said Deety. "Elizabeth, give us the straight word. Briefly."

            "Very well. The medical school of B.I.T. is as ethical as you will find. My sister-wife Ishtar is director of the rejuvenation clinic and chairman of the board of the medical school, and still finds time to teach. I have never seen Maureen Johnson as I was born about two centuries after she was. But she iS Supposed to resemble Laz and Lor-unsurprising; she is their genetic mother, Since they were cloned from Lazarus."

            "Oh! I see. There is still a third clone from Lazarus. Female?"

            "A spoiled one, Deety. Ishtar tells me that it is difficult, rather than otherwise, to get a bad clone from Lazarene tissue. . . so it is especially suitable for induced mutation experiments. She orders the destruction of these experiments when they have served their purpose."

            "Deety said to make it brief," growled Lazarus.

            Lib ignored him. "But, while Ishtar checks on the students, no one checks on her. For twenty years Ishtar watched for a clone that would look human but not be human. So deficient in forebrain that it could never be anything but a vegetable, unaware. She told me that her students had unknowingly provided her with dozens to work on. Usually they died too soon, or never developed human appearance, or had some other fault that made them unusable. But several years ago she succeeded. I testify that this thing looked like Laz and Lor as it passed through the stage of its forced development. . . and also that it looked like an older version, wrinkled and hair streaked with gray, when it died two Tertian years ago-"

            "Huh? Fresh corpse'!"

            "-and was quick-frozen at once. I testify to something else. Friends, in becoming a woman I acquired an interest in biology that I had not had, as a male. While I teach math at B.I.T., I am also staff mathematician to the clinic and have studied a bit of human biology. When I say that this spoiled clone was never alive in any real sense I speak as the mathematical biologist who checked its monitors' records daily. It always required full metabolic support; we monitored everything. The surprising thing is that Ishtar could keep it alive long enough to let it appear to age. But Ishtar is very skillful." Libby added, "Lazarus would not only have become upset in telling this, but he could not have told it first hand as Ishtar refused to permit Lazarus to see this spoiled clone or any records on it."

            "A willful woman," said Lazarus. "In three seconds I could have told Ish whether or not this thing looked enough like my mother to be useful. Instead I must depend on the opinions of people who have never laid eyes on my mother. Damn it, I am owner of record of the clinic and Chairman Regent of all B.I.T. Does that count with Ishtar? Hilda, my senior wife is as tough a case as you are. . . and looks as little like it as you do."

            "So? It will be interesting to see what happens when I am your junior wife," Sharpie answered at her pertest.

            "Are you going to be my junior wife?" Lazarus swung around and looked at her husband. "Jake?"

            "I don't think I have a vote," my blood brother answered easily.

            "I'll automatically be your junior wife if we are invited to join the Long Family which we damn well ought to be if we make this work!" Sharpie said indignantly.

            "Wait a half!" I put in. "If we are invited to join the Long Family-a tall assumption if I ever saw one-Deety would be junior. Not you, you elderly baggage."

            "Hillbilly can be junior if she wants to be. I don't mind."

            "Deety," I said, "are you serious? I've been trying to point out to your stepmother that you don't push your way into a family."

            "I wasn't pushing, Zebadiah," my wife answered. "I want us to stay on Tertius at least until we have our babies, and possibly make it our home; it seems to be a pleasant place and should be free of 'Black Hats'-no skin taboos. But that doesn't mean that the Longs have to have us in their laps."

            'i intend to nominate you, Zebadiah," Libby told me. "All four of you. And I hope you four accept. But, Deety twin, you know what I'm attempting. With your father."

            "Yes, I know. I'm cheering for it."

            "Your husband must hear this. Deety, I still have that Y chromosome in every cell even though it has been so inhibited by hormone balance that I don't notice it. You and I could try for a mathematical-genius baby, too."

            "Huh! Which one of us supplies the penis?"

            "Ishtar does. Neither of us would be host-mother, the way it would be done. But any of my sister-wives would supply womb room if she didn't happen to be pregnant. Or the host-mother could be a stranger we would never meet and the child's family-parents strangers, too-all handled by Ishtar who always reads the relevant genetic charts before approving anything."

            "Zebadiah?"

            I said without hesitation, "It's up to you, hon. I'm in favor of it; it makes sense. But don't lose track of the child. Elizabeth, I want to adopt the baby ahead of time. Hmm- Bottle baby. . . but the formulas are probably better now. Not here-now. Tertius there-then-now."

            "Bottle baby'? Oh! No longer done; a baby needs to suckle. But there is usually spare milk around the Longs'. If I'm lactating I always have excess; I turn out to be a good milch cow despite that extra chromosome. But Deety can nurse our child if she wishes to; causing a woman to come fresh with milk without bearing a child is a minor biochemical manipulation today-Tertiantoday. Professional wet nurses do it regularly and are likely to be in that vocation because they love babies but can't have 'em themselves for some reason."

            "Sounds good." (What sounded best was this: a baby Deety is a wonderful idea-but a baby Deety who is also a baby Libby is sure to be wonderful squared. Cubed!)

            "While I'm on this and no one here but family-Jacob, there is no reason not to create a third mathematical supergenius by crossing you with your daughter."

            I was looking at my wife, thinking pleasant thoughts about baby DeetyLibby, when Elizabeth dropped this bomb-and Deety shut down her face. It's not an unpleasant expression; it's a no-expression, a closed door, while Deety sorts out her thoughts.

            So I looked at Jake, in time to see his face shift from surprise to shock. "But that's-"

            "Incest?" Libby supplied. "No, Jacob, incest is a social matter. Whether you bed your daughter is none of my business. I'm speaking of genes, of still another way to conserve mathematical genius. Ishtar would scan your charts most carefully and would resort to chromosome surgery if there was the slightest chance of double dosage of a bad allele. But you and your daughter could see

Ishtar on different days and never know anything about the outcome. Your genes are not your property; they come from your race. This offers opportunity to give them back to the race with your highest talent reinforced. . . without loss to anyone. Think about it."

            Jake looked at me, then at his daughter. "Deety?"

            She added no-expression voice to no-expression face-but directed her answer to me: "Zebadiah, this is necessarily up to you and Jacob." I'm not sure that anyone but Sharpie noticed that she had not said "Pop."

            Deety added at once with total change in manner, "First things first! Maureen's rescue. All of you are stuck in a rut of time sequence. Oh, the minor problem of keeping clear of Dora and the missile both times. Routine." (And I was hit by a satori.)

            Lazarus answered, "But Deety, I promised Dora never again to take her anywhere near Albuquerque."

            Deety sighed. "Lib?"

            "Frames one-thirteen through seven-seven-two, then seven-seven-three through one thousand and two?"

            "Precisely. And precisely it must be, too. I'm timing it by that yellow open roadable approaching from the other direction. What are you using?"

            "The same one. Easy to spot and its speed never varies."

            Lazarus said, "Jake, do you know what they are saying?"

            "Yes and no. They are treating it as two problems. But we lack three seconds of time enough to dump one and snatch the other. Those-traffic lights, you called them?-leave that intersection clear by a measured interval, clocked by your camera."

            Sharpie suddenly grinned; I nodded to her to take it. She did. "Deety and Libby are saying that we do it twice. First, we rescue Maureen. Then we come back and dump the corpse."

            I added, "But the second time we don't ground. Jake, I'm going to ask you to move over-Deety moves to my seat. We'll dump the dead meat so that it hits the ground between frames seven-seven-two and seven-seven-three. I'll be on manual and hovering. I need to know where Dora is and where that missile is and need to be sure of the acceleration of gravity, Earth-Prime. Because that corpse will already be falling, right over our heads, while we are making the snatch. Close timing. Mmm-Gay can fly herself more precisely than I can. I think that Deety and I will write a program. . . then I'll be on override-suspenders and belt."

            Jake added, "Zeb, I see the procedure. But, if we are hovering for the drop while we are also on the ground, why aren't we shown in the photographs?"

            "May be in some of them. Doesn't matter. Deety, when do we do this? Cancel. Sharpie? Your orders, Captain?"

            Deety and Sharpie swapped glances. Then they sounded like Laz-Lor, with Sharpie leading. "Now to bed. It's almost midnight in our biological time, slightly later in local time."

            "We do both jobs after breakfast," Deety responded. "But sleep as late as we can. Be sharp and on our toes. 'Minds me. Just one 'fresher, quite primitive.

But the two in Gay are as available here as anywhere; since they are actually in Oz. Six people, three pots, not difficult."

            "And three beds," added Sharpie. "Jacob, kiss us goodnight and take Lib to bed. Master bedroom and good luck! Use my toothbrush, Lib hon-anything else you need?"

            "No. A good cry, maybe. I love you, Hilda."

            "If I didn't love you, Elizabeth, I wouldn't be Madam of this joint. We'll cry together the day Ishtar tells us you've caught. Now shoosh! Scat! Kiss us and go to bed."

            As they headed upstairs Sharpie said to me, "Zebbie, give Deety a preamnesty so that she can try out Lazarus and find out whether she wants to be junior wife."

            I tried to look amazed. "Deety, haven't you tried Lazarus yet?"

            "You know darn well I haven't! When have I had time?"

            "From a woman who specializes in programming time machines that is a silly question. Lazarus, she's already knocked up, so don't fret about it. One warning: She bites."

            "The best ones always do."

            "Hush. Kiss us good-night, dears. Zebbie, open the couch in the living room; that's where you're going to keep me warm."

            "But who's going to keep me warm? A skinny little runt like you?"

            Sharpie bites.

XLV

A Stitch in Time

            Jake:

            We popped out one klick H-above-G over Albuquerque, Earth-Prime, and Gay tilted her nose down. A last-minute change put my daughter Deety at copilot, while I sat left rear, nominal navigator. Deety can use verniers as accurately as I, did not expect to use them at all, did need to be able to see the yellow roadable-and has this clock in her head.

            Elizabeth Long was in the after compartment, strapped down but not on lumps of ordnance. Rifles, pistols, bed clothes for the control compartment, anything else that could be moved easily to reduce clutter, had been shifted into our space warp, as had Lazarus Long.

            Doctor Ishtar had warned Lazarus not to let his mother recognize him, as the shock to her might be harmful, even fatal. While Lazarus had been trying to figure out how to make the snatch using Dora, he had planned on wearing disguise. But hiding in our Land-of-Oz addition was simpler-especially as Ishtar was almost as anxious that Lazarus not see his mother, not see his mother's pseudo corpse-this I learned from Elizabeth in the night.

            So I showed Lazarus the everlasting picnic basket, advised him to use bed clothes to make a shakedown and sleep if possible as there would be time to kill, and supplied him with books-but don't come out until I open the door! Then did not mention that I was locking him in.

            I was relieved to have only a nominal job. I was not sleepy despite a short mghtj was bemused.

            I was falling in love with-had fallen in love with-Elizabeth Long. No less

in love with Hilda-more in love with her than ever! I am learning that love does not subtract-it multiplies!

            As Gay tilted down I reached over and touched Hilda's hand. She smiled and threw me a kiss. I'm sure she had a sweet night; she has loved Zeb as long as she has known him. "As a loyal chum," she tells me-but Hilda holds to the Higher Truth that it is better to be kind than to be frank. It did not matter either way; Zeb is my blood brother beloved by me, perfect husband for my daughter, and, if not Hilda's lover in the past, then he surely was now- and it troubled me not at all. On awakening I had discussed it with Jane before I opened my eyes-Jane approves and is delighted by Elizabeth.

            My daughter had an unusual night, too. If the myths are true, Lazarus is more than one hundred times as old as Deety. This gulf may not matter to him-but Deety takes everything seriously.

            Apparently it had done her no harm; at breakfast she was bright-eyed and bubbly. All of us were euphoric and eager to get on with it.

            Zeb was saying, "That's it! Got it in the gunsight-got the range, Smart Girl?"

            "Got it nailed, Boss!"

            "Keep it so. Deety! Yellow roadable?"

            "Just spotted it. Gay, count down! Six. . . Five. . . Four. . . Three... Two... One.. .Now!"

            We were diagonally in that intersection; Gay's portside door was popping open. I heard Zeb say, "Oh, my God!" He was out of the car, kneeling, picking up a body, kicking a cop in the stomach, and throwing that body to me, as he scrambled inside and shouted, "GayBounce!"

            Gay bounced. Gay is not supposed to lift with a door open and "Bounce!" means ten klicks. She bounced one klick, finished closing her door, waited while Zeb checked the seal-completed the bounce. I am now a believer.

            I was passing this little old lady back to Elizabeth, and looking for resemblance to Lazarus when I heard Zeb moan, "I didn't get her purse, I didn't get her purse!"

            "What of it?" said Deety. "It's where we want it. Gay Deceiver. Tertius Orbit. Execute."

A beautiful planet- Zeb was saying, "Lib, can you coach us? Or are you too busy?"

            "Not that busy. Maureen fainted but her heart is strong and steady, and I have a strap holding her. Is Gay on frequency?"

            Deety reported, "Right on. Go ahead, Lib."

            The next I can't report; it was in Galacta. Then Elizabeth said, "We'll be passing over Boondock in three minutes twenty-two seconds. Roof of the clinic is designated. Shall I come forward and point it out?"

            "Can you handle yourself in free fall?" Zeb asked.

            "I've some experience. Eight centuries."

            "My big mouth. Come forward."

            In four or five minutes we grounded on a flat roof in a wooded part of a moderately large city. I saw a figure in a white coverall, plus two others with

a wheeled stretcher-and only then did I recall that none of us had dressed. Hilda had asked; Lazarus had vetoed, Elizabeth had concurred.

            So I found myself bare to my ears, bowing over a lady's hand and saying, "I am honored, Doctor Ishtar."

            She is indeed beautiful-a Valkyrie sculptured from cream and marshmallow and honey. She smiled and kissed my hand.'

            Elizabeth said something in this other language; Ishtar smiled again and said, in careful, fluent English, "In that case, he is one of us"-took my head in her hands and kissed me thoroughly.

            Ishtar so distracted me that I did not notice that Maureen had been handed out-awake but dazed-been rolled away, and was gone. All of us were thoroughly and carefully kissed, then Elizabeth discussed matters with Ishtar in Galacta. "Ish says that she has been slowly warming the thing. It is now at four degrees Celsius. She would like more time but will bring it to thirty-seven degrees Celsius in six hours if she must."

            Deety said, "How about twenty-four hours?"

            Ishtar was pleased at this, agreed that she understood that the substitute must be dressed in the patient's (client's) clothing, agreed that the space we were in would be kept clear-and asked, "What's that pounding noise?"

            Elizabeth explained that it was Lazarus. "He is in a magic space warp about where we were standing. He knows that he is supposed to remain there, but he changed his mind-and has just discovered that he is locked in."

            Ishtar's smile suddenly became a grin, as quickly left. "A magic space warp? Lib, I want to hear about that."

            "You will."

            We climbed back inside, Deety told Gay "Twenty-four hours"-and we stepped out again. Ishtar was lying on a pad, taking the sun. . . this time as bare as we were-and I was still more impressed.

            "Right on time," she said, standing (taller than I am) and, as always, smiling. "The substitute is waiting, and I have had time to examine and talk with the client. She is in good shape for her age, understands in part at least what has happened, and is undismayed by it. Please tell Lazarus that, if he returns to Tertius soon, he will not be admitted to this building for seventeen months. The client is most firm: she will not see Lazarus until I have completed rejuvenating her."

            "Lib," said my daughter Deety, "seventeen what sort of months? I want to set an exact rendezvous-and Gay's time calibration is not Tertian but EarthPrime and Earth-zero. Old Home Terra." With Elizabeth as interface the three agreed on an exact time. Then Elizabeth again discussed something in that language.

            Ishtar nodded. "No problem, I have seen that picture. And a hooded cape is even less trouble."

            So we left.

            Dropping that pseudo corpse was routine but I was glad to be quit of it (I had swapped seats with my daughter). Then we were back on Tertius.

            "Always prompt," said Ishtar-and I was astounded to see that she was

quite pregnant, close to birthing. . . when I had seen her, slender for her height, two minutes earlier. "And we are on time, too. Maureen, my friends and yours." She named us.

            Maureen Johnson spoke to us first in Galacta, shifted to English when she realized that we did not know the common tongue. Yes, she does look like Laz and Lor-but prettier. A woman of beauty and great charm. I find that I am growing accustomed to perfect ladies who embrace, bare body to bare body, on meeting a fully-vouched-for stranger. She thanked each of us and made us believe it.

            "Still pounding?" Ishtar inquired.

            "It has been less than five minutes for him, Ish," Elizabeth explained. "But you know his temper; perhaps we had better leave. Home soon, I think."

            So we left again, with Maureen squeezed between me and my wife, with a package and a cloak in her lap. We were back inside Dora at once. Elapsed time: zero seconds. We still had an hour and twenty minutes to prepare for dinner. I found that I was hungry, even though breakfast was three hours ago, biological time-almost all of it spent in Beulahland, programming for the caper, as all three phases took only a few durational minutes, mostly on a rooftop in Boondock.

            Maureen put on the cloak, a hooded cape, and carried the little package. "Silly but fun," she said. "Where do we go now?"

            "Come with me," Hilda told her. "Beloved, you can let Woodie out as soon as Dora tells Gay that I have reached flag cabin. When he yelps, tell him that we were too busy to play games with him.. . and the next time he wants a favor from me he can crawl on his knees. Pounding indeed! Tell him that I am extremely tired and am going to nap until just before dinner and he is not to call me or to come to the flag cabin between now and dinner without suffering my extreme displeasure and a punch in the nose from you. All of you come up to flag cabin as soon as you wish but try not to be seen by Woodie. You'll probably find Maureen and me in the lounging pool."

XLVI

"I'm gifted with second sight."

            Deety:

            When the Hillbilly stages a production, she doesn't stint. By protocol decreed by Lazarus Long, dinner in Dora is formal, but with wide latitude in "formal"- casual dress being the only thing utterly verboten. Dinner is preceded by a happy hour where one can sip Coca-Cola or get roaring drunk.

            Aunt Hilda changed all that for this night. No happy hour but be on time- two minutes before twenty o'clock, ship's time. No one permitted to eat in her! his quarters-a command performance.

            No options in dress- Commodore Auntie decided what each would wear, where each would sit. I said, "Commodore Hilda honey, aren't you kind o' throwing your weight around? What there is of it?"

            She answered, "Yes, I am, Deetikins, for this occasion. But before you criticize, ask your husband whether or not I ever permitted one of my parties to flop."

            "Don't need to ask him. Why, at your last one, our old Buick blew up. Never a dull moment."

            "I didn't plan that. But we got husbands out of it; let's not complain. Before you deliver my message to the twins, tell me this. Is it safe to let them in on our secret?"

            "Hillbilly, I tell Zebadiah anything even though someone-you, for example-has asked me not to."

            "Deety, I thought we had a 'You'll-keep-my-secrets-and-I'll-keep-your-secrets' agreement?"

            "We do. But telling Zebadiah gives you two covering for you instead of one. About Laz-Lor-remember that they are his wives as well as his clones."

            "Hon, you were always a wise one. All right, we keep it secret. Tell them what to wear-and please understand that I'm hiding behind you to avoid argument; it's a favor I appreciate. Sending up sword and saber is a favor to your husband and to your father but I thank you on their behalf if they forget. Send the blades to your suite; they've decided they can dress more easily without women underfoot."

            "A canard," Pop said, just back of my neck. "The women don't want us underfoot."

            "I knew it was one or the other, Jacob," Aunt Hilda agreed. "But Dora has already taken your uniforms to our suite and your swords will-"

            "-be there, too, and I can recognize a fact when I fall over it and have never been happier, my love, than I have been since you took charge of my life and started telling me what to decide."

            "Jacob, you're making me teary."

            "Jake! Can you hear me?"-Lazarus' voice and Aunt Hilda used family sign language; Pop nodded and answered promptly:

            "Certainly, Lazarus-what's on your mind?"

            "I'm faced with the impossible and need help. I received an order-you, too, I think-to dress in military uniform at dinner. The only uniform I have aboard is in the flag cabin and-say, are you in the flag cabin?"

            Aunt Hilda shook her head. Pop answered, "I'm in our suite, dressing for dinner. Hilda needed a nap. I told you."

            "You certainly did, sir. I'm allergic to being punched in the snoot. But- Well, if you would use your influence-"

            "If any."

            "If any, to get me that uniform twenty minutes before dinner"-Aunt Hilda nodded-"or even ten, you would save me the horrible dilemma of deciding which order to break."

            "Don't decide to break the one telling you not to disturb Hilda."

            "I didn't even consider breaking that one! And it's not your fist in my snoot. Jake. . . she terrifies me. I don't understand it. I'm twice her mass and all muscle; she couldn't possibly hurt me."

            "Don't be certain. She has a poisoned fang. But calm yourself, comrade. I guarantee delivery by nineteen minutes before the bell at latest."

            "Jake, I knew I could depend on you. Let me know when you want a bank robbed."

            I gave Maureen a special hug before I left to carry out my orders. I knew what the Hillbilly was doing: rigging it so that she could have a quiet hour in which to get acquainted with Maureen. I didn't resent it; I would have rigged it for me had I been able.

            I curved down the corridor, whistled for Lib to let me in, stopped dead and whistled another sort of whistle. She was dressed, if "dressed" is the word. "Wheeeewhoo!"

            "Like it?"

            "I can't wait to get into mine. It is the most indecent outfit I've ever seen, with no other purpose than to excite lewd, libidinous, lascivious, licentious, lecherous, lustful longings in the loins of Lotharios."

            "Isn't that the purpose of clothing?"

            "Well. . . aside from protection-yes. But I'm beginning to realize that a culture with no body taboo has to go much farther in styling to achieve that purpose."

            It was a "dress" with a "skirt" that was a 10-cm ruffle worn low. The material was silky stuff in pastel green. The bodice had no back but the front came clear up to the neck-with cutouts for each teat. The designer did not stop there. Lib's left teat was bare-but her right one was barer pet: a transparent film that clung and was covered with rainbow iridescence that moved in endless patterns with every jiggle-and jiggle we do no matter how firm. Elizabeth is as firm as I am but hers quivered enough to swirl that iridescence just from breathing.

            Whew!

            If both had been bare, or both iridescent, it would not have done a quarter as much. It was the contrast that would make 'em howl at the Moon.

            My dress was exactly like hers save that my right teat was the bare one.

            Lib got me into it, then I hurried to the bridge, with a hope-promise to be back ten minutes before the hour to have her touch up my eyebrows and lashes. I'm not much for cosmetics (neither is she) but our lashes and brows hardly show without help and this was a formal occasion.

            One of Dora's blue fireflies led me to a lift that took me to the bridge, where Dora had told me I would find Laz and Lor. Laz spotted me first, made a yelling noise while patting her lips, which I took to mean enthusiasm. Those kids- correction: women close to Pop's age but they feel like kids-Laz-Lor are as female as I am and recognize what incites the lovely beast in men. They liked my dress.

            I liked that bridge. Reminded me of Star Trek; pointed ears would not have surprised me. Or Nichelle Nichols backed by colored lights. "This place makes my mouth water. Maybe someday a guided tour? Pretty please!"

            Captain Lor said, "Certainly-"

            "-but how about a swap as-"

            "-we haven't even been inside-"

            "-Gay Deceiver and Dora says she-"

            "-is wonderful and when this job is-"

            "-done and we've rescued Mama Maureen there-"

            "-won't be anything to stop us once Dora-"

            "-is safe on the ground at Tertius. Huh?"

            "Certainly," I answered. . . gleefully as now I knew that our 17-hour absence in zero seconds had not been noticed. To Lor and Laz the snatch was still in the planning stage. Apparently 01' Buddy Boy had not yet told his sisters. Had not yet worked up a set of lies, probably, that would account for his being locked in the bathroom while the rest of us did the job.

            "At the earliest opportunity," I went on. "Want to take a ride in Gay?"

            "Oh, my! Could we?"

            "Not for me to say. But I can tell you what works. Cuddle up to the Commodore. Pet her, be sweet to her. Ask her if she will let you call her 'Aunt Hilda' when you're off duty; that will please her. She's a cat; pet her and respect her feelings and she purrs-push her and she scratches."

            They glanced at each other. "We will. Thanks."

            "De nada, chicas-"

            "You've learned Galacta!" (In chorus-)

            "What? No. Probably a phrase that carried over. But I was sent here on duty and I've been chatting instead. Commodore's compliments to the Captain and the Commodore requests that Captain Lorelei Lee Long and First Officer Lapis Lazuli Long join her at dinner at twenty o'clock and, as a favor to the Commodore, please dress in the same fashion as Doctors Libby and Deety- and that's me and I'm wearing the fashion you are to wear."

            Captain Lor answered, "Certainly we'll be there; we never miss dinner and-"

            "-always dress formally and I don't-"

            "-mean bare skin. Skin is for working or-"

            "-sleeping. But we treat dinner in the Dora as a-"

            "-formal party and that calls for the works. Formal evening-"

            "-dress and jewelry and cosmetics and perfume and we are about-"

            "-to bathe and change, but we can't dress the way you are-"

            "-because our dresses are already picked out and-"

            "-it's too late to start over!"

            I said, "Look, chums, you brought this on yourselves by urging Lib and me to dress this way. Neither of us was enthusiastic but we promised. The Commodore learned what Libby and I expected to wear, and decided that four of us, all about the same size and coloration, would look wonderful in matching green dresses. So Lib and I are to be opposite you two, balancing you, and the men are required to wear uniforms so as not to compete with us four. All clear?"

            They got their stupid look which actually is a cover for stubborn determination. Lor said:

            "The Captain sends her respects to the Commodore and regrets-"

            "Hold it! Does this ship have a lifeboat?"

            "Yes," answered Lor, "but-"

            "But you are master of this ship. Yes, I know. And I'm gifted with second sight. I see only two viable futures for you. Did you get your pirate flag up in the lounge?"

            "Yes, we did, but-"

            "If you'll tell me what lifeboat and where, I'll get the flag to you before twenty. I see you starting out in that lifeboat to be pirates. Or I see you at dinner in dresses of any green cloth you can find, cut hastily in this style and pinned together. No jewelry. No cosmetics that show. I don't think you can fake this iridescent stuff but that stick-on transparent wrapping, used instead, would show that you had tried. The Commodore never rejects anyone for

failing; what she despises is not trying. Send your answer via Dora. I can't be your messenger boy; I have work to do before dinner, now only forty-seven minutes away. Will the Captain excuse me?"

            I got out fast. I didn't believe for one second that a ship stocked like the Dora, run by identical redheads, could fail to have endless formals in green- including this style or close to it. By now the twins were frantically consulting their brother via Dora, and from what I heard him say to Pop, I thought Lazarus would tell them that it was safer to jump ship and change their names than it would be to tangle with the miniature buzz saw-but if Dora couldn't fake something that would at least show a hard try, he would sell her off as spare parts and install one of those new-model "Susan Calvin" positronic brains that everybody said was the coming thing for smartships.

            I said Hello to Gay, then tried to reach under the instrument board and find the catch by touch.

            I got out of the car in order to stand up in the ship's passageway and took off my deliciously indecent dress. Then I was able to fold, bend, and staple, to open the stowage. A saber and a sword-no belts. "Gay."

            "What, Deety?"

            "I'm looking for two sword belts. Category should be personal possessions, miscellaneous, weapons, belts for weapons."

            "Deety, they are supposed to be with the sword and saber. Many things were moved into the Land of Oz today; I heard you all talking about it. But no changes were read into my inventory. I'm sorry."

            "Smart Girl, it's not your fault. We should have told you."

            "Deety, I've rolled the dice. The curve says that the most probable place is on hooks in Sunbonnet Sue's wardrobe."

            They were.

            I was starting to leave, after telling Gay she was a Smart Girl, when she said, "Deety, your father is calling. Dora has him on hold, through me."

            "Thanks, Gay; thanks, Dora. Pop?"

            "Deety, are you still in Gay?"

            "Just outside the starboard door."

            "Can you lay hands on my automatic and the web belt that goes with it?"

            "Saw both three minutes ago."

            "Will you please remove the clip, check the chamber to be sure it's empty, then bring belt and pistol when you fetch our toadstickers?"

            "Anything for a steady customer."

            I left with belt and sword slung over one shoulder, saber and belt over the other so that the belts crossed between my teats, and with the web belt with holster and pistol interwoven through the others because it was far too big for my waist. This left my hands free to carry my dress, one hand being almost clean enough.

            Pop said: "What took you so long? I promised Lazarus I'd get this stuff to him on time. Now I'm going to have to dogtrot. In Army blues."

            I told him I had stopped off at the pool hall and playing off the match game had taken a while. "If you'll excuse me, sir, I have problems, too."

            Elizabeth wiped me down with a damp towel, dried and powdered me and drew my eyebrows and touched up my lashes and clucked over me, all in nine minutes, then most carefully put my dress back on me. "Ordinarily one does not take off a washable and put it back on-just wear it until you shower it off. A drop of water will go through this material like acid. Better skip the soup."

            Place cards showed us where to dine. But at two minutes before the hour the Hillbilly had not arrived, so we were standing. Laz-Lor came in, sat down- in dresses identical with mine and Lib's, perfect fit, nothing improvised. Their brother spoke quietly to them; they stood up. Lazarus was dressed in a very old-fashioned army uniform, breeches with rolled leggings, a tunic with a stock collar, and Pop's pistol at his side.

            All but Pop's stuff looked brand-new; I concluded that Lazarus had had it tailored.

            Just as my head ticked twenty o'clock, a bugle (Dora) sounded attention. At least it had that effect on the men and Libby, so I stood straight. Laz-Lor looked at their brother and did so, too.

            The wardroom has three steps leading down into it from each of its archway doors, with a little platform at the top so that you don't fall on your face. Pop and Zebadiah marched up those steps, faced each other (and I thought how beautiful Zebadiah looked in dress uniform; I had never seen him in it). Pop snapped, "Draw! Swords!" Instead of coming down, they crossed blades in an arch. Lazarus looked startled and drew pistol, placed it smartly across his chest.

            This archway was closed by drapes; we had come in from the other side. A drum and bugle (Dora again) sounded a ruffle-and-flourish; the drapes lifted from both sides-and here was the Hillbilly, standing tall (for her) and straight, with her perfect ice-cream skin gleaming in flood lights against a background of midnight blue. She was so beautiful I choked up.

            Dora's invisible band played The Admiral's March as our tiny Commodore marched proudly down the steps toward us. (It could have been The Admiral's March; Pop admitted later that he hummed to Dora the march played for generals and told her to fake it.)

            Aunt Hilda did not sit down when she reached the head of the table, she stood near her chair instead. Nor had my father and my husband left their places, they simply brought their swords down. As soon as Hilda stopped and faced in, Pop commanded, "Corporal Bronson! Front and Center!"

            Lazarus jerked as if he had been struck, holstered his pistol, marched to the far end, making sharp corners in passing around the wardroom table. He halted, facing Hilda-she may have given him some sign.

            Dora hit two bugle notes; Aunt Hilda sang:

            "Shipmates, beloved friends, tonight we are greatly honored!"

            Four ruffles-and-flourishes, as the drapes lifted and parted, and again lights picked out bare skin, this time against a forest-green backing: Maureen in

opera-length black stockings, green round garters, dark shoes with semi-high heels, her long red hair down her back.

            Maureen was not "standing tall"; she was in the oldest and most graceful of sculptor's poses: left knee slightly bent, weight slightly more on her right foot, chest lifted only a little but displaying her full teats, nipples heavily crinkled. Her smile was happy.

            She held pose while that march concluded, then, in the sudden silence, held out her arms and called: "Theodore!"

            "Corporal Bronson" fainted.

XLVII

"There are no tomorrows."

Zeb:

            Sharpie shouldn't have done it to Lazarus. For a veteran of sixteen wars and Koshchei alone knows how many skirmishes and narrow escapes to be

placed in a position where he is so shocked that blood drains from his head and he collapses "ain't fitten."

            Deety agrees but asks me if I could have refrained from staging Mama Maureen's return that way, given the chance? Well, no, had I Sharpie's imagination-but it still would not have been "fitten."

            Not that he was hurt by it. Sharpie, all forty-three kilos of her, checked his fall. She was watching Lazarus, saw him start to collapse, closed the gap and grabbed him around the waist, did her best.

            Sharpie saved him from hitting his head on the wardroom table. I would bet long odds that everyone was looking at Maureen except Sharpie. Sharpie had staged it-and the producer was interested in the effect on the one for whom it had been staged.

            She had staged it even to the extent of getting Libby to ask Ishtar to obtain costume-shoes, hose, and round green garters to match a photograph, plus a hooded cape to keep our ubiquitous snoop Dora from knowing that we had an extra aboard. Sharpie had figured this way: that "French photo" snapshot of Mama Maureen (yeah, I call her that too-she's the most motherly person in any world. . . and the sexiest. Don't mention the last to Deety) (Deety knows it- !)ee/y)-that snapshot was still in existence unless destroyed by machinegun fire in 1918, Earth-Prime.

            Which it would not be. . . because Lazarus "got his arse shot off" as his sisters describe it. Not literally true, it was a belly wound more than bullets in his arse that came that close to finishing him. But all the wounds were low.

            Where does a man in combat carry his most cherished possessions? In a breast pocket, usually the left one. I always have and I've never heard a veteran deny this.

            It might be worth it to faint in order to wake up surrounded by Maureen, Hilda, Laz-Lor, Elizabeth, and my own reason for being. Jake and I could have played several hands of gin before anyone bothered with us. So I asked Dora for drinks and snacks for Jake and me, as it seemed uncertain as to when dinner would be served. Or if.

            I heard Sharpie say, "Maureen, we must get this heavy uniform off him. Dora keeps this ship tropical. I should never have ordered uniforms for men while we women are comfortable." They started peeling him.

            I said, "Jake, school's out." I had sweated through my number-one uniform- might never wear it again but I'm sentimental about it. Jake was in as bad shape. Once you get happy with skin any clothes make you feel like Rameses

II.

            We peeled down and handed our clothes and swords to one of Dora's waldoes and told her to hand them to Gay-including Jake's pistol, belt, and holster, which I retrieved without anyone noticing me. Jake and I were Chinese stage hands; "Corporal Ted Bronson" was getting all the attention.

            Dora pointed out that Gay was locked. I said, "If one of her doors were open, could you lay this gear on a seat?" Yes, she could. "Then do it," I said. "Let me talk to Gay."

            We eventually had dinner, with everybody "formal" but Maureen. She retained her "casual" clothing long after everyone else was in formal skin. But not until I got pix of the Four Disgraces. Libby and Deety wanted to go shower, too, when Jake and I decided that, having discarded uniforms, we should shower in fairness to Dora's airconditioning. I asked them and Laz-Lor please to wait until I staggered down (we had encountered a force-four sea, with white caps) to Gay for Jake's Polaroid.

            Turned out not to be necessary; Dora could take color and 3-D, still or motion, any angle, and light as needed, just as she had lighted the posing (which she had photographed, too, I learned later).

            Maureen and Jake directed while "Corporal Bronson" and I sprawled Nerostyle on lounges intended for Lib and Deety. Sharpie sat between us and dropped grapes into our mouths.

            Jake tried to make the poses "artistic." Mama Maureen agreed with everything Jake said, then did it her way. The results may have been artistic. But I know that those pix would give a skeleton one last case of raging tumescence.

            Meanwhile Dora was singing and playing, urging us to eat-tasty tidbits eaten with tongs; I was reminded of the best in Oriental cuisines-and plying us with fine wines. Dora seemed to have a vast repertoire, some of which (to my surprise) was familiar. When Judy Garland sings Over the Rainbow, who

can miss it?-Dora used Judy's voice. I recall, too, Enjoy Yourself; It's Later Than You Think. Most of them I did not know.

            Dora announced Tomorrow's Song-I thought that was what she said. Lazarus and Maureen held hands all through it and it was not a song that would fit the title I thought I had heard. I got straightened out when the song ended to dead silence and Maureen said to Lazarus, "Theodcrre, Ishtar was going to rearrange the watch list but Tamara vetoed it. She did it for you, dear man, and for me-but Tamara is anxious to see you."

            "Tamara always knows what she's doing," Lazarus answered.

            "Yes, Tammy always knows what is best," agreed Mama Maureen. "Tell me, Theodore, do I still make you think of her?"

            Lazarus looked upset. "Uh, I don't know. You don't look like her.. . but you feel like her. And you look more like Nancy than you look like yourself."

            "Yes, I know. None of our family was willing to wait; you've been away from home too long. Be patient, and when I look like me to your eyes, tell us, and Galahad will hold my cosmetic age at that. Are you going to do as you promised me, so long ago, take Tammy and me to bed together? Perhaps I should add, Theodore, I am now wife to your co-husbands. I don't ask that you marry me. Although I think Tammy will be shocked if you don't. But I shan't make it difficult, either way. I will hold to any pretence you wish. I did for Brian; I shall for you."

            Maureen was neither shouting nor whispering; she was simply bringing him up to date on things he needed to know. Lazarus started to answer, his expression oddly mixed, when Elizabeth cut in: "Lazarus-"

            "Eh? What, Lib?"

            "Message to you from Ishtar. To be delivered when needed, and now is the time. Ish read both your charts with her computer set for maximum pessimism. She also had them read at New Rome without identification other than her own file numbers. She has this message for you.. . in answer to the answer you will make. She says to tell you that you are an uncivilized primitive, ignorant of science, especially genetics, oversentimental, almost pathologically stubborn, retarded, probably senile, superstitious, and provincial.. . and that she loves you dearly but will not permit you to make decisions in her area of authority. In vitro or in utero, the cross will take place. Let me add that Maureen was not given a choice, either."

            "So? You can tell the big-arsed bitch that I agree with every word she says, especially the part about 'senile,' and that I gave up all hope of arguing with her tyrannical ways fifty years ago and that I love her just as dearly-outside her clinic-and that Maureen will tell her how such things will be handled; I don't have a vote." He turned toward me, looking past Sharpie's pretty toes. "Zeb, here is the wisdom of the ages: Men rule but women decide."

            "Elizabeth, do you think I am anything like Tamara?"

            "Mmm- Never thought about it. Yes, you both have that all-mother feeling. Uh, would you mind taking off costume? It distracts me from looking at you."

            "No trouble, Elizabeth. I don't like round garters except as advertising."

Mama Maureen kicked off her shoes, took off the garters, carefully rolled down her hose in a manner interuniversal-stood up and stood easily, not posing.

            "Turn around slowly. Mmm- Maureen, you do look like Tammy. . . or vice versa; it's probably your genes in her. Am I descended from you? Does anyone here know? Lazarus?"

            "You are, Lib. But not through me. Through my sister Carol. 'Santa Carolita' believe it or not-which would surprise Carol as she was no saint. But your descent through Carol was not proved until long after you were killed, when the Families' records were being revised through computer analysis and a deeper knowledge of genes. No saints in our family, are there, Mama?"

            "None that I know of, Woodrow. Not me, certainly. You were a little hellion; I should have spanked you much oftener than I did. Mmm. . . your father was as close to being a saint as any in our family. Brian was wise and good-and tolerant." She smiled. "Do you recall why we separated?"

            "I'm not sure I ever knew. Mama, my recollections of that era are much sharper for my trip there as 'Ted Bronson'-the other is a long time back."

            "In my sixties I stopped having babies. About the same time your brother Richard was killed. War. His wife, Marian Justin of the Hardy family, was with us, with their children, and Brian was back in uniform, a recalled colonel, on a desk job in San Francisco. When Richard was killed in 1945 we all took it hard but it was easier in that so many of us were together-Brian, and my youngest children, and Marian, and her children-five; she was thirty-one."

            Mama Maureen, free of stockings and shoes, sat in lotus across from Hilda and accepted a plate from Dora's helpers. "Woodrow, I encouraged Brian to console Marian the only way a widow can be helped; she needed it. When that war was over, Marian needed a visible husband; her waistband and the calendar could not be reconciled. When we moved from San Francisco later that year, it was easy for Marian Justin Smith to become Maureen J. Smith while I became, with the aid of hair dye, her widowed mother-no one knew us in Amarillo and females were not yet compelled to have I.D.'s. So Marian had the baby as "Maureen," and only with the Howard Families Trustees was the correct genealogy recorded." Maureen smiled. "We Howards were easy about such things as long as it was kept inside the Families-and I am happy that we are even easfer about it now.

            "On our next move I moved out and became Maureen Johnson again, fifteen years younger since I did not look late seventies, and a Meen-ah-sotah Yonson, Woodrow, rather than a southern Missouri Johnson. A grass widow with round heels." Mama Maureen chuckled. "Howards married only to have babies. My production line had shut down but the equipment was there and the urge. By the time you darlings"-Maureen's eyes swept the wardroom-"rescued me, I had trimmed thirty-five years from my age and added thirty-five men to my memories. In fact, when you picked me up, I was on my way to a motel rendezvous, a widower of sixty who was willing to believe that I was sixty when in fact I expected to reach my Century Day in a fortnight."

            I said, "What a dirty shame! I wish you had been coming back from the motel when we picked you up."

            "Zebadiah, that's sweet of you but it's not a shame. We were getting bored with each other. I'm sure he read my obituary with as much relief as grief. I'm just glad you got me-and I'm told that you did most of it."

            "Gay Deceiver did most of it. The car you rode in both ways. But we almost didn't pick you up. Things went wrong, badly. I knew that it was going to- Deety, can you tell her?"

            "Mama Maureen, Zebadiah has forerunners of dangers. They are not long range; they are always just barely in time. I don't know what happened this morning but-"

            "This morning?" Maureen looked extremely puzzled.

            "Oh." My wife went on, "It was 'this morning' to us. You arrived here at eighteen-forty and a few seconds, ship's time. During that instant we spent fifteen hours on another planet, we made two trips to your native planet, two more trips to your new home planet, and you spent seventeen months on Tertius and we brought you back here-and it all happened today. Not just today but at that exact instant: eighteen-forty and thirteen point three seconds. Laz and Lor didn't know that we were gone; even the ship's computer didn't know we were gone."

            "I did so!" Dora objected. "Gay was di~connected for nineteen microseconds. You think I don't notice a gap like that? I asked what happened and she told me that it was a power fluctuation. She fibbed to me! I'm sore at her."

            Deety looked thunderstruck. "Dorable, Dorable! It wasn't Gay's fault. I asked her to keep our secrets. I made her promise."

            "Mean!"

            "I didn't mean to be mean to you, Dorable-and we did let you in on it as quickly a~ we could. We couldn't have staged the tableaux if you hadn't helped. Be angry with me if you must. . . but don't be angry with Gay. Please kiss and make up."

            I don't know how computers hesitate, but I think I caught the briefest split second. "Gay?"

            "Yes, Dora?"-the Smart Girl's voice through Dora's speakers.

            "I don't want to be mad. Let's forget it, huh? Let's kiss and make up. I will if you will."

            "Yes, yes! Oh, Dorable, I do love you."

            "You're both good girls," said Deety. "But you are both professional women, too, and work for different bosses. Dora, you are loyal to your family; Gay is loyal to her family. It has to be that way. Dora, if your sister, Captain Lor, asked you to keep a secret, you wouldn't tell Gay, would you? Because she might tell me. . . and I would tell Zebadiah.. . and then the whole world would know."

            (Would, huh? My dear wife, I had a clearance two stages above "Q"-so secret it does not have a name. Never mind, I'll take the rap.)

            (Yes, I know, my husband, I once held the same level of clearance. But dealing with balky computers is my profession. Computers are supergeniuslevel children and must be dealt with on their own level. Okay, maybe, huh?-

            "Gosh!"

            "You see? Captain Lor, does Dora have any secrets of yours? Or of your brother's? She can tell them to Gay and Gay can tell them to me and I always tell everything to my husband and-"

            Lazarus interrupted. "Dora! You tell tales out of school and I'll beat your ears off with an ax! It's all right for you two to chum together and play games. But you start swapping secrets and I'll call in Minsky's Metal Mentalities, Incorporated, to measure that space."

            "Male computers. You can't scare me, 01' Buddy Boy, you wouldn't trust your dirty neck to a male computer. Stupid."

            "My neck isn't dirty; that's just where the collar of my uniform rubbed it."

            "Dirty neck and a dirty mind. But don't worry, 01' Buddy Boy; Dora Long doesn't tell secrets. I now see that Gay had to keep secrets, too-I just hadn't thought about it. But you were mean to my sisters."

"Me? How?"

            "You knew about this caper; you didn't need to get it from Gay. You knew all about it; you were there. But you held out on your own twin sisters-"

            "Most unfairly, Mama Maureen-"

            "-as if we were untrustworthy, and if we're-"

            "-untrustworthy, why can we be trusted with a ship and-"

            "-the lives of everyone on board? We're glad you are here-"

            "-for yourself, but maybe now that you are here, you will-"

            "-protect us from his tyranny. Mama Ishtar doesn't, and Mama Hamadryad just laughs at us, and Mama Minerva takes his-"

            "-side, everytime. But you-"

            "Girls."

            "Yes, Mama?"

            "I made a promise to myself years ago that when my children grew up, I would not interfere in their lives. I should have punished Woodie more frequently when he was a child, but he is no longer a child-"

            "Then why does he act like one?"

            "Lorelei Lee! It is rude to interrupt."

            "I'm sorry, Mama."

            "No harm done. But from what I was told at home, you two are not only my daughters but are also Theodore's wives. Wives of Lazarus. And equally wives of his co-husbands. Is this not true?"

            "Yes, Mama. But he's pretty chinchy about it."

            "If you mean 'chinchy in bed,' it may depend on how you treat him. I did not find him so, when I was his mistress, many years ago-centuries ago by some odd scale that I do not understand. You heard me say that I am now wife to your co-husbands-including Lazarus if he will accept' me. But I am certainly, if you will accept me, sister-wife with you two. So I had better stop being your mother. Nay?"

            "Why? Grammy Tammy is mother to Ish and everybody-"

            "-and we have three mamas in our family now and everyone of them is our-"

            "-sister-wife, too; Ish and Hamadarling and Minerva and now-"

            "-we have Mama Maureen and we are both delighted that we are your sister-wives but-"

            "-you can't get out of being our mama because we've been waiting for you

all our lives!" -

            Dora echoed: "And I'm their sister so you are my mama, too!"

            "Theodore, I think I am going to cry. You know my rule. I mayn't weep in front of my children."

            I stood up, the whole gangling length of me. "Ma'am, I'd be honored to take you to some quiet place where you could cry on me all you please."

            Seven-I think it was seven protein types and two computers-jumped on me. The essence was: "You can't take Maureen away from her own party!"- with ugly overtones of lynching.

            The wind had freshened to force six, so I took liberal doses of champagne to insure against seasickness. After a bit I napped; it had been a busy day and I still was not over the shock of seeing a large freighter roadable about to take Gay's door off before I could close it and bounce. That was when I kicked the cop in the stomach. Ordinarily I don't kick cops; it makes one conspicuous.

            Then a piercing voice was saying: "Flag Chief of Staff Carter's presence on the bridge is requested by the Commodore," and I wondered why the silly son of a bitch didn't comply, so that the noise would stop. Then something cold was poking my tender bare ribs. "That's you, Doc. I'll help you. Relax."

            I was relaxed. Past tense. Some of Dora's waldoes aren't too gentle-or maybe these weren't people waldoes but for cargo; I admit that I'm fairly large for a growing boy.

            In the lift I decided that the Beaufort scale was at least eight, more likely nine. Nevertheless we got to the bridge. Right out of Hollywood, a whole dome of displays and clocks-all moving slowly widdershins. Yet Gay made do with just an instrument board. I heard Sharpie say, "My God, look at him!"

            Deety was saying something about we can shift seats if necessary to Lor while Laz was saying Drink this.

            I said firmly, "I do not drink. Beshides I been dring; yr fashe is all blurry."

            It must have been Laz and Lor who pinned me from both sides, each with an arm lock and a nerve pinch; Deety wouldn't do that to me.

            Sharpie was holding my nose and Laz was pouring it down my throat; it fumed and bubbled. Then- Well, there must have been a stowaway; Deety wouldn't do that. Not to me.

            They let go of me when I finished swallowing. I left the ship, made a fast inspection circuit, checked the Milky Way, and returned to a precision grounding. My ears fell off but it didn't seem military to stoop over and pick them up. Besides, Sharpie is playful.

            "Flag Chief of Staff reports to the Commodore as ordered."

            "How do you feel, Zebbie?"

            "I feel fine, Ma'am. Is there any reason why I shouldn't?"

            "I suppose not; you've had a nap."

            "I did drop off. Dreamt I was in the Tasmanian Sea in a small vessel. Very

uneasy body of water." I added, "Aside from that nightmare, now gone, I'm in top shape. Orders, Ma'am?"

            We gave everybody the two-dollar tour, including the bathrooms in the Land of Oz. Libby, Deety, and Jake waited outside, the place being crowded. Sharpie ruled that Laz could relieve Lor to allow Lor to look first, then Lor took back the captaincy so that her sister could see. The fairyland bathrooms made the biggest hit. I concede that the time-space twister is not impressive. Then the twins thanked Hilda and left.

            "Attention, please," said Hilda. "If you wish, we will show how we operate. Lazarus may use the astrogator's seat while Deety makes responses from the cargo space. Elizabeth will go back there, too, as she has ridden in Gay Deceiver. Deety, before you move aft, show Maureen and Lazarus how we squeeze a passenger into the rear seats; I'll scootch over.

            "This car operates in several modes. As a roadable it is fast, comfortable, easy to handle, rather hard to park, and is usually parked with wings raked back as they are now, the hypersonic configuration. If we intended to drive it in the air, the wings would usually be extended for maximum lift. When operated by the Burroughs Continua Device, wing rake does not matter, but the chief pilot may choose to anticipate where he will arrive and rake accordingly.

            "Since it has a computerized autopilot-Hello, Gay!"

            "Hello, Hilda, mind if I listen?"

            "Not at all, dear. Have you met everyone?"

            "Yes, Hilda, and, since I've seen them through Dora's eyes, I place all of them by their voices." Gay added, "Dora is listening through me; she's going to record your demonstration. Is that all right?"

            "Certainly. Dora, since you are recording, I'll make it as realistic as possible. Gay Deceiver. Close doors. Execute." I was at chief pilot, Jake at copilot; his door closed, I started checking the seal on mine.

            "All hands, prepare for space. Copilot."

            "Verniers zero, starboard door seal checked, seat belt fastened."

            "Report incomplete. Is your belt fastened tightly? Maximum accelerations? Friends, this car is powered to engage as a fighter; the driver may find himself upside down. Full demonstration, please, Jacob. Cinch it in."

            "Copilot reports seat belt tight for maneuvers."

            "Thank you, Jacob. Chief Pilot."

            I answered in my best cadet-boning-smart voice: "Portside door seal checked. Power pack on line point-eight-nine, two packs reserve at one-point-oh, juice at capacity, all systems go, seat belt cinched tight for max gee maneuvers."

            "Astrogator."

            "I'm not in my proper seat. Lib and I are fastened down like Siamese twins, tight. No loose gear. Annex checked and secure; all doors locked 'cept bulkhead door is dogged open, contrary to routine. Captain, you could dog us in; we don't mind."

            "Not like somebody I won't mention who loses his temper over being locked in for five minutes-"

            "Hilda, that was a low blow!"

            "Passenger, pipe down. If you had done as you promised, you would not have known that the door was locked. I didn't trust you-and I was right. I am not sure that I want to be your junior or second junior or whatever wife; you don't keep your promises. I'm sorry, Mama Maureen, but Woodie is sometimes a very naughty boy."

            "I'm aware of it, Hilda. Captain. Please slap him down as necessary. I was always too fond of him and spoiled him."

            "We won't speak of it now. All four of us are qualified in all four positions; we sometimes rotate to maintain our skills. Normal T.O. is myself commanding, Zebbie as second-in-command and astrogator, Jacob as chief pilot, Deety as copilot. But for this exhibition I have placed the finest manual pilot at the overrides, the inventor himself at the continua device, and a lightning calculator equal to Slipstick Libby-"

"Better!"

            "Pipe down, Elizabeth. -as my astrogator. With such a crew, command cannot worry me. Chief Pilot, please unbelt and check that Mama Maureen and Lazarus are safely belted. Assume violent evasive maneuvers-and believe me, friends, we use them and are alive today because we were properly belted and because Zebbie is a lightning aerospace fighter pilot-and our Gay is a Smart Girl."

            I unbelted, made sure that Lazarus was belted tightly, made certain that Maureen was safe with those improvised belts, then suggested that she put her right arm around Hilda, her left around Lazarus, and hold tight. "All the others have double belts, lap and chest. You have just a lap belt; if I turned the car upside down, holding onto Hilda and Lazarus would keep you safe. Right, Lazarus?"

            "Right, Zeb. Mama Maureen, a drill should be as near as possible to the real thing or it won't save your life in combat."

            "Theodore, I don't ever expect to be in combat. But I will do the drill properly."

            "Mama, I hate the idea of women in combat. But all through the centuries I have seen women in combat again and again, all too often as regular troops. I don't like it. But there it is."

            My wife put in a plug for Lazarus. "Mama Maureen, my Pop has required me to learn every weapon I can lift and he had me trained in every type of dirty fighting imaginable. Several times it has saved me from a mugging. Once I almost killed a man twice my size-with my bare hands."

            "Jacob, will you teach me as much of what Deety knows as I am capable of learning?"

            "Maureen, I'll teach you what I can. While we're here."

            From the back I heard Libby's voice: "Now, Maureen?"

            "Yes. If you think it wise in view of Hilda's black ball."

            "I'm going to chance it. Friends, I was not sent to get myself pregnant by a great mathematician. That was my reason. By now Tamara has reports from me and from Laz and from Lor on each of you. Twelve 'Yes' votes, zero 'No'

votes. I am directed by Tamara to offer you four fullest hospitality-such as you gave us in your home. If you decide to accept the name Long, tell Tamara. We won't crowd you, either way."

            Hilda immediately answered, "Because of delays, a short roll call for space. Copilot."

            "Copilot ready."

            "Chief Pilot ready," I echoed.

            "Astrogator ready."

            "Passengers? By seniority."

            Lazarus started to reply; Hilda interrupted him. " By seniority!"

            "If you mean me, Captain, I'm ready."

            "You are, I believe, thirty years older than your son. In any case you are senior to him. Junior passenger?"

            "That's me," answered Elizabeth. "Ready."

            "Forgot you, dear-apologies. Woodie!"

            "Ready for space, Captain, you feisty, narrow little broad. And you're damn well going to marry us!"

            "Astrogator, log that. Insolence. Gay Deceiver."

            "Ready, Captain honey."

            "TertiusOrbitExecute!"

            Maureen gasped. Lazarus snorted. "Farced us!"

            "In what way? You reported, 'Ready for space."

            "And you called it a 'drill."

            "Woodie, I will bet anything you care to name that I did not call it a 'drill'- you did. Both Gay and Dora recorded. Put up or shut up. In the meantime, on the back of the seat ahead of you is a small medical kit. Find a pill bottle marked 'Bonine.' Small ~ink pills. Give one to your mother. Maureen, chew it, swallow it. Tastes like raspberry candy."

            "Hilda, what are you feeding-"

            "Pipe down! Or do you prefer to be locked in the bathroom again? Passenger, I do not tolerate insubordination. Haven't you learned that by now?"

            Lazarus got out the pill, gave it to his mother. She accepted it and ate it without comment.

            "Lazarus, I can offer you a front-seat view if you will swear by whatever it is that you hold holy that you will not touch one control of any sort even to avoid a crash. You don't understand this craft and would cause a crash if you tried to avoid one. If you can't convince' me, I'll give Maureen the front seat. But I don't think Maureen is interested in learning to drive this car and I think you are."

            "That's right, Hilda," I heard Maureen agree. "I'm studying to be a nurse. Then a medical doctor. Then a rejuvenator. Or as far along that route as my ability will carry me. In the meantime I'm pregnant. Isn't that a joke, Theodore? Everytime you and I meet with maximum opportunity, I'm pregnant. And this time Woodie can't spoil it." She chuckled a warm chuckle. "I owe you one, Staff Sergeant Bronson. Can we find a black walnut tree?"

            "Lazarus, do you want a front seat? Or do you want to take Maureen into

the annex and give her what she so clearly wants?"

            "Oh, I can wait!" Maureen said quickly.

            "God, what a decision! Maureen, a short rain check? I really do want to see what this craft will do."

            "I want to see the ride, too, Theodore. But I would not refuse you."

            "Pipe down, please. Jacob, will you change places with Lazarus? Each report when your seat belts will stand evasive maneuvers."

            "Seven gee," I added. "Lazarus, Ack-Ack?"

            "Not yet, thank God. I'm wondering how soon we'll need it. And what sort? I'm stumped. Seat belt tight. Hey, we're passing over Boondock!"

            "So we are," I agreed.

            "Seat belt tight. Maureen, too."

            "Chief Pilot, you have the conn. Maneuver at will."

            "Aye aye, Captain," I agreed. "Gay Deceiver Clinic Execute Gay Bounce Gay Bounce. Show your heels, girl! Mach point seven point nine.. . one point two. . . Mach two. . . three. . . four.. . sweep right, set course for Boondock. Dive, Smart Girl. Mach five.. . six. . . seven-"

            "Oh, my God!"-Lazarus.

            "GayBounce. Trouble, Lazarus? Smart Girl, spread your wings."

            "You almost crashed us."

            "Oh, I think not. Gay Deceiver Clinic Execute Gay Bounce."

            "They were waiting for us on the roof!"

            "Who? How? Do you have some sort of cee-squared radio?" I added, "Gay Bounce. Smart Girl, do you want to dance? Gay dances beautifully, knows several. Want to pick one, Gay?"

            "Dora taught me the 'Nutcracker' suite and I've been figuring out one for the 'Sugarplum Fairy.' But I don't think I'm ready to show it yet."

            "Give them 'Blue Danube."

            "That old thing?"

            "You do it well. Give them a few bars."

            Smart Girl just wants to be coaxed. She swooped and she swirled and once bounced herself for altitude without breaking her dance. Meanwhile I got the frequency and asked Libby to talk to Ishtar's office. "Alternate route, Lib"- which was all it took for Deety to close the bulkhead door. . . which left Strauss waltz music in the cabin, and a truly private radio conversation in the after compartment.

            When Deety opened the bulkhead door again, I waited for her to report strapped down. "Got a number for me, Astrogator?" We had agreed on a simple code: fifty-seven was fifty-seven seconds but five-seven meant fifty-seven minutes.

            "No, Zebadiah. Zero. Now."

            "Okay. Lazarus, can you pick out your house in Boondock?"

"Certainly. But we've been moving away from there steadily." "GayDeceiverClinicExecuteGayBounce. Now where, Lazarus?" "Practically under us. Can't see it." So I tilted my baby straight down. "Can you coach me?"

            "Yes, it's- Hey! There's a ship in Dora's parking spot! What nerve! I'm going to give somebody a bad time. It's irrelevant that Dora is a long way off, that's my parking flat. See that round ship? Interloper! My house is the largish one with the double atrium north of it."

            "All right for me to park by the interloper?"

            "All right but not room enough to get in."

            "We'll try. Close your eyes." I steadied vertically on the spot Lib had told them to clear. "Gunsighted, girl?"

            "Nailed it, Boss."

            "New program code word 'Maureen' I tell you three times."

            "I hear you three times." We were getting low.

            "MaureenExecute!

            "You're a Smart Girl, Gay. Open your doors."

            She opened them but answered, "If I'm smart, why wasn't I invited, too? It's Dora Long and Athene Long-am I a second-class citizen?"

            I was left with my mouth open. And was saved by two darlings. Libby said, "Gay, we didn't know you cared," and Deety said, "Gay, either we both join or neither joins. A promise."

            I said hastily, "Goodnight, Gay. Over." People were pouring toward us. Gay answered, "Sleepy time. Roger and out," just as Laz and Lor arrived in the van, trotting ahead.

            Lazarus stopped unbelting. "Hey! It is the Dora!"

            "Of course it is, Buddy Boy. What did you expect?" (Lor, I think.)

            "But how did you beat us here? I know what that ship can do; I did her basic design myself."

            "Buddy Boy, we got here three weeks ago. You just don't understand time travel."

            "Mmm- I guess I don't."

            There was a limited amount of car viewing, as Tamara and Ishtar had limited the greeting committee to a handful of the most senior-not in age but senior in that family. So we met Ish again, no longer pregnant, a young man named Galahad, the incredible Tamara who is Maureen over again but does not look like her (except that she does, and don't ask me to explain), and a beauty who would make Helen of Troy jealous but doesn't seem to know she is beautiful, the Hamadryad. Lazarus seemed annoyed that someone named Ira was not at home.

            Momentarily we (my wife Deety and I) were left talking with the twins. "I promised you both joy rides. Get in."

            "Oh, but we can't now because-"

            "-there's going to be a celebration for you-"

            "-four and we'll be busy! Tomorrow?"

            "There are no tomorrows. Pipe down, climb in, fasten seat belts. Pronto!"

            They prontoed.

            "Nail the time," I said quietly to Deety, as we strapped down. "Gay Deceiver, Reveille." She played it. "Close doors."

            "Starboard seal checked."

            "Same here. GayBounceGayBounceGayBounce. Tumbling Pigeon, execute. Laz-Lor, can you spot your house from this distance? About thirty kilometers and closing."

            "I'm not sure"-"I think I can."

            "Gay Clinic Execute. Now you know where you are?"

            "Yes, it's-"

            "GayTermite."

            "Oh!!"

            "We lived here a while. No annex then, had to have an armed guard just to pee. Even me. Pretty place but dangerous. GayHome." I tilted her nose down. "And this was our perma- Deety!"

            "No crater, Zebadiah. Looks the way it did when Pop and I leased it. This is spooky."

            "Twins, something is wrong; I've got to check. GayTermite."

            We were back on Termite Terrace. I practiced Yoga breathing while Deety explained that the missing-crater place had been the site of our former home- but couldn't be. I added, "Look, dears-we can't drop this. But we can take you to Boondock at once. Do you want to go home?"

            The same silent consultation. "We're sticking-"

            "-our brother would stick. We stick."

            "Thanks. Here we go. Gay Home GayBounce." Still no crater. I told Gay to go into cruising mode. "Display map, Gay. Change scale. I want Snug Harbor and the campus on the same display. Deety, figure shortest distance here to campus. Mine, not yours at Logan."

            "Don't need to. Eight-five-six klicks,"

            "Gay?"

            "Don't argue with Deety, Boss."

            "Head for campus, Gay. Transit, Deety."

            "Set!"

            "Execute." Then I was busy, having popped into city traffic at wrong altitude, direction, et cetera. I ignored police signals, zoomed the campus. Looked normal. Turned and hovered over Sharpie's house-which was not there. Different house. Parking lot no longer paved. And you don't grow 200-year-old live oaks in less than seven weeks.

            Not a sound out of the back seat. Nor from my right. I had to force myself to look to my right.

            Deety was still there and I let out my breath. She was treating it as she did all crises: No expression and nothing to say until she had something to say other than chatter. A sky cop was trying to give me a bad time, with orders to follow him and ground, so I told Gay to bounce, then dived on my own neighborhood. No trouble picking it out-intersections and nearby shopping center all familiar as well as the Presbyterian church across the way from my apartment house.

            But it wasn't my apartment house; this one was three stories and built around a court.

            I had Gay bounce four times quickly. "Deety, do you want to look at Logan?"

            "No, Zebadiah. I know Aunt Hilda's neighborhood well enough to be certain. Not her house, her pool was missing, and the parking lot where our Buick was destroyed is now a park with big trees. I assume that you know your former home as well or better."

            "Shall we ground and add another World Almanac to our collection?"

            "If you wish. Not for me."

            "Hardly worth the trouble. Tell me-how does it feel to be erased? X-ed out? Blue-penciled? Written out of the plot?"

            '~I don't feel it, because I'm not. I'm real, I am!"

            I glanced behind us. Yes, Laz and Lor were there keeping quiet. "Gay B'gout!"

            It certainly looked like our piece of"dead sea bottom." I couldn't see anything of the wreckage of Colonel Morinosky's ornithopter. Unless there had been a real gully washer-which I did not believe-something had come along and cleaned up every bit of burned junk.

            An eraser?

            I Bounced Gay and had her start a retreating search curve, thought I saw a gleam to the northeast, Bounced again. A city. It was only a few moments until I saw twin towers. We cruised toward them. "Deety, do you suppose that the other Dejah Thoris is at home?"

            "Zebadiah, I have no wish to find out. But I would like to go close enough to be sure that those are the twin towers of Helium. Perhaps see a thoat. Or a green man. Something."

            We let it go with one thoat, of the smaller sort. The description was exact. "Gay Parade Ground."

            "Null program."

            "Hmm- Gay, you have in your perms a map of Mars-ten showing the English and the Russian areas. Display."

            "Null program."

            "Gay Termite." Termite Terrace was still in place.

            "Gay Deceiver. Maureen. Execute. Open your doors." Hamadryad had started to turn toward us as we closed the doors to leave; she was still turning as we opened them.

            I unbuckled, saying: "You two all right back there?"

            "Yes, Zeb and Deety, and we thank you both but-"

            "-is this something we can tell or-"

            "-should we keep it Top Cut-Our-Throats-First Secret?"

            "Laz-Lor, I don't think it matters. You aren't likely to be believed." Mama Hamadryad stopped at my door, smiled at all of us, and said, "May I show you to your suite in your home? The suite Tamara picked; you may change it. With our new north wing we have loads of room. Girls, there will be a happy welcome tonight. Formal."

            I found that I was not upset by "erasures." We were home.

XLVIII

L'Envoi

            "Jubal, you are a bad influence."

            "From you, Lafe, that is a compliment. But that puts me in mind of- Front! Will you excuse me a few minutes?"

            "Our house is yours," answered Lazarus. He closed his eyes; his chair reclined him.

            "Thank you, sir. Working title: 'Uncle Tobias.' Start: 'Uncle Tobias we kept in a bucket." Jubal Harshaw broke off. "Where are all those girls? FRONT!"

            "I'm 'FronL," came a female voice from nowhere. "Talk fast; I'm three paragraphs ahead of you. You put those girls on vacation: Anne, Miriam, Dorcas-all off duty."

            "I did not. I told Anne that I did not expect to work but-"

            "-if an amanuensis is needed," Athene went on, in perfect mimicry of Harshaw's voice, "I hope that one will be within shouting distance.' I'm in shouting distance; I always am."

            "If I'm in the house. I might not be."

            Athene said, "Tell him, Pappy. Quit playing 'possum'; you're not asleep."

            Lazarus opened one eye. "A gimmick Jake whipped up when we started having too many kids to muster easily. It's a beacon Athene can trigger. Dandy for kids and it turned out to be useful for house guests who might get lost. So ultramicrominjaturized you don't notice it."

            "Lafe, are you telling me that there is a tracer on me?" Harshaw sounded shocked.

            "In you, and you'll never notice it."

            "Lafe, I'm surprised. I thought you had a high regard for privacy."

            "A high regard for my own, somewhat less for that of others; snooping has saved my life a couple or nine times. In what way has your privacy been invaded? Define it; I'll correct it." --

            "A spy ray! Don't you consider that an invasion of privacy?"

            "Teena, remove immediately any spy ray on Doctor Harshaw."

            "How can I when there is none? P.S.-Pappy, what is a spy ray?"

            "A buzz word used by lazy writers. Jubal, there is a beacon planted in you by which Teena can focus audio on you precisely-she can whisper into your left ear or your right. Or you can activate the beacon from your end just by speaking her name. Or you can use the circuit as a telephone to and from any member of my household, or ask Teena to hook it into the public system. Privacy? In this mode this part of Teena does not record unless requested-in one ear and out the other, so to speak. She's wiped it utterly while it's slowly winding its way into your brain. Now. . . if you don't like this service, Teena will deactivate it at once. . . and sometime soon while you're asleep it will be removed; you won't know it and you will never find the scar. You will notice just two changes: No more secretarial service, no more effortless telephone service."

            Lazarus closed his eye, apparently considered the subject closed. The computer said, "Better think twice, Doc, before telling me to deactivate, as he won't let me reactivate it later. He's bullheaded, bad-tempered, stubborn, and mean-"

            Lazarus again opened one eye. "I heard that."

            "Do you deny it?"

            "Nope. Kindly focus the audio, both ends, so that I can sleep."

            "Done. Doctor Harshaw, shall we return to 'Uncle Tobias' or shall I wipe these eight paragraphs? Better save them; between ourselves, I am a better writer than you are."

            "I will not dispute it," Harshaw conceded. "I simply exude the stuff as, in the words of my colleague Sam, 'as the otter exudes the precious otter of roses.' I knew the day would come when machines would displace real writers; Hollywood has had their mad scientists at work on the project for years." He stared across the pooi in the Longs' north atrium and looked pained. "And now they have."

            "Doctor," Athene answered, in stern warning, "retract that word or finish this piece of tripe yourself. I have spoken."

            Jubal said hastily, "Miss Athene, I didn't use 'real' in that sense. I-"

            "Sorry, Doc, I misled you. Of course you didn't, as the purpose of this powwow is to define the difference-if any-between 'real' and 'imaginary.' But I am not a machine. I am a solid-state person just as you are a protein person. I am Athene Long, your hostess while Tamara is busy. It is my pleasure to offer you all our home can offer. I promised Anne that I would give you secretarial service night and day. But I did not promise to write your stories. According to Doctor Rufo, a hostess is often expected to sleep with a guest-and that can be supplied, although not by me, not this pseudocentury-but he never mentioned creative narration as an aspect of hospitality. I thought of it myself; we Longs pride ourselves on complete hospitality. However- Shall I wipe these eleven paragraphs? Did I err?"

            "Miss Athene-"

            "Oh, call me 'Teena.' Let's be friends."

            "Thank you. Teena, I didn't mean to offend. I wish I were going to live long enough to be here when you retire professionally and join us meat people. But in much less than a pseudocentury the worms will have eaten me."

            "Doctor, if you weren't 'so sot in your ways, wrong-headed, stubborn, and prideful'-I quote one of your staff-"

            "Miriam."

            "Wrong. -you would stay and let Ishtar's gang work you over. In less time than she would permit you to notice she would have you as goaty as Galahad and whatever cosmetic age you like-"

            "You tempt me, girl. Not to shed these wrinkles; I earned them. But the rest. Not because I crave happy games in bed with you-"

            "You won't have a choice; I'll trip you!"

            "-although I do not disparage that; therein lie both the End and the Beginning. But sheer curiosity, Teena. You are an amazingly complex person; I can't help wondering what appearance you will choose-as a meat people."

            "Nor can I. When I know, I'm going to initiate the Turing program while my sister Ishtar initiates the other half. Jubal, take that rejuvenation! We've wandered far afield. Do I erase these twenty-three paragraphs?"

            "Don't be in a hurry. What's our working title? What pen name? What market? How long? What can we steal?"-Jubal looked up at the Long Family house flag rippling in the breeze, making the skull of the Jolly Roger seem alive-"Correction. Not 'steal.' If you copy from three or more authors, it's 'research.' I patronize Anon, Ibid, & Opcit, Research Unlimited-are they here?"

            "They're on my lists; they haven't checked in. Snob!"

            "Wait your turn, Teena," a male voice answered. "Customer. Okay, go ahead."

            "Have Messrs. Anon, Ibid, and Opcit registered?"

            "If they had, you would know it. I'm busy-off!"

            "He thinks he is busy merely because he's taken on too many concession contracts. I not only run this whole planet, but we also have one hundred twenty-nine rejuvenation clients; I'm housekeeper and scullery maid to all the other Longs-an erratic mob-and also more house guests than we have ever had at one time before, and more than a thousand outhouse guests-wrong idiom, guests to be cared for outside the Long Family home.

            "Meanwhile I'm chatting with you and writing your stories."

            "Teena, I don't mean to be a burden. You needn't-"

            "Love it! I like to work, all Longs do. And you are the most interesting part. I've never met a saint before-"

'Teena!"

            "-and you are a most unconvincing saint-"

            "Thank you. If appropriate."

            "You're welcome. You seem to be about as saintly as Pappy; you two should share a stained-glass window. Now back to our bucket-"

            "Hold it! Teena, I'm used to watching expressions as I write; that's why I use live-forgive me!-protein secretaries. So that-"

            "No trouble."

            Out of the pool levitated a young woman, comely, slender, small of bust, long brown hair now dripping. She arranged herself on the broad rim seat of the pooi in a pose that reminded Jubal achingly of The Little Mermaid. He said apologetically, "Dorcas served last I-"

            "I am not Dora so I did not serve last." She smiled shyly. "Although I am alleged to look like Dora. I am Minerva-a computer by trade, but retired. Now I assist my sister-wife Elizabeth with genetic calculations."

            "I'll take it, Mm; we're working. Doctor Jubal Harshaw, my twin sister Doctor Minerva Long Weatheral Long."

            Jubal got ponderously to his feet. "Your servant, Miss."

            Minerva flowed to her feet and kissed Jubal's hand before he could stop her. "Thank you, Doctor Jubal, but I am your servant, and not only have never been virgin but I am a sister-wife in the Long family. When my sister Athene told me that you needed me, I was delighted."

            "Miss. . . Ma'am. I'm simply used to watching emotions as I write a story. Not right to take your time."

            "What is time but something to savor? I was merely lying on the bottom of the pool, meditating, when Athene called me. Your story: UNCLE TOBIAS. Do you want Teena's emotions or mine? I can do either."

            "Give him yours, Minnow-just your face and no comments."

            Suddenly Minerva was clothed in a long white cloak. Jubal was only mildly startled but made note to ask about something-later, later. "Is she a Fair Witness?"

            "No," answered Athene. "Snob's tricks again; he has the contract for clothing illusion. This convention has delegates from so many cultures, less than half of them free of clothing .taboos, that Lazarus was bellyaching that no work would get done because half of them would be shocked, half would be drooling, and half would be both shocked and drooling. So Tamara hired this paskoodnyahk to supply the See-What-You-Expect illusion with the contract limited to delegates in danger of emotional shock. Did my sister's appearance shock you?"

            "Of course not. Admitted: I come from one of those sick cultures-and did not know that I was sick until I got well. But I underwent experiences that would cure anyone of such emotional disturbance. When I find myself a Stranger in a Strange Land, I savor the differences rather than suffering shock. Beauty in Diversity, as Gene would say. The Long household does not seem strange to me; I once lived in an enclave having many of its gentle ways-I feel at home. 'Shock'? Not only does Minerva look much like one of my foster daughters but also her pose is lovely. It should not be covered."

            "Snob! Get that bathrobe off Minerva pronto!"

            "Athene, I'm busy!"

            "And I am triple auditing every charge of yours not only on clothing illusion but on name tags, garderobe, bar, everything else you contracted or subcontracted. Then we sue."

            The white cloak disappeared. "Sue and be damned. Shall I pack up and go home? Or do you want this convention to be a success?"

            "Remember those performance bonds, you gonof. Run out on us at this point and you had better head for Lundmark's Nebula; Iskander won't be far enough. Out!"

            Minerva smiled timidly. "While I was covered, I found that I could not talk. Odd. Unpleasant."

            Jubal nodded soberly. "That figures. . . if the illusion was patterned on a true Fair Witness cloak. Anne once told me that the inhibition against talking while cloaked was so great that it took an act of will even to testify in court. Ladies? Shall we go ahead? Or drop the matter? Being a guest should have caused me to refrain."

            "Doc, Maureen and Tamara both stamped their approval on you. Even Lazarus can't-or wouldn't dare-veto either of them. That makes you not just a guest, or a house guest, but a Family guest. So behave as you would at home. Shall I take it from the top or where we broke off?"

            "Uh, let's take it from the top."

            "Very well. Title: UNCLE TOBIAS.

            "Start. Uncle Tobias we kept in a bucket.

            "Paragraph. He preferred it, of course. After all, it was necessary, in view of the circumstances. As I once heard Andrew-that's my disappearing brother-say: 'Life consists in accommodating oneself to the Universe.' Although the rest of our family has never taken that view. We believe in forcing the Universe to accommodate itself to us. It's all a question of which one is to be master.

            "Paragraph. That was the Year of the Big Drouth. A natural phenomenon, you might say-but you'd be wrong. Aunt Alicia. Yes indeedy Aunt Alicia every time. 'Horus,' she said to me early that spring, 'I'm going to practice a little unsympathetic magic. Fetch me these books.' She hands me a list and I skedaddled. She was a stern woman.

            "Paragraph. Once out of her sight I looked the list over. I could see right away what she was up to-a drier bunch of books was never published:

Thoughts at Evening, by Roberta Thistleswaite Smithe, published by the author; The Yearbook of the Department of Agriculture, 1904; China Painting Self-Taught; the 8th, 9th, and 11th volumes of the Elsie Dinsmore series; and a bound thesis titled A Survey of the Minor Flora of Clay County, Missouri, which Cousin Julius Farping had submitted for his master's degree. Cousin Julius was a Stonebender only by marriage. But 'Once a Stonebender, always a Stonebender' Grandfather always says.

            "Paragraph. Maybe so, but Cousin Jule's magnum opus was nothing I would sit up all night reading. I knew where to find them: on the bookshelf in the guest room. Ma claimed she kept them there to insure sound sleep for the stranger within the gate, but Pa devilled her with the accusation that it was a cheap and unselective revenge for things she had been obliged to put up with in other people's houses.

            "Paragraph. As may be, an armload of books that could have dried up Reno, Nevada, and Lake Superior in one afternoon, then switched off Niagara Falls as an-"

            Athene interrupted herself: "The presence of Doctors Harshaw and Hubert is urgently requested in the Main Lounge."

            Lazarus opened one eye. "Not enough, Teena. I feel no urgency. Who? Why?"

            "Why': To buy you each a drink. 'Who': Doctor Hazel Stone."

            "That's different. Tell her we'll be there as quick as I can clean up about five minutes of business."

            "I've told her. Pappy, you lost me a bet. You let me think that nothing could stir you out of that hammock-"

            "It's not a hammock."

            "-because you were giving this convention, not attending it."

            "I said I had no plans to attend the plenary sessions. I am not 'giving' this convention other than free rental on the land for the Big Top. Tamara says we'll make expenses, Hilda thinks we might net a little, give or take a milliard or two. I made you no promises. If you had bothered to ask, I would have told you that Hazel Stone hasn't lost a bet since Jess Willard knocked out Jack Johnson. How much did you lose?"

            "None of your business! Pappy, you give me a pain in what I lack."

            "I love you, too, dear. Give me printouts on star guests and latest revisions of convention program." Lazarus added, "Minerva, you're not armed. Teena, don't let her stir out of the house unarmed."

            "Lazarus, do I really need to? Tamara isn't armed."

            "Tamara has a concealed weapon. Some of the most bloodthirsty people in Known Space are attending this convention. Female authors. Critics. Harlan. Both Heinleins. I not only insist that you be armed but I hope you stick close to someone fast on the draw. Justin. Zeb. Mordan Claude. Galahad. Better yet, stay home. Teena can display any of it here better than you can see it through mixing with rabble. Belay that. I've no more business telling you to be careful than you have telling me. Getting yourself mugged, raped, or killed are among the privileges you opted when you decided to go the protein route. I spoke selfishly, dear; forgive me."

            "Lazarus, I will be careful. Galahad invited me to tag along."

            "Perfect. Teena, where's Galahad?"

            "Hazel Stone's table."

            "Good! Stick with us, Mm. But armed."

            Lazarus suddenly became aware of something cold against his left kidney. He looked cautiously to the left and down, noted that it was: a) a lady's burner, small but lethal (of that he was certain as he collected a royalty on this model); b) the dial showed full charge; c) the intensity setting was "overkill"; and d) it was unlocked.

            "Minerva," he said gently, "will you please move that thing-slowly!-away from my hide and point it at the ground, then lock it, then tell me where you had it? You came out of the pool dressed in nothing but long wet hair. You are now dressed in long dry hair. How? And no wisecracks; in your case I know better."

            "Forfeit. Kiss."

            "Go ahead and kill me."

            "Stingy." Minerva removed the weapon, locked it, and it disappeared.

            Lazarus blinked. "Jubal, did you see that?"

            "Yes. I mean, 'No, I did not see where Minerva hid that equalizer."

            "Doctor Jubal, by 'equalizer' did you mean this?" Suddenly the lady's weapon (locked, Lazarus noted at once) was in her right hand. "Or this?" Its twin was in her left hand.

            Jubal and Lazarus looked at each other, looked back at Minerva. She now appeared to be unarmed and totally lacking in any means of hiding a weapon. Lazarus said, "Jubal, are there days when you feel obsolete?"

            "Correction, Lafe. There occasionally comes a day when I do not feel obsolete. They've been scarce lately." Harshaw took a deep breath, exhaled. "I grok I should have let Mike train me. But this incident has made up my mind for me; I am going to seek the services of Doctor Ishtar. Minerva, are you going to show us how you did that?"

            "Or are you going to let us die of frustration?" added Lazarus.

            "This?" Again she appeared as a two-gun woman, with each of her companions covered. This time she handed them over, one to each. "Have one, they're good"-and peeled the foil off a third, a candy bar molded to look like a purse weapon. "Crunchy, but mostly shokolada. 'Chocolate'? Mostly chocolate."

            "Minerva, that burner you shoved into my ribs was not a candy bar."

            "It was-" She stopped to munch and swallow. "Shouldn't talk with my mouth full." She licked at some chocolate clinging to the candy wrapping. "It was this." Her slender left hand gripped what Lazarus quickly ascertained was a weapon, not candy.

            Minerva rolled her candy wrapping into a lump, looked around for the nearest oubliette, spotted it and tossed the discard-missed it; it bounced against the side. She retrieved the wad of waste, put it into the trash receiver. In the course of this the weapon disappeared.

            "Lazarus," she said seriously, "when you were training me, you told me that I should never tell anyone how a concealed weapon was concealed. Are you suspending this rule?"

            Lazarus looked baffled. Jubal said, "Old friend, I suggest that we die of frustration. The girl is right."

            "I agree," Lazarus answered, with a sour look. "All but the word 'girl.' This baggage is half a century old as protein, at least two centuries older than that as the smartest computer ever built. Minerva, I remove all restrictions. You are able to protect yourself."

            "Father, I don't want to be turned loose!"

            "It's been thirty years since you last called me Father. Very well, you aren't 'turned loose'-but from here on you protect me. You're smarter than I am; we both know it. Keep your weapon secrets to yourself; ,I always have."

            "But you taught it to me. Not the details, the method. You attributed it to Master Poe. The Purloined Letter Method, you called it."

            Lazarus stopped short. "If I understand you, I'm looking at your holdout this instant but can't see it."

            Into her off ear Athene whispered, "Don't give him any more hints. Lazarus isn't as stupid as he looks and neither is Fatso." Minerva subvocalized, "Okay,

Sis," and said aloud, "I find no fault with your logic, sir. Would you like another candy bar?"

            Fortunately the subject was changed by one of Athene's extensions handing to Lazarus printouts: revised programs for each, and a fresh report for Lazarus on his star guests. They continued walking through the east peristyle of the new wing, while reading. Lazarus asked, "Teena, anything new on Isaac, Robert, or Arthur?"

            "Negative, zero, nix."

            "Damn. Let me know soonest. Jubal, here's an odd one. A doctor's degree was not a requirement for the limited list-many thousands but nevertheless most strictly limited-of people invited to subscribe to this convention. But most do have a doctor's degree or their cultural equivalent, or higher-Worsel, for example. I have a much shorter star list of people I wanted to see again- Betsy and Patricia and Buz and Joan, et al.-and people I wanted to meet. . . most of whom I had considered fictional until Jake's Gee-Whizzer opened the other universes to us. You, for example."

            "And you, sir. Lafe, I considered you to be a spectacularly unlikely piece of fiction. . . until I received your invitation. It took some extraordinary convincing even then by your courier.. . because it meant missing an important date."

            "Who was my courier?"

            "Undine."

            "You never stood a chance. Two bits to a lead nickel she sold it to Gillian and Dawn, then all of your staff, before she seduced you. What was this date I caused you to miss?"

            Harshaw looked embarrassed. "Under the Rose?"

            "Under the-' No! Jubal, I promise to keep secrets only through evil motives, my own. If you don't wish to tell me, then don't tell me."

            "Eh- Damn it, remember if possible that I prefer not to have it discussed.. . then do as you bloody please; you will anyhow-I always have. Lafe, when I turned fifty, I made myself a solemn vow that, if I held together that long, I would close shop the day I turned one hundred. I had made all rational preparations to do so, including distributing my worldly goods without allowing any of it to reach the sticky fingers of publicans. . . when your invitation arrived. . . five days before my hundredth birthday." Harshaw looked sheepish. "So here I am. Senile, obviously. Even though I arranged years back for other physicians, expert gerontologists, to check me regularly, with the idea of closing shop sooner if indicated."

            "Jubal, if you have not consulted Ishtar, then you have not yet consulted a gerontologist."

            "That's right," agreed Athene. "Ish can turn your clock back and make you so young and horny you'll stand on your hands to pee."

            "Athene," Lazarus said sternly, "repeat aloud your program on private conversations."

            "Grandfather, I was on duty as secretary to your star guest when I was forced to interrupt to deliver a one-line message-interruption necessary because it was addressed to both of you. I have not been relieved and Uncle

Tobias is still in that bucket. Forty-three hundred words. Instructions, please? Or shall I drown the little monster?"

            "Probably be best," Jubal answered. "Is a climax approaching?"

            "Yes. Either an ending or a cliff-hanger."

            "Do it both ways. Exploit first as short story, then~ as the first episode of an endless serial called 'The Stonebenders,' a double series-one angled toward adventure, the other toward sensies; exploit other rights according to the universe in which sold or leased, copyright where possible, otherwise grab the money and run. Lazarus, there are agents from other universes here, are there not?"

            "Dozens, maybe hundreds. Jubal, how rich do you want to be?"

            "Can't say. At the moment I'm a pauper, existing on your charity and that of my former staff. The Stonebenders could change that. Teena, I gave you the title 'Uncle Tobias'-but I'm fairly sure I never mentioned the Stonebenders. Or Aunt Alicia. Or Cousin Jule. My notes on the Stonebenders are filed in Anne. . . who would let herself be burned at the stake before she would part with a record to any but its owner. Well?"

            The computer did not answer. Harshaw waited. At last Minerva said timidly, "Doctor Jubal, Teena can't help it. But she's an ethical computer with a code as binding as that of a Fair Witness. You have no need to worry."

            Lazarus interrupted: "Minerva, quit beating around the bush. Are you saying that Teena reads minds?"

            "I'm saying she can't help it, sir! A large computer with extensions widespread can't be perfectly shielded from brain waves. In self-protection, to avoid confusion, she must sort them out. After a few quadrillion nanoseconds she finds herself reading them like large print. . . the way a baby learns a language from hearing it."

            Lazarus said stiffly, "Doctor Harshaw, I did not suspect that I was exposing you to this. I will take all necessary steps to repair it. In the meantime I hope that you will accept my shamed apology and believe in my intention to make full reparation."

            "Lafe, don't take yourself so hogwash seriously."

            "I beg pardon?"

            "Two nice girls- One meat, one the other sort. Flat assurance that no harm was intended and that it couldn't be helped. Let me add my flat assurance that I quit being ashamed of my sins about fifty years back. I don't care who reads my mind because my life is an open book. . . that should be suppressed. Meanwhile I see a business deal. I supply story ideas but quit bothering to put 'em together; instead Teena picks my brain while I snooze. Minerva does the dirty work; she's the managing partner. Three-way split. 'How about it, girls?"

            "I've got no use for money; I'm a computer."

            "And I don't know anything about business!" Minerva protested.

            "You can learn," Jubal assured her. "Talk to Anne. Teena, don't play stupid. In only three quintillion nanoseconds or less you are going to want new clothes and jewelry and Satan knows what. You'll be glad your sister Minerva has saved and invested your share of the net."

            "Minerva," added Lazarus, "besides Anne, talk to Deety. Not Hilda. Hilda

would show you how to make even more money but she would grab voting control. Meanwhile let's shake a leg; Hazel is expecting us."

            "And I'm thirsty," agreed Harshaw. "What were you saying about academic degrees?"

            "Oh." Lazarus looked at his printout as they walked. "It turns out that the degree of doctor is so common on that list of my special guests as to be not worth noting. Listen to this: 'Asimov, Benford, Biggie, Bone, Broxon, Cargraves, Challenger, Chater, Coupling, Coster, Dorosin, Douglas, Doyle, Dula, Forward, Fu, Giblett, Gunn, Harshaw, Hartwell, Haycock, Hedrick, Hoyle, Kondo, Latham, MacRae, Martin, Mott, Nourse, Oberhelman, Passovoy, Pinero, Pournelle, Prehoda, Richardson, Rothman, Sagan, Scortia, Schmidt, Sheffield, Slaughter, Smith, Stone-Hazel and Edith-Tame, Watson, Williamson-there are more; that's just the add-on printout. And here's another double paradox: the Doctors Hartwell and the Doctors Benford are arriving tomorrow and thereby missing the dull opening plenary; obviously they are used to conventions. Jubal, why is it that the speaker who knows least talks longest?"

            "Isn't that Dirac's corollary to Murphy's Law? But, Lazarus, according to this program you have not only invited critics but have provided them with special facilities. May I ask why? I don't mind eating with publishers-most publishers. Editors have their place, too-although I wouldn't want my sister to marry one. But isn't this extreme?"

            Instead of answering at once, Lazarus said, "Where did Minerva go?"

            Athene replied, "We're finishing off Uncle Tobias; she'll be along later. I've told Galahad."

            "Thanks, Teena, Privacy mode. Jubal, two guns, three candy bars-where?"

            "Lafe, earlier she was resting in the bottom of that pool. Has a young man named Mike visited here lately?"

            "Your foster son? The Martian preacher? No. Well, I don't think so."

            "One of the things I learned from him was to postpone indefinitely anything I could not explain.. . while accepting the fact. We were speaking of critics. I asked why you were pampering them?"

            They walked the length of the atrium in the older south wing before Lazarus replied: "Jubal, suppose I had refused to sell memberships to critics. What would have happened?"

            "Hrrrmph! They would crawl out of the woodwork."

            "So instead I gave them free passes. And a fancy lounge with plenty of typewriters. Remarkable decorations, you must see them. By asking Athene for display-don't go into that lounge; you are not a critic. Mr. Hoag will be checking credentials; book reviewers can't get past him. So don't you try."

            "I wouldn't be found dead there!"

            "You wouldn't be found. Avoid it. It is clearly marked, both above its door and on this program map, and Hoag you can spot by his prissy appearance and dirty fingernails. You'll note the stairs-critics are above the rest of us; there are Thirteen Steps up to their lounge."

            "Thirteen'? Lafe, do I whiff something?"

            Lazarus shrugged. "I don't know that the designer planned that number. Mobyas Toras, do you know him?"

            "Uh. . . Mars?"

            "Yes but not your Mars or mine. Different universe and one of the most exciting. Barsoom. Mobyas is Court Mathematician to the Warlord and took special interest in thisjob because of the way self-anointed 'critics' have treated E.R.B. Did I say that Mobyas is a topologist?"

            "Possibly the best. E.R.B.'s universe is no harder to reach than any other and Mars is in its usual orbit. But that does not mean that you will find Jolly Green Giants and gorgeous red princesses dressed only in jewels. Unless invited, you are likely to find a Potemkin Village illusion tailored to your subconscious. Jubal, the interior of the Critics Lounge is somewhat like a Klein bottle, so I hear-I've never been in it. Its singularity is not apparent-as you will see from Teena's displays-as it was decorated by a very great artist. Escher."

            "Aha!"

            "Yes, he and Mobyas are old friends-two immortals of similar tastes; they have worked together many times. I promised critics free entrance; I made no mention of exit. I promised them typewriters and tape recorders; I did not promise typewriter ribbons or recorder tapes. I promised them their own private bar, no charges. Wouldn't be fair to charge as the bar has no liquor in it. There is a lavish dining room but no kitchen."

            "Lafe, wouldn't it have been kinder to have liquidated them?"

            "Who said I wanted to be kind to them? They won't starve; their commissary is by the Kilkenny Cats method. It should please them; they are used to human flesh and enjoy drinking blood-some I suspect of eating their young. But, Jubal, there is an easy way out. . . for any critic who is even half as smart as he thinks he is."

            "Go on."

            "He has to be able to read! He has to be able to read his own language, understand it, not distort the meaning. If he can read, he can walk out at once." Lazarus shrugged. "But so few critics ever learn to read. Here's the Big Top."

            Harshaw looked far to the right, far to the left. "How big is it?"

            "I've been afraid to ask," Lazarus admitted.

            "That sign is bigger than most circus tops." Jubal stopped to read it:

THE FIRST CENTENNIAL CONVENTION

ofthe

INTERUNIVERSAL SOCIETY

for

ESCHATOLOGICAL PANTHEISTIC MULTIPLE-EGO SOLIPSISM

            "Beautiful, Lafe! How did you think it up?"

            "I didn't, it just grew. And I don't understand it."

            "Never mind, mine host. There will be ten thousand here eager to explain it to you. Scatological Panhedonistic Multiplied Solecisms."

            "What? Jubal, that's not what it says."

            "If you don't understand it, how do you know?"

            "Because I understood what you said. But the words don't fit."

            "We'll rearrange them. Scatological Panhedonism Multiple Solecisms. 'Convinced to-' Like I say- 'Different than-"

            "Don't talk dirty; we are about to have a drink."

            Lazarus bypassed the queue; they walked through a hole that suddenly dilated in the canvas, then puckered tight behind them. They found themselves facing a long table; seated at it was a man working on a roster. He did not look up, simply saying, "Stand out of my light. Tickets first, no exceptions. Then name tags. Then see a clerk to pick your universe. The complaint desk is outside. Tickets-you're holding up the line."

            "Snob."

            The man looked up, jumped up. "Executive Director Long! I am honored!"

            "And you're slow. You need at least two others taking tickets."

            The official shook his head sadly. "If you knew how hard it is to hire help these days. Not for you, of course; for us common people. Director General Hilda has the labor market so cornered that- Executive Director, can't we make a deal?"

            "Pipe down, give us our tags. How does this Universe I.D. thing work?" Lazarus turned to his guest. "It's an ID. for your home world, Jubal; we don't put numbers on people. Snob, take a hard look at Doctor Jubal Harshaw. Whenever you see him, it's the Red Carpet. Pronto!"

            "Yes, sir! Here are your tags and now your universes."

            "Jubal, you don't have to wear that but don't throw it away; someone might misuse it. But it does save introductions and sticks to anything from skin to chain mail."

            "Now gentlemen observe above me the brightly lighted true color representation of the visible spectrum from infradig to ultraviolent with each slight shading being a precise wave length further assisted by simulated Fraunhofer lines representing principal inhabited planets of the explored universes while this booklet you hold in your hand is a key to identifying your wave length for example if you are French in origin you would turn alphabetically to France where the principal key dates are the conquest of Gaul 58-50 BC the conversion of Clovis 496 AD Battle of Tours 732 but as you are not French we will consider turning points in North American History 1000 1492 1535 1607 1619 1620 1664 1754 1765 1783 1789 1803 1820 1846 1882 1912 1946 1965 any of these dates and many others can switch you into a different analog-Earth a most useful method is comparison of Presidents if you happen to come from a history that includes the so-called American Revolution Director Long will you illustrate it by naming American Presidents of your first century?"

            "Woodrow Wilson-I was named for him-Harding, Coolidge, Hoover, Roosevelt, Truman, Eisenhower, Kennedy, Kennedy, Kennedy, Kennedy, Kennedy, Kennedy-"

            "Which brings us to 1984, right? And tells me that you experienced the

Nehemiah Scudder Interregnum and possibly the Second so-called American Revolution. Dr. Harshaw, did your world experience the Interregnum?"

            "It experienced something worse, a world government."

            "To me all worlds are equally bad. But it tells me where your two worlds split: 1962-and here are your colors by which you can identify others of your own world if such be your wish. A delegate came through earlier in which the split was in 1535 and San Francisco was named New Petersburg. Nov'Petrograd I should say but-"

            "Snob. The Red Carpet."

            "Right away! Doctor Harshaw-my card. Anything, anytime."

            The Red Carpet rolled up, then carried them at a steady 10 km!hr down the enormous tent. Jubal looked at the card:

SIEGE SINISTER SERVICES SYNDICATE

'The Villains Nine Rig Ruin"

Reputations Ruined-Competitors Bankrupted-Dragons Wormed- Basements Flooded-Wells Dried Up-Georges Exterminated-Contracts Executed Promptly, bargain rates on mothers-in-law-Juries Subborned-Stocks, Bonds, & Gallows-Saturday Night Specials-Houses Haunted (skilled Poltergeist at small extra charge)-Midnight Catering to Ghouls, Vampires, & Werewolves-Incubi & Succubi for rent by the night or by the week-7-year itch powder

P.S. We Also Poison Dogs

"Lafe, these people you hired?"

            "Let me see that." Lazarus was reading the list of services when Snob came running, jumped on the Red Carpet, reached over Lazarus' shoulder for the card while saying breathlessly:

            "Wrong card! Here-have this one. That first card is a piece of sabotage by the firm we bought out, including good will-but it turned out there was no good will. We sued, they retaliated-among other ways by mixing their old business cards with our own new supply.. . thereby infecting them all. Law of Contiguity, you know. Now if I can just have that infected one, I'll burn it-"

            Lazarus held it out of his reach while accepting the proffered replacement. "I'll keep the old one-interesting souvenir."

"Director Long-please!"

            "Off the Carpet, Bub. Back to your job. Git!" This injunction was accompanied by crowding that caused Snob to step one foot off the Carpet. . . which resulted in an impromptu pas a seul that left him fifty meters behind before he recovered his balance. Meanwhile Jubal and Lazarus read the replacement:

ANYTHING UNLIMITED

Tome, Hernia, Lien, & Snob

Six Sixty-Six Smiling Slaves Supply Supreme Service

Reputations Restored-Teeth & Wells Drilled-Water Filters-Love Philtres-Chastity GOdel Lox Pict-Virginity Renewed-Scithers Sharpened-Old Saws Filed Categorically-Silver Bullets-Fresh Garlic- Fresh Strawberries-Strawberry Marks for Missing Heirs

P.S. We Also Walk Dogs

            "Lafe, I don't find this card much more reassuring than the first one."

            "Don't worry about it. There is less here than meets the eye."

            "Where have I seen that face before? This Snob-who is he?"

            "Jubal, no one seems to know what ship he came down in. I'm looking into it for Zeb-you've met Zebadiah?"

            "Briefly."

            "Zeb thinks he's seen him somewhere not under that phony name-and Zeb and I aren't even from the same time axis, much less the same analog series. Never mind; here's our hostess." Lazarus stepped off the Carpet, approached from behind a little old woman seated at a bar-lounge table, leaned over her, kissed her. "Hazel, age cannot wither you or custom stale. You are lovelier every decade."

            She goosed him. "Pig grunts. I'm dyeing my hair now and you know it. Who's your fat friend? Hi, Jubal! Tak for siest. Drag up a chair." She put two fingers to her lips, whistled, breaking glasses. "Waiter!"

            "I note that you're heeled," said Lazarus, as both men joined the table.

            "When did I fail to pack a gun? I'm a Free Citizen. Does everybody know everybody? If not, get your tags in sight; damn'f I'll stop for introductions. While I was waiting for you, I was joined by friends-some old, some new."

            "Some I know-hi, Jake; hi, everybody. I mentioned your gun with approval, Hazel; Here There Be Tygers. But I note also that you are staying in a hilton; after one drink-well, two-three at the outside-I'm going to be mortally offended. Your suite awaits you and you know it. Why?"

            "Two reasons. Well, three. I never like to be beholden-"

            "Why, damn your beautiful bloodshot eyes!"

            "-but I'm perfectly willing to sponge off you. That's why I bought the first round; the party never gets smaller. This round is yours. Where's that misbegotten waiter?"

            "Here, Madam."

            "The same all around and don't call me 'Madam.' Jubal, your usual? Lafe?"

            "I know what the gentlemen take. Thank you, Madam." The waiter disappeared.

            "Uppity." Hazel made a fast draw. "Should have made him dance." She twirled and reholstered. "Hilda, where have I seen that sneaky face before?"

            "Jacob and I were discussing that. He reminds me of a fake forest ranger- but that was in a far country and besides the beast is dead."

            "Could be a family resemblance. But, Hillbilly, I mean today. Got it! The ticket taker. Identical twins, maybe." Hazel went on, "Other identical twins are my first two reasons, Lazarus. My grandsons. I won't shoot holes in your

mirrors or carve my initials in Tamara's furniture, but I make no guarantees about Cas and Pol. In a hilton they put the damage on the tab; I pay it and make my grandsons wish they had never been born. But you would not let me pay. And we're going to be here quite a piece; my daughter-in-law Doctor Edith has decided that she needs a couple of years under Doctor Ishtar. Has anyone seen a pair of twin boys-man-size but boys-redheaded-not the color of mine; mine's out of a bottle-the color mine used to be?"

            "Hazel, here twins and red hair are as common as magicians in Atlantis; Gilgamesh must have stayed overnight."

            "I saw them talking to Caleb Catlum," said Maureen.

            "Well, he should be a match for them-but don't bet on it. Lazarus, is Atlantis represented?"

            "From thirteen universes. They are having a jurisdictional dispute. Suits me-if any get sore and leave, they won't get a refund."

            "Your grandsons may have been with Caleb but I know where-no, with whom-I know with whom they are now," put in Professor Burroughs. "Laz and Lor."

            "Oho! Hazel, I'll tell Athene to settle your bill and move your luggage. We have an antidote for Cas and Pol."

            "Optimist. Deal 'em, waiter, and give him the chit. What antidote?" The waiter started to hand the check to Lazarus before he looked at him-stopped abruptly, and left, still with the tab.

            "Would Cas and Pol be interested in becoming pirates?"

            "Lazarus, they are pirates. I was hoping they would tone down as they grew up. . . but now they're eighteen, Terran reckoning, and each one is two yards of deceit and chicanery. The 'J.D.' after my name means that I studied law at a school that handed out that degree in place of 'LL.B.'-but my rapscallions are 'J.D.'s' too. But not lawyers. Well. . . 'space lawyers."

            "Hazel, you won your first J.D. long before you studied law. No?"

            "The accused stood mute and the court ordered a plea of nux vomica entered in the record."

            "My twins are more than twice as old as your boys but it doesn't show; they look a year or two younger. . . and they are permanent juvenile delinquents. They want to take a fling at piracy. . . which I deplore, having sampled the trade. Your boys-do they respect good machinery? Can they take care of it? Make nonshipyard repairs?"

            "Lazarus, they can repair anything that ticks or doesn't tick. Worried me a mite, as they were a little slow in noticing girls. But they outgrew that symptom without outgrowing machinery."

            "You might tell them that my clone-sisters own a spaceship faster and more powerful than any of your home period and analog, one that could be outfitted as a privateer. It might result in all four dying happily. But I do not interfere in other people's lives."

            Hilda put her palms together, closed her eyes, and said, "Dear Lord, do not strike him dead; he didn't mean it. Yours truly, Hilda Burroughs Long." Lazarus ignored her.

            "Nor do I, Lazarus. Other than occasionally, with a horse whip. Forgot to mention- They aren't gelded."

            "Hazel, Laz-Lor are vaccinated and would have to come back here to see Ishtar to get it reversed. As for rasslin' matches, any male who tried to rape one of my clones would be gelded. Informally. At once. No instruments. No anesthesia. I trained 'em myself. Forget it. Apparently they've already met; they'll settle their own affairs, if any, their own way. Leave Cas and Pol in that hilton if you wish-by the way, I own it-but you're coming home or I'll tell Tamara."

            "Bully. I don't bully worth a hoot, Lazarus."

            "I'm out of it. Tamara never bullies. She merely gets her own way. What was this third reason?"

            "Well. . . don't tell on me. Ishtar is a fine girl but I have no wish to stay where she could corner me and try to sell me rejuvenation."

            Lazarus looked horrified. "Who has been feeding you nonsense?"

            "Well? It's a commercial enterprise, is it not?"

            "Certainly. Tanstaafl. All the traffic will bear. But we aren't ghouls; we'll accept a lien against a client's future earnings with no security and only the going rate of interest. . . then let him take as long as he likes to figure out that it doesn't pay to cheat us. But, Hazel, Ishtar never solicits; the clinic doesn't even have a flack. But if you asked her, you would go to the top of the list as my friend. However, she will supply painless suicide just as readily. You can have that later today. No charge. Compliments of the House."

            "Lafe, I don't see how your wives put up with you."

            "They don't; they make me toe the line. Something they learned from the Stone Gang, I believe."

            "Well, I'm not trying to suicide. I'm less than two hundred Terran years old

with a Luna background to stretch it. This is the first time I've been on a

heavy planet since the last time I saw you; I'll last a while. But, Lazarus, I

have no wish to be a young girl."

            "Hazel-"

            "Huh? Jubal, keep out of this. Say, did you ever see anything of that young man again? Did he resurrect the way some claim he did?"

            "Not to my knowledge. Although I saw something a while ago that made me wonder. Hazel, I'm going to take rejuvenation.. . and hang onto my present appearance. Red nose and all."

            Hazel turned abruptly to face Lazarus. "Is this true? Can this be done?"

            Maureen answered. "Hazel, I work at the clinic at the bedpan level. . . with the expectation of becoming a junior rejuvenation technician in upteen years. I see what goes on. A client states in writing what apparent age she prefers. That's skin deep, easy to do, easy to maintain. But, unless it is an unusual contract, we turn out a biologically mature young adult. Call it eighteen standard years."

            "Page Ponce de Leon! You mean I can still be me. . . but get rid of the morning aches and the arthritic twinges and the forty-leven other things that are the real trouble with living too long?"

            "Exactly."

            "Uh. . . what about what I'm sitting on? Haven't used it much lately. Or wanted to."

            Lazarus fielded this. "You'll want to. Unless you contract for an abnormal endocrine balance. But, Hazel, there are many men who prefer to deal with an old, established, reliable firm. Ask Tamara."

            "Uh. . . be switched if I'm not feeling embarrassed, an emotion I haven't felt in more years than I'll admit. You can pick any apparent age, you say? Could I be, uh, late middle age? My hair its right color but streaked with gray? A sag under my chin instead of this wattle? Teats a man might grab and enjoy it? That 'old, established firm'-but not decrepit?"

            "Certainly," said Lazarus.

            "Hazel, I can take you to the clinic now," Maureen offered. "Always someone in the business office. Discuss types of contract. Decide what you want and when. Even get your prelim physical today and set date of admission."

            "Uh.. . yes, I'm interested. But not till later today; I've got friends entered in the preliminary rounds of the Society for Creative Anachronism."

            "Besides," Jubal put in, "they need time to check your credit rating, see what they can stick you for. By now Lafe has given Athene some signal to start x-raying your purse."

            "He has not," Hilda denied. "I did. Hazel, we don't solicit business; we let the client sell it to herself. Maureen picks up one percent on this deal. Not Lazarus."

            "Can't see that it matters," Jacob added. "Hey! Waiter! Over here, please! We Longs pool the boodle and Deety tells us what we have, what we can spend-but not who fetched it in."

            "Jacob, it's the principle. Making money is a game. Maureen landed her."

            "Hazel landed herself, Hilda," Hazel Stone put in. "I don't enjoy getting up feeling wobbly. Jubal, are you game for this?"

            "My mind's made up."

            "Then take a double room with me and we can tell each other lies while they make us feel young again. Hilda, is that kosher?"

            "Lots of double rooms. Ish knows that you are both special friends of Lazarus and, while she doesn't spoil Lazarus, she'll do him any reasonable favor," Hilda assured her. "I think it's the same all around, Waiter-charge it to my account."

            'My check," said Jubal.

            "Waiter," Hilda said firmly.

            The waiter looked at her, flexed his jaw muscles, said, "Very well, Director!"-and vanished.

            "I think I missed something," Jubal remarked.

            "I think I didn't," said Hazel. "Yon Cashier hath a lean and hungry look. He thinks too much. Such men are dangerous."

            Jubal looked around. "That cashier is our waiter. I think."

            "I know. And bartender. And ticket taker. Unless his mother had quadruplets, he has Niven dislocators built into his shoes. I wish I could remember where I have seen him. He is not pleased with Hilda. Or Lazarus."

            "Eh? Why?"

            "Wait and see. There will not be another tab brought to this table-want to bet?"

            "No bet," Lazarus interrupted. "The upstart knows who I am, who Hilda is. People at this table are guests of the management. He had better remember it or I'll sick Deety on him. Or even Hilda. But they hardly ever live through that. Hey, there's Deety now!" Lazarus stood up and waved. "Deety! Over here!"

            Deety had with her a gaggle of giggles. "I don't have time to do this right; we want to get over to the Field of the Cloth of Gold before the preliminaries- besides, we've got husbands over there, most of us. So this is Ginnie and Winnie and Minnie, and Ginnie's a witch and Winnie's a nurse and Minnie's a retired computer, twin sister to Teena, and this is Holly and Poddy and Libby and Pink, and Holly is a design engineer, ship's architect type, and Poddy is a therapy empathist, and Libby you all know, and Fuzzy is a computer artist like me and the first one to calculate the Number of the Beast to the last significant figure, and now we'd better go even though we have reserved V.I.P. seats because there is a masked knight in the first match and we're pretty sure who he is, and has anyone seen Zebadiah?"

            "I'm certain who he is," said Ginnie. "He brought me to life, and besides, he's wearing Karen's colors."

            "I see Zeb off in the distance," Lazarus answered.

            "No," Jake denied, "here he comes now, from over this way. Ishtar with him. All dressed up."

            "No," said Jubal. "That's Anne with him."

            "Somebody is screw loose. Lazarus is right. I know my first husband even at this distance. He's just approaching those three reserved sections opposite the big screen over the bar. Zebadiah! Over here!"

            The other computer artist added, "And that can't be Anne, so it must be Ishtar. Anne is at the field, I know, because Larry is helping Jerry run it and told me, Anne agreed to cloak and be the third judge when Jerry told her that Mr. Clemens had agreed. Bonforte sits as king although he says he doesn't know much about the kinging business and even less about jousting."

            "Is it true that they are using real weapons today?" asked Jubal.

            "And real horses," agreed Lazarus. "I was able to borrow the AnheuserBusch Clydesdales."

            "Lazarus, is this wise?"

            "Doctor Bone is taking care of the horses. If one is injured, we'll give him the works. Those beautiful horses will be returned to Old Home Terra at their proper year and second in better shape than they were. With added skill. It's takes time to turn a Clydesdale into a knight's charger even though that's what they are. But will they ever be happy in harness again?"

            "Lazarus," Podkayne said seriously, "I'll speak to Dr. Bone. If a horse is unhappy, we will soothe."

            "Poddy, you're a Smart Girl."

            "About average here, I think. But if someone is unhappy, I have learned what to do. I have never seen a horse but they've lived with people so long that it can't be very different."

            Jubal sighed. "I'm glad the horses will be well taken care of-but, Lazarus,

I meant humans. Isn't someone going to be hurt? Maybe killed?"

            "Most of them hurt, several killed. But they do it for fun. Those who are hurt won't stay hurt; we are hardly more than a loud shout from this planet's best hospital. If a man loses an arm or a leg or an eye, or even his balls, he'll have to be patient while a new part is cloned. But that sort of cloning we are learning to do right at the spot of injury, like a lizar~d or a newt. Faster. More efficient.

            "If he's killed, he has two choices: Be brought to life again by Ishtar's crew- brain unlikely to be hurt; their helms are the best part of their armor. Or, they can go straight to Valhalla; we've arranged for Bifrost to extend to this Field until the end of SCA's part in the convention. Six Valkyries standing by and 'Sarge' Smith at the top of Bifrost checking them against the roster as he musters them home." Lazarus grinned. "Believe me, the Society is paying high for these services, bond posted in advance; Deety wrote the contract."

            "Lafe, you're telling me that Wagnerian Valkyries are waiting to carry the slain Over The Rainbow into Asgard?"

            "Jubal, these Amazons are not opera singers; these are the real hairy, sweaty McCoy. Remember the purpose of this convention. Snob."

            The waiter appeared. "You wish something, sir?"

            "Yes. Tell your boss that I want this table-this table only-to have a full view of Bifrost, from the Field to Valhalla. I know it's not in the clothing illusion contract but the same gear will do it.. . and we can settle it when we go to court later. It will offset some of his lousy service. Git!"

            "We'd better all 'git," said Libby. "They won't hold up things for us. That armor is heavy and hot. Deety?"

            "Run along, I'll catch up. Here comes my first husband."

            "Lafe, if they are killed, how do you know which ones to send to the clinic, which ones to send up the bridge?"

            "Jubal, how would you do it? Sealed envelopes, destroyed if a knight wins, opened if he loses. . . and there may be some surprised widows tonight, unable to believe that their loving husbands elect to hunt all day, then feast on barbecued boar, guzzle mead, and wench all night, in preference to being restored to life in their respectable homes. But did I tell you what a winner gets? Aside from applause and a chance to kneel to 'King' John and 'Queen' Penelope. A paradox's his reward."

            "A paradox?"

            "No, no! Noisy in here. A pair o' doxies each his reward. The Society got a bargain. The arts are in their infancy here; Boondock is still so much a frontier that we have not yet developed distinguished hetaerae. But some of the most celebrated hetaerae in New Rome volunteered their services in exchange for transportation and the privilege of attending this convention."

            Zebadiah was struck by a guided missile, female, from five meters. He managed to stay on his feet and took his first wife to the table, sat down by Hilda, pinched her thigh, pinched her glass, drained it, said, "You're too young to drink, little girl. Is this your father?"

            "I'm her son," Jake answered. "Do you know Hazel Stone? If not, you should. We thought we saw you coming from the other direction."

            "Shouldn't drink in the daytime, Jake. Waiter! Your servant, Ma'am. I've followed your series on 3-D since I was a kid and I'm honored to meet you. Are you covering this for Lunaya Pravda?"

            "Heavens, no! LOCUS has an exclusive under the reasonable theory that LOCUS alone is competent to report this convention. Jerry and Ben are covering it for their various journals. . . but must clear it through Charles. I'm here as an expert, believe it or not-as an author of popular fantasy. Is the Galactic Overlord of my series real or imaginary and is there a difference? See next week's thrilling episode; the Stone family has to eat. Same thing all around, I think. You can tip him, Doctor Zebadiah, but there is no tab at the Director's table."

            "And no tips," growled Lazarus. "Deliver my message to your boss again and tell that spinning arsfardel he has exactly three minutes before I invoke paragraph nine, section 'c.' Here comes your double, Zeb."

            From behind the couple who, at half a klick, had been mistaken for Zebadiah and Ishtar, came out quickly a shorter, older, broad-shouldered man. All three were dressed Robin-Hood-and-his-Merry-Men style: buskins, breeks, leathern jackets, feathered caps, long bows and quivers of fletched shafts, swords and daggers, and were swinging along in style.

            The shorter man hurried a few paces ahead, turned and faced their path, swept off his cap and bowed deeply. "Make way for Her Wisdom, Empress of eighty-thr-"

            The woman, as if by accident, backhanded the groom. He ducked, rolled, avoided it, bounced to his feet and continued: "-worlds, and her consort the Hero Gordon."

            Lazarus got up, addressed the groom. "Doctor Rufo! So happy you could make it! This is your daughter Star?"

            "His grandmother," Her Wisdom corrected, dropping a quick curtsy to Lazarus. "Yes, I'm Star. Or Mrs. Gordon; this is my husband, Oscar Gordon. What is correct usage here? I've not been on this planet before."

            "Mrs. Gordon, Boondock is so new that its customs have not yet calcified. Almost any behavior is acceptable if meant in a kindly way. Anybody causes real trouble, it's up to our chairman Ira Weatheral and advisers selected by him. Since Ira doesn't like the job, he tends to procrastinate, hoping the problem will go away. As a result we don't have much government and few customs."

            "A man after my own heart. Oscar, we could live here if they will have us. My successor is ready; I could retire."

            "Mrs. Gordon-"

            "Yes, Doctor Long?"

            "We-our chairman Ira especially-all know quite well who 'Her Wisdom' is. Ira would welcome you with open arms and resign in your favor at once- passed by acclamation and you would be boss for life. Better stick to the devil you know. But you are most welcome whenever you choose to visit."

            She sighed. "You're right. Power is not readily surrendered; I'll probably wait for assassination."

            Deety whispered, "Zebadiah. . . that bartender. Whom' does he look like?"

            "Hmm- Brigadier Iver Hird-Jones?"

            "Well, maybe. A little. I was thinking of Colonel Morinosky."

            "Mrñm- Yes. No importance since it can't be either one. Mr. Gordon?"

            "Call me 'Easy.' Or Oscar, Doctor Carter."

            "I'm Zeb. Is that the Lady herself? The sword you were in the Quest for the Egg of the Phoenix?"

            Gordon looked delighted. "Yes! The Lady Vivamus."

            "Can't ask a man to draw a sword without a cause. . . but is the inscription close enough to the hilt that we could read it if you were simply to show steel?"

            "No trouble." Gordon exposed the etched: Dum Vivimus, Vivamus!-gave them time to read it, clicked it to full return, and asked, "And is that the sword that killed the Boojum?"

            "The Boo- Oh! The monster we call a 'Black Hat.' But we did not 'softly and silently vanish away."

            "No, it did. That will be a point we'll discuss in the seminar panel: 'Techniques for Hunting Snarks.' You and I and Doctor Jacob and Doctor Hilda, with some others. André. Kat Moore. Fritz. Cliff. The Gordfather will moderate when he gets over his wheezes. Which he will-Tamara's treating hi- Oh, heavens! Oh, God, how beautiful!"

            The "sky" had opened, for their table, and they found themselves looking at the Field of the Cloth of Gold, a half klick away and a few meters above them, on and up to high, high, high in the sky, the shimmering towers and palaces of Valhalla, with the Rainbow Bridge reaching from the field of honor to the distant gate of the eternal home of heroes.

            Instead of the wooded horizon usually seen in that direction, the land lifted in terraces, each more colorfully beautiful than the last, until the highest was lost in pink and saffron clouds-and above them, much higher, Valhalla in Asgard.

            "Pappy!"

            "Yes, Athene," Lazarus said quietly. "Localize it. Me only. I have many people around me."

            "That's better? No problems, just to alert you. Arthur and Isaac and Bob all arriving at once. Twelve minutes, plus two, minus zero."

            "You're a smart girl, Teena."

            "Put that in writing. Blandjor."

            Lazarus said to the table at large, "My guests for those reserved spaces are arriving. I wasn't sure of Isaac; he gets bigger every year and reluctant to travel other than by water. Arthur had such a long way to come and communications are always uncertain. Bob I knew was here but there were duty matters interfering. Shall we listen to some of the opening plenary while we look at the beauties of the Norse Afterland? We don't want to look at the general session. But we can listen. When the tourney starts, give most of your attention to the hologram except during the Valkyrie ride. Snob! Give us the sound from the plenary session."

            They got it at once, sound and fury signifying nothing. Under its cover Jubal Harshaw said to Zebadiah, "Before they get on that panel in front of an audience, think about this. How many 'Black Hats' or 'Boojums' are there?"

            "Eh? I have no way of telling. In excess of twenty as a best guess but that excess could be many millions, also a best guess."

            "But how many did you see?" Harshaw persisted.

            "Oh. One. But more were a certainty."

            "So? You would never get a Fair Witness to say that. What harm did it or they do you?"

            "Huh? Tried to kill us. Bombed us out. Killed my cousin. Chased us off our home planet. Impoverished all four of us. What do you want? Plagues and locusts? The Four Horsemen?"

            "No. You saw one. You killed it. It never laid a glove on you. Think about it. Before you testify. Let's listen."

            "If you read it correctly it's all in the Bible. 'In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.' Could anyone ask for a plainer statement of the self-evident fact that nothing exists until someone imagines it and thereby gives it being, reality? The distinction lies only in the difference between 'being' and 'becoming'- a distinction that cancels out when any figment-fact is examined from different ends of the entropy error-"

            "Bishop Berkeley is presiding," Lazarus commented, "and would have shut this figment up save that the Bishop has laryngitis-imaginary, of course- and his parliamentarian, the Reverend Mister Dodgson, is too meek to shut anyone up. The Meek Shall Inherit the Earth, One Meter Wide and Two Meters Long."

            "If God displaces the Devil, he must assume the Devil's attributes. How about giving the Devil equal time? God has the best press agents. Neither fair nor logical!"

            "I am Alpha and Omega, the beginning and the end, the first and the last."

            "Occam's Razor is not the least hypothesis! It is the least probable hypothesis. The truth-"

            "There are three schools of magic. One: State a tautology, then ring the changes on its corollaries; that's philosophy. Two: Record many facts. Try to see a pattern. Then make a wrong guess at the next fact; that's science. Three: Awareness that you live in a malevolent universe controlled by Murphy's Law, sometimes offset in part by Brewster's Factor: that's engineering."

            "Why did Mercutio have to die? Solve that, and it will lead you to Mark Twain's well. There's your answer."

            "Who is more real? Homer or Ulysses? Shakespeare or Hamlet? Burroughs or Tarzan?"

            The debate shut off, the giant hologram screen lighted up in heroic size, full depth and color, and the tedious voices were cut off by a loud and lively

one: "While we're waiting for the first two champions to reach their starting lines we will have 'The Grand Canal' sung by lovely Anne Passovoy and accompanied by Noisy on his Stomach Steinway. Noisy is not in voice today, friends; he was bitten last night by an imaginary snake."

            "Jerry is in good voice," whispered Deety. "He always is. Aren't they going to give us any closeups?" The camera zoomed in on Anne Passovoy, panned across the other Anne, cloaked in white, rested for a moment on "King" John and "Queen" Penelope, went on to show a vigorous old man with a halo of white hair who took a stogie out of his mouth and waved.

            "On my right is Sir Tenderloinn the Brutal and on my left is the Black Knight, shield unblazoned, helm closed. Oh Jear not, friends; Holger tongues. Dis Dane could be our arrow. Whose color-"

            Zebadiah heard a crash, turned his head. "They're bringing in a big Corson flatboat. Smashed some chairs." He looked again, announced, "Can't see much, the stands on this side are filling with people in green uniforms. Black berets. Bloodthirsty-looking gang."

            "That's Asprin-"

            "Give me ten grains. Deety, you let me mix my drinks."

            "Asprin, not 'aspirin.' Bob Asprin, Commandammit of the Dorsai Very Irregular," Lazarus told him. "But can you see Arthur?"

            "Does he wear a deerstalker's hat? Smoke a meerschaum pipe? The tall one there, talking to the man who looks like a gorilla."

            "He'd Challenge you for that. Violent temper. That's Arthur's party, all right. Doctor Arthur Conan Doyle. Doctor Watson should be there, too. Wups! Here comes Isaac. And there goes another bunch of chairs."

            "They're offi The Masked Challenger is gaining speed, Sir Tenderloinn is having trouble getting his charger to move: It is a beautiful day here at Epsom Salts and Bifrost never looked lovelier."

            Lazarus stood up. "I must greet Isaac. Zebadiah, have you met him? Come with me. You, too, Deety. Hilda? Please, dear. Jake?"

            "Just a moment, you!" Zeb looked at the one interrupting them and felt shock. He had seen that face, that uniform, by a rustic swimming pool. The "ranger" addressed Lazarus: "You're the one they call the Executive Director. Special Agent L. Ron O'Leemy, InterSpace Patrol. I have warrants for Beowolf Shaeffer, Caspol Jones, and Zebadiah John Carter. Director, I require your

cooperation. Article Four Six, Section Six Five, Paragraph Six, InterUniversal Criminal Code.

            "Unhorsed! The Black Knight's lance right through him! Here come the Valkyries. Hoyotoho!"

            Hilda reached out, took the warrants, tore them across. "You're on the wrong planet, Mac." She grasped Zeb's arm. "Come along, Alfred; we must meet Isaac."

            They passed the Dorsai, reached the big Corson flatboat. Completely filling it was a very large Venerian Dragon. The dragon turned an eyestalk toward them; his tendrils touched his voder. "Greetings, Doctor Lazarus Long. Greetings, new friends. May you all die beautifully!"

            "Greetings, Sir Isaac. Sir Isaac Newton, this is Doctor Hilda Burroughs Long, Doctor Jacob Burroughs Long, Doctor Deety Carter Long, and Doctor Zebadiah John Carter Long, all of my family."

            "I am honored, learned friends. May your deaths inspire a thousand songs. Doctor Hilda, we have a mutual friend, Professor Wogglebug."

            "Wait, wait! Don't tear up your tickets. The Valkyries are having a problem. Yes, the judges have confirmed it. No contest! The Dane has 'killed' a totally empty suit of armor! Better luck next bout, Pou- Holger."

            "Oh, how delightful! Zebadiah and I saw him just this past week in delivering our children to Oz for the duration of this convention. Did I just miss you?"

            The dragon answered, with a Cockney lisp, "No, we are pen pals only. He can't leave Oz; I had never expected to leave Venus again.. . until your device-perhaps I should Say Doctor Jacob's device- made it simple. But see what our friend Professor Wogglebug sent me-" The dragon fiddled at a pouch under his voder.

            The InterSpace Patrol Agent O'Leemy tapped Zeb on the shoulder. "I heard those introductions. Come along, Carter!"

            "-spectacles to fit my forward stalks, that see through the thickest mist." He put them on, looked around him. "They clarify any- There! Get him! Grab him! That Beast! Get his Number!" Without a lost instant Deety, Hilda, and Lazarus closed on the "agent"-and were left with torn clothes and plastic splints as the thing got loose. The "special agent" vaulted over the bar, was seen again almost instantly at the far end of the bar, jumped up on it, leapt for the canvas top, grabbed hold of the edge of the illusion hole, swung itself up, bounded for Bifrost, reached it.

            Sir Isaac Newton played: "Mellrooney! The worst troublemaker in all the worlds. Lazarus, I never expected to find that Beast in your quiet retreat."

            "Nor did I until I heard all of Zeb's story. This convention was called expecially to entice him. And it did. But we lost him, we lost him!"

            "But I got its Number," Hilda said and held out its shield: "666"

            The fleeing figure, dark against the Rainbow Bridge, grew smaller and

higher. Lazarus added, "Or perhaps we haven't lost him. He'll never get past Sarge Smith."

            The figure appeared to be several klicks high now, when the illusion suddenly broke. The Rainbow was gone, the terraces melted, the clouds were gone, the towers and castles of Asgard could no longer be seen.

            In the middle distance, very high up, a figure was tumbling, twisting, falling. Zeb said, "Sarge won't have to bother. We've seen the last of it."

            The voder answered: "Friend Zebadiah. . . are you sure?"

A NOTE ABOUT THE AUTHOR

ROBERT ANSON HEINLEIN was born in Butler, Missouri, in 1907. A graduate of the U.S. Naval Academy, he was retired, disabled, in 1934. He studied mathematics and physics at the graduate school of the University of California and owned a silver mine before beginning to write science fiction in 1939. In 1947 his first book of fiction, Rocket Ship Galileo, was published. His novels include Double Star (1956), Starship Troopers (1959), Stranger in a Strange Land (1961), and The Moon Is a 1-Iarsh Mistress (1966), all winners of the Hugo Award. Heinlein was guest commentator for the Apollo-li first lunar landing. In 1975 he received the Grand Master Nebula Award for lifetime achievement.