I Will Fear No Evil

17

Next morning Joan found that Jake had left the house before she woke; there was a note on her tray:

"Dear Joan Eunice,

"I slept like a baby and feel ready to fight wildcats—thanks to you and Winnie. Please extend my thanks to her and say (to both of you) that I will most gratefully join your prayer meetings any time 1 am invited—especially if I've had a tiring day.

"1 will not be back until late—treasure hunting, locating links of evidence. Alec is off to Washington for one link. If you need me, call my answering service or Judge McCampbell's chambers.

"I've instructed Jefferson Billings to let you draw against your petty expenditures account—about four hundred thousand in it, 1 believe—on your old signature and new thumb print. He'll pay drafts and hold them and I'll countersign until you make out a new signature & thumbprint card—he says he knew Eunice Branca by sight, no problem. If you wish, he will call on you with a new sig­print card—we assume that your signature is now somewhat changed."

(Boss, I guess Jake doesn't know that I sign your signature better than you do.) (I don't think anyone knows, dearest. I don't know how that would figure in court—for us, or against us?)

"If you need more pocket money, let me make you a personal loan rather than have it show in my conservator's report. Your ‘Brother Mac' is most helpful, but the financial end of this nonsense should appear ultra­conservative until such time as he can, with full justification, relieve me as your conservator. Caesar's wife, you know.

"Speaking of Caesar's wife, I told you a chuckle about two of our friends. This morning I phoned one of them and the other answered and, after the usual query as to sight & security, they seemed unworried about what I saw or heard or might infer. I was flattered. Little imp, if you must misbehave, you can trust them—for they have your welfare at heart. Sorry I was stuffy yesterday."

(I'm glad to learn that, Boss.) (Eunice, I can't see that it's our business what Alec and Mac do in their spare time. Jake shouldn't gossip about them, even to us.) (No, no, Boss! Jake is telling you that he was being a cube yesterday—and he's sorry—and now he's granting you absolution in advance. We had best marry Jake—never­theless I've fretted that Jake might be jealous. Possessive. His age, his background. Could be doom, twin—as you are a tart at heart and we both know it.)

(Oh, nonsense, Eunice! I would never rub Jake's nose in it—and anyhow you're wrong. A smart man—which Jake is—doesn't get excited over a go on the tiles; what worries him is fear of losing a wife he values. If Jake marries us, I will never let him worry about losing us.) (I hope you can make that stick, Boss honey.) (With your help I'm sure I can. Let's finish his letter—)

"Don't count on me for dinner, as what I must do today is urgent—more urgent than something that seemed dreadfully urgent yesterday. And was. And will be, I hope.

"This was meant to be a love letter but I've had to mention other matters—and other people, so I must urge you to tear it up and flush it down the W.C. It is no accident that 1 am thumbprinting the seal and will hand it to Cunningham with a promise to have his head on a platter if it leaves his person before it reaches you. I've learned to like Cunningham; he's an ‘honest thief.'

"My love to you, dearest, and the biggest kiss possible—so big that you can break off a piece and deliver it to Winnie when you thank her for me. She's a charming girl, and I'm pleased that she's mothering you so well.

"J"

(Why, the horny old bastard. Joan, Jake has his eye on Winnie's pretty tail while he's patting ours.) (She'll have to stand in line!) (Jealous, twin?) (No. But I repeat—I'm going to scalp him first. Darn it, Eunice, I had him all set yesterday—and it's been a long struggle. Not the Whim­Wham-Thankee-Ma'am you managed with him. And all it got me was a spanking. I do hope he comes home tonight.)

(Three hurdles even if he does, twin.) (Three?) (Hubert... and Winnie... and that ‘implant.' Boss darling? You're not going to do me out of having your baby by letting Jake get at you first—are you?) (Of course not, little stupid. I was coping with intrigues without getting shot long before your grandmother was born. Mmm—I'll need cash.)

(Jake told you how to get all the cash you want.) (Oh sure—on my signature and his countersignature. Like a cat covering up on linoleum. Eunice my love, I'll bet you never paid a bribe in your life.) (Well... not with money.) (Don't tell me, let me guess. Hon, what we're sitting on might be worth a million—but today I need used bills in medium denominations from no recorded source. Come along, little snoopy, and I'll show you something that even my secretary—a sweetly deceitful girl named Eunice, remember her?—didn't know about.)

(Do you mean that safe hidden in your bath, Boss?) (Huh? How the hell did you know about that?) (I'm snoopy.) (Do you know the combo?) (I ought to take the Fifth.) (Why bother? You'll know it in two minutes. Or can you pick it out of my mind?) (Boss darling, you know by now that 1 don't know anything in your memory until you think about it... and you don't know anything in mine until 1 think about it. But—Well, if I had to open the safe, I think I would start with the numbers that mean your mother's birthday.)

Joan sighed. (A girl doesn't have any privacy these days. All right, let's see if we've been robbed.)

She went into her bath, sealed the door, bolted it by hand, removed a stack of towels from a lower cabinet, fiddled with the ceiling of the cabinet; the back panel slid aside, disclosing a safe. (You think my mother's birth date will open it?) (I'd switch on the sun lamps over the massage table first, then run the cold water in the hand basin.) (No privacy at all! Honey, did you really pay a bribe with your pretty tail once?) (Not exactly. I just improved the situation. Let's see if we've been robbed.)

Joan opened the safe. Inside was money enough to interest a bank auditor. But the packets had not been packaged in a bank; they were not that neatly jogged and the total for each was hand-printed. (Plenty of moola, dear—and either nobody found this safe, or they never figured out the additional bolts. Either way, it settles one thing. We won't put lake's sweet note down the hopper.) (Let him think we did, huh?) (If he asks.) (Then cry on him later and admit that we couldn't bear to part with it.) (Eunice, you have a mind like a pretzel.) (That's why it fits so well into yours, twin.) (Could be.)

Joan put the letter inside, took out two packets, put them into a purse in the dressing room end—closed the safe, shut off the sun lamps, shut off the water, spun the dial, slid the panel back, replaced the towels, closed the cabinet. Then she stepped to the bath's intercom, pressed a touchplatc. "Chief O' Neil."

"Yes, Miss Smith?"

"I want my car, one driver, and both Shotguns in thirty minutes."

There was a short silence. "Uh, Miss Smith, Mr. Salomon apparently forgot to mention that you would be leaving the house."

"For excellent reason. He did not know it. Did he mention that I am no longer a ward of the Court? If not, have you learned it from some other source?"

"Miss, I haven't learned it from an official source."

"I see. Then you are learning it from me. Officially."

"Yes, Miss."

"You don't sound happy, O'Neil.. You could check by phoning Judge McCampbell."

"Why, yes, of course."

"Are you going to, O'Neil?"

"Perhaps I misunderstood, Miss. Weren't you telling me to?"

"Are you recording?"

"Certainly, Miss. I always do, with orders."

"I suggest that you play it back and answer your own question. I'll hold. But first—how long have you been with me, O'Neil?"

"Seventeen years, Miss. The last nine as your Chief."

"Seventeen years, two months, and some days. Not enough for maximum retirement but it has been long, faithful, and unquestioning service. You can retire this morning on full pay for life, if you wish, O'Neil; faithful service should be appreciated. Now please play back while

I hold." She waited.

"Be switched, Miss—I must need a hearing aid. You didn't tell me to call the Judge. You just said I could."

"That is correct. I pointed out that you could check on what I told you—officially—by making such a call. You still can."

"Uh, Miss, I don't see what you are driving at."

"I'm sure you can figure it out. Do you wish to retire today? If so, send up Mentone; I want to interview him."

"Miss, I've no wish to retire at all."

"Really? You gave the impression that you were looking for another job. Perhaps with Mr. Salomon. If so, I do not want to stand in your way. Retirement at full pay is available to you, O'Neil."

"Miss, I like it here."

"I'm pleased to hear it. I hope you will stay for many years. O'Neil, have you ever discussed my comings and goings with anyone?"

"Only when you've told me to, Miss. In which case I always have your order on tape."

"Fine. Wipe this tape and I'll hold while you do so."

Shortly he said, "Wiped, Miss Smith."

"Good. Let's start over. Chief O'Neil, this is Miss Johann Sebastian Bach Smith speaking. I want my car, one driver, and both Shotguns in thirty minutes."

"They will be ready, Miss Smith."

"Thank you. I'll be shopping. Is there anything I can pick up for Mrs. O'Neil?"

"That's most kind of you, Miss. I don't think so. Shall I ask her?"

"If you do, it is only necessary to say that my car is going out. If she has a list, I'll be happy to have Fred or Shorty take care of it. Off."

(Boss, you scared the pee out of him. Was that nice?)

(Running a feudal enclave in the midst of a nominal democracy isn't easy, Eunice. When Johann said ‘Frog,' everybody hopped—my security boss especially. O'Neil has got to know—they've all got to know—that Johann is still here... and that no one, not even darling Jake, reviews or vetoes what I say. Unless he marries us, in which case I'll go female and let him decide everything.)

(That'll be the day!) (I might, dear one. Tell me, did you obey Joe?) (Well... I never bucked him. I suppose you could say I obeyed him. Except that I fibbed, or sometimes kept my mouth shut.) (I'd do just about the same. I think a perfect arrangement would be to do exactly what a man tells me to do... but wangle it so that he tells me to do what I've already decided to do.)

Joan felt, rather than heard, her chuckle. (Boss, that sounds like a recipe for a perfect marriage.)

(I find I like being female. But it's different. Now what shall we wear?)

Joan settled on a bandeau, a knee skirt, an opaque cloak with hood and yashmak, plus low-heeled sandals, all in subdued colors. She was ready in less than thirty minutes.

(How's our face, Eunice?) (Okay for - a ‘shopping' trip. No need to call Winnie; the little baggage probably hasn't bad much sleep.) (Nor do I want to call her; she might want to come along. Let's go, sweet—we're out to break a two-thousand-year record with no help from the Holy Ghost.) (Boss, that's not a nice way to talk!) (Well, I'll be frimped! Eunice, I thought you weren't a Christian? Zen. Or Hinduist. Or some such.)

(I'm not any of those things, Boss. I simply know some useful spiritual disciplines. But it is rude to joke about anything someone else holds holy.) (Even, in my mind? Are you telling me what I must not think? If I could reach you, I'd spank you.) (Oh, you can say anything to me, Boss—just don't say such things out loud.) (I didn't and don't and never have. Quit nagging me.) (Sorry, Boss. Love you.) (Love you, little nag. Let's go get knocked up.) (Yes!)

She took the front lift to the basement; O'Neil met her and saluted. "Car is ready, Miss—and both drivers and both Shotguns."

"Why both drivers?"

"Well, Finchley should be on call. But Dabrowski is bucking my authority a touch. Claims he's senior to Finchley. Do you wish to settle it?"

"Of course not; you must. But perhaps I can smooth some feathers."

"Yes, Miss."

He conducted her to her car; both teams were lined up by it, they saluted in unison. She smiled at them. "Good morning, friends. I'm glad to see you all looking so well. It's been a long time."

Dabrowski answered for them, "It has indeed, Miss Smith—and we are glad to see you looking so well."

"Thank you." Her eyes traveled across them. "There is one thing no one has told me... about the tragedy that started this strange sequence of events. Which team was driving the night Mrs. Branca was killed?"

For a long moment no one spoke. Then O'Neil answered, "Finchley and Shorty had the duty that night, Miss Smith."

"Then I must thank them—for Mrs. Branca and for myself. Although I know that Dabrowski and Fred would have acted as bravely, as promptly." She looked at Finchley, then at Shorty, her face unsmiling but serene.

"Which one of you avenged Eunice? Or was it both of you?"

Finchley answered. "Shorty got him, Mrs.—Miss Smith. Bare hands, one chop. Broke his neck."

She turned to Shorty—six feet six of smooth-black soul, two hundred ninety pounds of sudden death—and a preacher in his time off. She looked up at him and said gently, "Shorty, from the bottom of my heart—for Eunice Branca—I thank you." (I do thank him, Boss! This is news to me. I was dead before that lift opened.) "If she were here, she would thank you—not just for herself but for other girls that killer will never kill. I'm glad you killed him in the act. If he had gone to trial, he might be out by now. Doing it again."

Shorty had said nothing up to then. "Miss—Finch got ‘im, too. Zapped him. Couldn't rightly say which one got him first."

"Nor does it matter. Any of you four would have protected Mrs. Branca with your life. She knew it—and knows it, wherever she is. I know it, and Chief O'Neil knows it." Joan felt tears start, let them flow. "I—all of us!—just wish to Heaven she had waited indoors until you two arrived. I know that each of you would rather see me dead than her. I ask you to do me the honor of believing that I feel the same way. Shorty, will you say a prayer for her tonight? For me? I don't know much about praying.". (Damn it, Boss, you've got me crying.) (Then say a Money Hum. For Shorty. He's still blaming himself for the unavoidable.)

"I will, Miss. I have every night. Although—Mrs. Branca—doesn't need it. She went straight to Heaven." (So I did, Boss. Though not the way Shorty thinks.) (And we shan't tell him. Have I said enough?) (I think so.)

Joan said, "Thank you, Shorty. For me, not for Eunice. As you say, Eunice doesn't really need prayers." She turned to O'Neil. "Chief, I want to go to Gimbel's Compound."

"Certainly, Miss. Uh, Finchley, man the car. Both Shotguns." O'Neil helped her in, locked her in; she locked herself in. The armor door lifted and the big car rolled out into the street. (Joan, what in the world are you going to buy at Gimbel's?) (A gag. For you. I'll change that order in a moment. Eunice, where did you buy clothes? You were the most smartly dressed gal in town—even when you were the nakedest.)

(Pooh, I was never naked; Joe's designs made all the difference. Joan, where I shopped you should never shop.)

(Can't see why not.) (Johann might but you can't; it wouldn't do. Mmm... while I could not afford the stylish places, I know of them. Come to think of it, two of them lease space inside Gimbel's Compound.) (So that's where we'll go—second. I'll tell Finchley the change... and tell him to have Fred escort me; I think Fred feels left out.)

(Wups! Fred can read.) (So? Oh! Well, Fred can guard me later.) She thumbed the order switch.

"Finchley."

"Yes, Miss?"

"I got so preoccupied that I forgot one other stop. Please drop Shorty and me at the unloading zone where State passes over Main."

"State and Main, Miss."

"Please have Shorty hang the radio link on his belt; there's no parking around there. Or was not the last time I was downtown. How long has that been? Over two years."

"Two years and seven months, Miss. Sure you don't want both Shotguns with you?"

"No, they can take turns staying with the car. If you have to get out, I want you covered."

"Oh, I'll be all right, Miss."

"Don't argue with me. You wouldn't have argued when I was old Johann Smith; I assure you that Miss Johann Smith still has his poison fangs. Pass the word along." She heard him chuckle. "I'll do that, Miss Smith." When the car stopped, Joan hooked up her yashmak, concealing her identity—either or both of them—from the curious, Shorty unlocked her and handed her out. On the crowded pedestrian walk of Main Street Joan felt suddenly vulnerable... except for the tower of strength beside her. "Shorty, the building I'm looking for is in the thirteen hundred block—thirteen-oh-seven. Can you find it?" The question was to make him feel useful; she knew where the Roberts Building was, she owned it.

"Oh, sure, Miss—I read numbers real good. Letters, too—just words bother me."

"Let's go then. Shorty, how do you manage in your real profession? Not being able to read the Bible, I mean."

"No trouble, I use talking books and as for the Book, I got every precious word memorized."

"A remarkable memory. I wish I could say the same."

"Just takes patience. I had the Book down pat while I was still in prison." He added thoughtfully, "Sometimes I think I ought to learn to read...but I can't seem to find time." (The poor dear probably never had a teacher who could teach, Boss.) (Never tamper with a successful organization, Eunice; he's found his niche.)

"This must be it, Miss. ‘One, three, oh, seven.'"

"Thank you, Shorty." She was not asked for her I.D. at the building entrance, nor did she offer it, for she had none, either as Johann Smith or Eunice Branca. The guard noted the "Licensed & Deputized" shield (which matched his own) on Shorty's uniform, released the cage turnstile, and waved them on through. Joan Eunice smiled at him with her eyes—and made note that security at the Roberts Building should be tightened; the guard should have photographed Shorty's I.D. and logged his shield number.

(Boss, he can't handle so many people that way; he has to use his judgment.) (Look who's talking! If that apartment house you used to live in had had fight security, you would never have been mugged. If we can't stop violence outdoors, we must try to keep it from coming indoors.) (I won't argue, Boss darling—I'm excited!) (Me too; this veil is a help.)

On the twelfth floor they went to the suite occupied by the Johanna Mueller Schmidt Memorial Eugenics Foundation, H. S. Olsen, M.D., Sc. D., Director, Please Ring and Wait. The guard let them in, went back to his picture magazine. Joan noted with approval that there was a goodly number of women and couples in the waiting room. She (Johann) had jacked up Olsen about the (public) purpose of the Foundation—to offer superior anonymous donors to licensed and qualified females—in her last letter accompanying a quarterly check; apparently it had had good effect.

"Wait here, Shorty; there's video over there."

She went to the barrier desk separating the waiting room from the outer clerical office, avoided the sign "Applications" and got the reluctant attention of the only male back of the barrier, motioned him to her. "What is it, Ma'am? If it's an application, go to the far end, present your I.D. and fill out the questionnaire, then wait. You'll be called."

"I want to see the Director. Dr. Olsen."

"Dr. Olsen never sees anyone without an appointment. Give me your name and state your business and possibly his secretary will see you."

She leaned closer, spoke softly. "I must see him. Tell him that my husband has found out."

The office manager looked startled. "Your name?"

"Don't be silly. Just tell him that."

"Uh....ait here." He disappeared through a rear door. She waited. After a remarkably short time he appeared at a side door of the waiting room, motioned her to him, then conducted her down a passage toward a door marked "Director—Keep Out" and to a door near it marked "Secretary to the Director, Ring & Wait." There he left her with a woman who reminded Joan of Johann's third-grade teacher, both in appearance and authoritarian manner. The woman said frostily, "What is this nonsense? You may start by showing me your I.D." (Three fingers stiff into her solar plexus, Boss, and say she fainted!) (Maybe. We'll try my way first.)

Joan answered in still more frozen tones, "Not likely, Miss Perkins. Why do you think I'm veiled? Will you announce me? Or do I call the police and the news snoops?"

Miss Perkins looked startled, left her stenodesk, and entered the private office behind it. She came out shortly and said angrily, "You may go in."

Olsen did not get up as Joan entered. He said, "Madam, you have chosen an unusual way of getting my attention. Now what is it? Come to the point."

"Doctor, don't you offer chairs to ladies?"

"Certainly. If they are ladies. A point you have gone to some trouble to render dubious. Speak up, my good woman, or I shall have you removed." (Boss, did you see him glance at the mike? That old bat in the next room is taking down every word.) (So I assumed, Eunice. So we won't talk yet.) Joan stepped close to the Doctor's desk, unhooked her yashmak, let it fall to her left shoulder.

The Doctor's expression changed from annoyance to startled recognition. Joan Eunice leaned across his desk, flipped off the dictation microphone. Then she said quietly, "Anything else still recording? Is this room soundproof? How about that door?"

"Miss—"

"‘Miss' is enough. Are you ready to ask me to sit down? Or shall I leave—and return with my lawyer?"

"Do please sit down—Miss."

"Thank you." Joan waited until he got up and moved a chair to a correct "honored-guest" position near his own. She sat down. "Now answer the rest. Are we truly private? If we are not—and you tell me that we are—I will eventually know it....nd will take such steps as I deem appropriate."

"Uh, we're private. But just a moment." He got up, went to his secretary's door, bolted it manually. "Now, Miss, please tell me what this is about."

"I shall. First, I've been supplementing my original endowment with quarterly checks. Have you been receiving these during my incapacitation?"

"Eh... one check failed to arrive. I waited six weeks, then wrote to Mr. Salomon and explained what your custom had been. It seems he checked the facts, for soon after we received two quarterly payments at once, with a letter saying that he would continue to authorize payments in accordance with your custom. Is there some difficulty?"

"No, Doctor. The Foundation will continue to receive my support. Let me add that the trustees are—on the whole—satisfied with your management."

"That's pleasing to hear. Is that why you came today? To tell me that?"

"No, Doctor. Now we get to the purpose. Are you quite certain that our privacy cannot be breached? Let me add that the answer is far more important to you than it is to me."

"Miss, uh—Miss, I am certain."

"Good. I want you to go into the cold vault, obtain donation 551-20-0052—I will go with you and check the number—and then I want you to impregnate me with it. At once."

The Doctor's face broke in astonishment. Then he regained his professional aplomb and said, "Miss—that is impossible."

"Why? The purpose of our institution, as defined in its charter—which I wrote—is, to supply qualified females with donor sperm—on request, without fee, and without publicity. That's exactly what I want. If you wish to give me a physical examination, I'm ready. If you want to know whether or not this body is licensed for child-bearing, I assure you that it is—although you know that, in this case, a fine for unlicensed pregnancy means less than nothing. What's the trouble? Does it take too long to prepare the sperm to do it all in one day?"

"Oh, no, we can have it warmed and viable in thirty minutes."

"Then impregnate me thirty minutes from now."

"But, Miss—do you realize the trouble I could get into?"

"What trouble?"

"Well... I do follow the news. Or I would not have recognized you. I understand that there is a question of identity—"

"Oh, that." Joan dismissed it. "Doctor, do you bet on the races?"

"Eh? I've been known to. Why?"

"If we are truly private, you can't possibly get into trouble. But there comes a time in every man's life when he must bet. You are at such a crisis. You can bet on a certain horse—on the nose, you can't hedge your bet. And win. Or lose. As you know, the other trustees of this corporation are my dummies; I am the Foundation. Let me predict what will come to pass. Presently this identity nonsense will be over and the real Johann Sebastian Bach Smith will stand up. At that time the endowment of this institution will be doubled. At that same time the salary of the Director will be doubled. If you bet on the right horse, you will be the Director. If not—you'll be out of a job."

"You're threatening me!"

"No. Prophesying. Old Johann Sebastian Bach Smith was a seventh son of a seventh son, born under a caul; he had the gift of prophecy. No matter which way you bet, the endowment will be doubled. But only you and I will ever know what is done today."

"Mmnm... there are procedures to satisfy. I do have authority to permit any adult female to receive a sperm donation if I am satisfied that she qualifies—and let's say that I am. Nevertheless there are routines to go through, records that must be kept."

(He's ready to geek, Boss. So sing him a Money Hum, with a different tune.) (Eunice, a cash bribe is to push him over if he won't fall. Let's see if he'll sell it to himself.)

Joan shook her head. "No records. Just do it to me and I'll hook my veil over my face and leave."

"But, Miss—I don't do these things myself. A staff doctor carries out the donation procedure, assisted by a nurse. They would think it strange if no records were kept. Very."

"No nurses. No assistants. You alone, Doctor. You are an M.D. and a specialist in genetics and eugenics. Either you can do this...or you don't know enough to head this institution—which the trustees would regretfully notice. Besides that, I go with you and check the number on that donation... and stick at your elbow until you place it inside me. Do we understand each other?"

The Doctor sighed. "I once thought a general practice was hard work! We can't be sure that a placed donation will result in impregnation."

"If not, I'll be back in twenty-eight and a half days. Doctor, quit stalling. Or bet on the other horse and I'll leave. No harsh words, now or later. Just that prophecy." She stood up. (Well, Eunice? Will the frog hop?) (Can't guess, dear. He's seen so many female tails he's bored with them. I can't figure him.)

Olsen suddenly stood up. "You'll need a cold suit."

"All right."

"Plus the advantage that a cold suit covers so thoroughly that a man would not recognize his own wife in one. I have a spare here, for V.I.P.s"

"I think you could class me as a V.I.P." Joan said dryly. Forty minutes later Dr. Olsen said, "Hold still a moment longer. I am placing a Dutch cap, a latex occlusive cervical pessary, over the donation."

"Why, Doctor? I thought those things were for contraception."

"Usually. And it will serve that purpose, too—mean to say, some of our clients wish to be protected at once from any possibility of impregnation from any other source. But in your case my purpose in installing this temporary barrier is to make certain that the donation does impregnate you. To give those wigglers a chance to reach target and to keep them from swimming downstream instead—follow me? Leave it in place until sometime tomorrow—or later, it doesn't matter. Do you know how to remove it?"

"If I can't get it out, I'll call you."

"If you wish. If you fail to skip your next menses, we can try again in four weeks." Dr. Olsen lowered the knee supports, offered his hand. She stepped down and her skirt fell into place. She felt flushed and happy. (Eunice, it's done!) (Yes, Boss! Beloved Boss.)

Dr. Olsen picked up her cloak, held it ready to lay around her shoulders. She said, "Doctor—don't worry about the horse race."

He barely smiled. "I have not been worrying about it. May I say why?"

"Please."

"Urn. If you recall, I have met Johann Smith—Mister Johann Smith—on other occasions."

"Eleven occasions, I believe, sir, including a private interview when Dr. Andrews nominated you to succeed him."

"Yes, Miss Smith. I'll never forget that interview. Miss, there may be some legal point to clear up concerning your identity. But not in my mind! I do not think that any young woman of your present physiological age could simulate Mr. Johann Smith's top-sergeant manner—and make it stick."

"Oh, dear!"

"Pardon me?"

"Dr. Olsen. this sex change I've undergone is not easy to handle. It is fortunate—for both of us—that you were able to spot Johann Smith behind the face I now wear. But—darn it, sir!—I've got to acquire manners to match what I am now. Will you call on me—oh, say three weeks from now when I hope to have cheerful news—and let me show you that I can simulate a lady when I try? Come for tea. We can discuss how the Foundation's work can be expanded under a doubled endowment."

"Miss Smith, I will be honored to call on you whenever you wish. For any reason. Or none." (Wups! Hey, Eunice, I thought you said he was bored with female tails?) (So I did. But we have an unusually pretty one, Joan, even from that angle. Gonna kiss him?) (Eunice, can't you treat just one man impersonally?) (I don't know; I've never tried. Aw, don't be chinchy; he's been a perfect lamb.) (Now you be a lamb, too—let's get out of here.)

Joan let the doctor lay her cloak around her shoulders; it brought his head close to hers. She turned her face toward; that side, wet her lips and smiled at him.

She could see him decide to risk it. She did not dodge as his lips met hers—but did not put her arms around him and; let herself be slightly clumsy, stiffened a little before giving in to it. (Twin! Don't' let him put us back on that table—make him use the couch in his office.) (Neither one, Eunice. Pipe down!)

Joan broke from it, trembling. "Thank you, Doctor. And you see I can be a girl if I try. How do I get back to the waiting room without passing your Miss Perkins?" She hooked her yashmak.