I Will Fear No Evil

26

On Luna, Kennedy Tunnel B, parelleling Kennedy Tunnel A between Luna City and the Apollo Industrial Complex, was completed and both tunnels were then made one-way, thereby quadrupling the potential traffic. The five- and ten-year projections caused the Commission to decide to go ahead at once with tunnels C and D. On the Hong Kong and New York Stock Exchanges Vacuum Industries, Ltd., Selenterprises, Pan Am, and Diana Transport all took sudden jumps against a generally sagging market. Mercury Newsletter (subsid of MercServ) sent destructaped messages by special couriers to their 7-star clients. Nine percent of these couriers failed to report back, which caused the managing director of MercServ to decide that a vacation at Las-Vegas-in-the-Sky would be good for his health even though there was no proof that Internal Defense agents had detained the couriers or solved the "destruct" combo. A source close to the President denied that there was anything more than seasonal unrest in any city in the country and denounced "irresponsible rumormongers." CBS's "Today's Day with Dave Daly" was replaced by a motion picture with an explanation of technical difficulties. "Today's Day" resumed the next day without Daly, who was—it was announced—on sick leave to recover from extreme fatigue. Miss Molly Maguire, the hottest sensie star of the private film industry, claimed the title of first woman in history to give birth to a child during a sky dive. The babe was safely landed exactly as planned by the midwife team diving with her, the event was filmed in stereosound and color from several angles, and the only casualty was a sprained ankle for Miss Maguire—she was able to hold a press conference thirty minutes after she landed.

Since plane flight had originated in, and sky dive had started over, Mexican soil, whereas the entire party except the plane had landed in Arizona, it was not clear what laws had been violated or whose, or what nationality the child was—as Miss Maguire's citizenship was Pakistani, with Legal permanent residence in the States. The party surrendered voluntarily to the nearest U.S. immigration officer and Miss Maguire apologized most prettily on videocast for having reentered the country of her choice so informally through an inadvertent error in navigation by her pilot, plus a sudden gust of wind. They were released with a warning but the films were impounded—uselessly, as they seemed to show that the child was born, about fifty-fifty, in both countries, but factors of angle and parallax and identification of ground markings—in those film sequences in which the ground showed at all—make it impossible to be certain. Grove Press bought an option on the films, then entered suit to have them released, in the interest of justice.

A notorious sex-change case married her attorney but the newsworthy couple managed to leave for their honeymoon before issuance of their license was noted—a famous scoop snoop chased them to Canada, only to find that the couple he had traced down were a Dr. & Mrs. Garcia, members of the wedding but themselves of no news value. Mrs. Garcia smiled and let herself be photographed (she was quite photogenic) and was interviewed about the wedding; then the Garcias returned home.

Senator James "Jumping Joe" Jones of Arkansas charged that the drive to repeal the XXXIst Amendment permitting prayer in public schools was a plot by the Devil ­inspired Pope of Rome and his servile followers. The rebuilding of the Oklahoma State House was halted by labor trouble drummed up (it was alleged) by the underground "Equal Rights for Whites" Action Committee.

The contractor's construction foreman said, "Any honk thinks he's discriminated, he can take it to the hiring board and get a fair hearing. Trouble is these people they don't want to work."

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"Mr. and Mrs. MacKenzie" (Liberian passports) had the penthouse floor to themselves—three baths, four bedrooms, kitchen, dining room, bar-lounge, drawing room, lanai, garden, swimming pool, waterfall, fountain, garden bar-pantry, foyer, private lift, magnificent view of the yacht harbor, beaches, estuary, town, and mountains beyond.

But they were eccentric. Their rent included full hotel service but none of the hotel's staff had been on that level since their arrival. They were not seen at the casinos, nor on the beaches, nor were they known to make use of other attractions of the resort. They sometimes had room-service meals, but the table cart went only as far as the lift; their servants took it up.

It was rumored among the hotel staff that Mrs. MacKenzie liked to do her own cooking, but no one really knew—no one had seen her (save possibly from a copter) and few knew him by sight. Their servants had three suites on a lower floor... but were willing to discuss anything but their employers.

She came from the garden into the lounge. He looked up from his book. "Yes, dear? Too much sun? Or did that copter come back?"

"Neither. Copters don't worry me; I just turn over on my tummy so that they can't photograph my face. Jake darling, I want you to see something pretty."

"Drag it in here, I'm lazy."

"I can't dearest; it's down on the water. A boat of some odd sort, with the gayest, most colorful sails. You were in the Navy; you know about such things."

"I was in the Navy one hitch fifty years back, so I'm an expert already."

"Jacob, you always know everything. And it is pretty, and quite odd. Please, sir?"

"Your slightest wish, Madame." He got up and offered her his arm.

They stopped at the seaward rail. "Now which one? All those boats have colored sails. I haven't seen a suit of white sails since we got here—you'd think there was a law against it."

"That one. Oh, dear, they're putting down its sails. And it was so pretty a minute ago."

"‘Dowsing her sails,' Eunice. If I'm going to be your resident expert, let me expert. When you lower sails suddenly, you ‘dowse' them. Which this laddie is doing because he's standing in to anchor about—yes! There goes the hook. And a vessel is always ‘she,' never ‘it.' Boats and ships are female because they are beautiful, lovable, expensive—and unpredictable."

"Jake, you've always been able to predict what I'm going to do even before I know myself." (Twin, why tell a whopper like that? He knows better.) (He won't argue it, hon.) "But what is it?"

"Oh. It's a trimaran, a yacht with a triple hull. Can't say that I agree that she's pretty. A sloop with a triangular mains'l is my notion of beauty."

"Does look sort of squarish now. But swooping in with all its—sorry!— ‘her' sails up, she was lovely." (Twin, ask Jake if he thinks there is any way we could go on it?) (On ‘her,' Eunice—not ‘it.' Are you a sailor, hon?) (Never been on a boat in my life, Boss. But I'm getting an idea, maybe.)

(Maybe I have the same idea. Are you thinking about that talk with Jake when he pointed out a farm would mean even more staff and less safety than our house?) (I don't care who thought d it first, Boss—just make sure that Jake thinks of it first.) (I shall, dear—do you think I have to be told that a ship is ‘she'? Or can't recognize a trimaran? The real question is: Do you get seasick? I used to—and it's miserable. But the fact that we haven't had the tiniest bit of morning sickness makes me think you might be immune to motion sickness.) (So ‘let's operate and find out,' as Roberto says.)

"Oh, trimarans have their points, Eunice. You get a lot of boat for your money. Roomy. And they are almost impossible to turn over—safer than most small vessels. I just wouldn't award one a beauty prize."

"Jake, do you think you could get us invited aboard that one? She looks interesting."

"Oh, there's some way to swing it. I might start by talking with the manager. But, Eunice, you can't go aboard a private vessel with your features veiled; it would be rude. Your granddaughters did you no favor when they made you as recognizable as a video star."

"Jacob, a veil doesn't enter into it because I never want to meet anyone as ‘Mrs. MacKenzie.' I'm Mrs. Jacob Moshe Salomon and proud of it—and that's the way I must always be introduced. Jake, I doubt if our marriage is news any longer; it can't matter much if I'm spotted."

"I suppose not. The copters might swarm a mite closer for a while and some would have pixsnoops aboard with telescopic lenses. But. I doubt if even your granddaughters are anxious to take a shot at you. If the snoops fret you, wear pants to sunbathe, and in the pool."

"The hell I will, it's our pool, Jacob. Anyhow, briefies can't conceal the fact that I'm pregnant, and the sooner that's in the news the less it will interest anyone later. Let them sneak a pic, then you have Doctor Bob confirm it—and it stops being news. No huhu, dear; I learned years ago that you can't ‘get away from it all'—you just have to cope. Is it possible, on a boat of that sort, to have a swimming pool?"

"Not one that size. But I've seen trimarans much bigger than that one. Could be done, I suppose, since a trimaran can have so much deck space for its tonnage—I'd have to ask a naval architect. Why the interest, Lively Legs? Do you want me to buy you a yacht?"

"I don't know. But boats look like fun. Jake, I never had much fun in my life—my other life. I'm not sure how one goes about having fun—except that every day is a joy to me now. All that I'm sure of is that I want to do something utterly different this time. Not be a Hetty Green. And not the gay, mad whirl of ‘society'—kark! I'd rather turn whore. Would you like a yacht, lake? Take me around the world and show me all those places you've seen and I never had time for?"

"You mean you didn't take time."

"Maybe it's the same thing. I do know that, if a man acquires too much money, presently it owns him instead of his owning it. Jake, I've been to Europe at least fifty times—yet I've never been inside the Louvre, never seen them change the Guard at Buckingham Palace. All I saw were hotels and boardrooms—and those are the same all over the globe. Would you care to repair my education, dearest? Show me Rio?—you say it's the most beautiful city in the world. The Parthenon by moonlight? The Taj at dawn?"

Jake said thoughtfully. "The trimaran is the favorite craft of the dropout."

"Excuse me? I missed something. ‘Dropout'?"

"I don't mean the barefooted bums in the Abandoned Areas, Eunice, nor the ones skulking around the hills. It takes money to drop out by water. But people do. Millions have. Nobody knows how many because it has been subject to an ‘exception' for years—the government does not want attention called to it; But take those yachts below us: I'll bet that at least one out of ten has registration papers for some ‘flag of convenience' and the owner's passport is as phony as that of ‘Mr. and Mrs. MacKenzie.' He has to be registered somewhere and carry some sort of passport, or the Coast Guard wherever he goes will give him a bad time, even impound his craft. But if he takes care of that minimum, he can dodge almost everything else—no income tax, no local taxes except when he buys something, nobody tries to force his kids into public schools, no real estate taxes, no politics—no violence in the streets. That last is the best part, with the cycle of riots swinging up again?'

"Then it is possible to ‘get away from it all.'"

"Mmm, not quite. No matter how much fish he eats, he has to touch land occasionally. He can't play Vanderdecken; only a ghost ship can stay at sea forever, real ones have to be put up on the ways at intervals." Jake Salomon looked thoughtful. "But it's closer to that antithetical combination of ‘peace' and ‘freedom' than is possible on land. If it suits one. But, Eunice, I know what I would do—if I were young."

"What, Jake?"

"Look up there."

"Where, dear? I don't see anything."

"There."

"The Moon?"

"Right! Eunice, that's the only place with plenty of room and not too many people. Our last frontier—but an endless one. Anyone under the cut-off age should at least try to out-migrate."

"Are you serious, Jacob? Certainly space travel is scientifically interesting but I've never seen much use in it.

Oh, some ‘fallout.' Videosatellites and so forth. New materials. But the Moon itself?—why, it doesn't even pay its own way."

"Eunice, what use is that baby in your belly?"

"I trust that you are joking, sir. I hope you are."

"Simmer down, Bulgy. Darling, a newborn baby is as useless a thing as one can imagine. It isn't even pretty—except to its doting parents. It does not pay its own way and it's unreasonably expensive. It takes twenty to thirty years for the investment to begin to pay off and in many—no, most—casesit never does pay off. Because it is much easier to support a child than it is to bring one up to amount to anything."

"Our baby will amount to something!"

"I feel sure that it will. But look around you; my generalization stands. But, Eunice, despite these short­comings, a baby has a unique virtue. It is always the hope of our race. Its only h6pe."

She smiled. "Jacob, you're an exasperating man."

"I try to be, dear; it's good for your metabolism. Now look back up at the sky. That's a newborn baby, too. The best hope of our race; if that baby lives, the human race lives. If we let it die—and it is vulnerable for a few more years—the race dies, too. Oh, I don't mean H-bombs. We're faced with far greater dangers than H-bombs. We've reached an impasse; we can't go on the way we're headed—and we can't go back—and we're dying in our own poisons. That's why that little Lunar colony has got to survive. Because we can't. It isn't the threat of war, or crime in the streets, or corruption in high places, or pesticides, or smog, or ‘education' that doesn't teach; those things are just symptoms of the underlying cancer. It's too many people. Not too many souls, or honks, or thirds—just... too many. Seven billion people, sitting in each other's laps, trying to take in each other's washing, pick each other's pockets. Too many. Nothing wrong with the individual in most cases—but collectively we're the Kilkenny Cats, unable to do anything but starve and fight and eat each other. Too many. So anyone who can ought to go to the Moon as fast as he can manage it."

"Jacob, in all the years I've known you I've never heard you talk this way."

"Why talk about a dream that has passed one by?

Eunice—Eunice-Johann, I mean—I was born twenty-five years later than you were. I grew up believing in space travel. Perhaps you did not?"

"No, I didn't, lake. When it came along, it struck me as interesting—but slightly presposterous."

"Whereas I was born enough later that it seemed as natural to me as automobiles. The big rockets were no surprise to my generation; we cut our teeth on Buck Rogers. Nevertheless I was born too soon. When Armstrong and Aldrin landed on Luna, I was pushing forty. When out-migration started, with a cut-off age of forty, I was too old; when they eased it to forty-five, again I was too old—and when they raised it to fifty, I was much too old. I'm not kicking, dear; on a frontier every man-jack must pull his weight, and there is little use for an elderly lawyer."

He smiled down at her, and went on: "But, darling, if you wanted to out-migrate, I wouldn't try to dissuade you; I'd cheer you on."

"Jake!" (He can't get away from us that easily!) (You're darn tootin' he can't! I'll fix him.) "Jake my own and only, you can't get away from me that easily."

"Eunice, I am serious. I could die happy if I knew our baby was to be born on the Moon."

She sighed. "Jacob, I promised to obey you and I happily do so. But I can't go to the Moon—as an out-migrant. Because I'm even farther past the cut-off age than you are—the Supreme Court says so."

"That could be fixed."

"And raise an issue over my identity again? Jacob darling, I don't want to leave you. But"—she patted her belly and smiled—"if he wants to go to the Moon, we'll help, at the earliest age they'll take him. All right?"

He smiled and gently patted her slight bulge. "More than all right. Because I don't want his beautiful mother to go away for any reason. But a father should never stand in the way of his son."

"You don't. You aren't. You won't. You never would. Jacob Junior goes to the Moon when he's ready, but not this week. Let's talk about trimarans and this week. Jake, you know I want to close up our house—I'd sell it but nobody would buy it other than as land; it's a white elephant: But two things have bothered me. It has to be left garrisoned, or the Free People will break in despite all armor, and squat—then someday some judge grants them title on adverse possession."

Jake said, "Certainly. Historically, that's where all Land titles come from. Somebody standing on it, defending it, and saying, ‘This is mine!' And lately the courts have been cutting down the period of adverse possession. Especially in city cores close to Abandoned Areas—and your house is both."

"I know, dear—but I don't want to surrender it to squatters. Darn it, that house cost me more than nine million, not counting taxes and upkeep. The other worry is what to do about our in-house staff. I'm sick of being a feudal lord—erase and correct; lady, now." (Erase and correct.—'tart' now.) (Certainly, Eunice, but I haven't been too tartish since we got married.) (Not much opportunity, twin—but you're getting restless. Huh?) (Who is getting restless? Never mind, twin sister, the day will come. But we won't rub darling Jake's nose in it.) "I can't just let them go; some have been with me twenty-odd years. But if we buy a yacht—and live in it—I think I have a solution to both problems."

"So?"

"I think so. It's an idea I got during our wedding. Thinking about that farm."

"Well! Wench, you were supposed to be thinking about me."

"I was, dear. But I seem to be able to think about several things at once, since my rejuvenation. Better blood supply, possibly." (My help, you mean, Boss.) (Yes, dear. Same thing.) "Our banquet hall, dressed as a chapel, looked more like a church than it has ever looked like a place to eat. So here's my notion. Give our house to Shorty. Give it to his church in a trust setup, with Alec, maybe, as a trustee, and also Judge Mac if he'll do it. Arrange the trust for perpetual maintenance, with ample funds and a good salary for Hugo as pastor. Is this practical?"

"No difficulty, Eunice, if you really want to unload the house—"

"I do. If you consent."

"It's your house, dear, and I decided a long time ago that being a householder in a big city was more headache than pleasure. We could still keep my little house in Safe Harbor—no fear of squatters—if you want a pied-a-terre. We won't do it quite as you described it but you can give your house to Shorty if you wish to. I'll get Alec to work out a plan. But I wonder if Shorty can cope with it? Squatters might still move in on him—or rioters break in and wreck the place."

"Oh. That fits in with the other half-of my idea: What to do about our too-faithful retainers. Offer any with twenty years or close to it retirement at full pay. Encourage the in-house guards and maintenance men to work for the trust, same pay—because you're right; if we hand an illit a place like that, with no one to keep him straight, he'll soon have a shell, not a church. Father Hugo is the best bodyguard I've ever seen... but he's a child of God and unsophisticated about management. He needs a practical, cynical man as his in-house steward. Cunningham. Or O'Neil. Or Mentone.

Alec can work it out. Jake, I want to hand over to Shorty a complete plant, subsidized and maintained, so that he can put his mind solely on preaching and praying and soul-saving. I think you know why." (I think I know why, Boss—but any of the four would have killed that mugger.)

(We've managed to thank the other three, beloved—and will go on thanking them. Father Hugo is a special case.)

"Eunice, do you really think Hugo saves souls?"

"I haven't the slightest idea, Jacob; I don't know Who is in charge of this world. Even if what Hugo does has no more real meaning than our ‘prayer meetings,' it's still worthwhile. Darling, this is a screwed-up world. Back in the days of the Model-T Ford the United States was a fine country, brimming with hope. But today the best thing most young people can do is stay home, sit still, not get involved, and chant Om Mani Padme Hum—and it is the best thing most of them are capable of doing, the world being what it is now; it's far better than dropping out or turning on with drugs. When meditation and a meaningless prayer are better than most action open to them, then what Hugo has to offer is good in the same way. Even if his theology is a hundred percent wrong. But I don't think Father Hugo is any more mistaken than the most learned theologian and he might be closer to the truth. Jacob, I don't think anyone knows Who's in charge."

"Just wondered, my dear. Sometimes pregnant women get taken with fancies."

"I'm pregnant down here, dearest; up here is still old Johann. Protects me somewhat, I think." (Oh, you think so, huh? Boss, if you didn't have me to keep you straight, you'd be as filled with vapors as a cat trying to have kittens in a wastebasket! Remember, I've been through this before.) (I know you have, darling, and that's why I'm not afraid—otherwise I'd be scared silly.) (No worse than having a tooth drilled, Boss; we're built for this. Roomy.) "Jake, did I ever tell you about the time I went into politics?"

"Didn't know you ever had and can't imagine it, Eunice."

"Imagine it for ‘Johann,' not for ‘Eunice.' Forty years back I let them persuade me that it was my ‘duty.' I was easy to persuade—but I realize now that my attraction to the Party was that I could pay for my campaign in a district they were going to lose anyhow. But I learned things, Jake. Learned that being a businessman has nothing to do with being a politician and even less to do with being a statesman. They clobbered me, Jake!—and I've never been tempted to save the world since. Maybe someone can save this addled planet but I don't know how and now I know that I don't know. That's something even if it isn't much. Jake, I could worry about Smith Enterprises when I was running it I can worry now about sixty-odd people and make sure they're each all right insofar as money can insure it. But no one can solve things for seven billion people; they won't let you. You go nutty with frustration if you try. Nor can you do much for three hundred million, not when the real problem—as you pointed out—is the very fact that there are three hundred million of them. I can't see any solution short of compulsory sterilization—and the solution strikes me as worse than the disease. Licensing without sterilization hasn't solved it."

Her husband shook his head. "And won't, Eunice. Licensing is a joke; it has more loopholes than the tax laws. Compulsory methods inevitably involve political tests—no, thanks, I prefer the Four Horsemen. And the only effect that voluntary contraception has ever had has been to change the ratio, unfavorably, between the productive and the parasites; the population climbs anyhow. If we were as hard-boiled about weeding the culls as China is, it might not work that way. But we aren't, we never have been—and I'm not sure I'd like it if we were."

"Then there isn't any solution."

"Oh, there is, I mentioned it. The Four Horsemen. They never sleep, they're never off duty. And there." He pointed at the Moon. "Eunice, I suspect that our race's tragedy has been played endless times. It may be that an intelligent race has to expand right up to its disaster point to achieve what is needed to break out of its planet and reach for the stars. It may always—or almost always—be a photo finish, with the outcome uncertain to the last moment, just as it is with us. It may take endless wars and unbearable population pressure to force-feed a technology to the point where it can cope with space. In the universe, space travel may be the normal birth pangs of an otherwise dying race. A test. Some races pass, some fail."

She shivered. "Gruesome."

"Yes. And no way to talk to a gal in what used to be called a ‘delicate condition.' Sorry, darling."

"A gruesome thought at any time, Jake. I'm not in a ‘delicate condition.' I'm doing what this body is designed for. Building a baby. Feels good. Fm enjoying it."

"So it appears and that makes me happy. But, Eunice, before you shut down your house and move into a yacht, I must mention one thing. I think you must put it off until you've had this baby."

"Why, Jake? No morning sickness. I doubt if seasickness will be a problem."

"Because you are in a delicate condition, no matter how good it feels. I'd feel happier if you were never more than five minutes from medical attention. You'd be okay at home; Bob and Winnie are there. You're okay here—a hotel resident physician and a good one—believe me, I checked on him—and a modern hospital over there, in sight. But at sea? Suppose you had a seven-month preemie? We'd lose the baby and probably you, too. No, Eunice."

"Oh." (Eunice, any point in telling him that you carried your first one full term and no trouble?) (No, twin. How are you going to prove it? If you mention me now, you're just a female with pregnancy delusions. Boss, this is one argument you're going to lose. So concede it at once. Fall back and find another route.) "Jacob, I can't argue. I lost my first wife with her first baby; I know it can happen. But what would you think of this? Could you persuade Roberto and Winnie to come with us? Then not go very far to sea. If we were anchored where that trimaran is, that hospital could be just as close... and Roberto would be aboard. This hotel physician must be all right as you have checked on him but I would rather have Roberto. He knows me inside and out. And never mind wisecracks; I mean as my physician. Or does the fact that you know that Roberto has slept with me make him unacceptable to you as my O.B. man?" (Whew! Twin, that was a foul blow.) (Oh, pooh, Eunice, I'm just confusing the issue.)

Jake Salomon cocked one eyebrow and grinned down at her. "Little one, you can't embarrass me that easily. If Bob is the baby-cotcher you want, I'll do my best to persuade him... as long as you don't mind Bob's wife being around."

"Pooh to you, sir. If you and Winnie want to stroll down memory's lane, I'll tuck you in and kiss you good-night. She's certain to console you while I'm benched—and you'll need it."

"Thereby giving you carte blanche later. A woman almost always falls in love with the doctor who delivers her

first baby."

"Pooh again. I've loved Roberto a long time and you know it. Are you jealous, Jacob?"

"No. Just curious. I suppose that injunction you laid on me on our wedding day still applies? It occurs to me that, with respect to the day you mentioned, Bob had opportunity before, during, and after."

"Is that all it takes, dear? Just opportunity?" (Just about, twin!) She grinned at him and wrinkled her nose. "Sweetheart, all I will admit is the possibility that Roberto's name might be in the hat. But it could have been Finchley. Or Hubert. Or dear Judge Mac. You and Alec were awfully busy that day—but I think you'll find that Mac adjourned court at his usual hour...and I wasn't home until much later."

"Is that a confession?"

"Well, there might be a confession in there somewhere."

"Quit pulling my leg, my love. There are only two sorts of wives. Those who cheat, and those who have their husbands' friendly cooperation, in which case-"

"Isn't there a third sort?"

"Eh? Oh, you mean faithful wives. Oh, certainly. So I've heard. But in my twenty years of general practice, much of it divorce cases, I encountered so few of that sort—none I felt certain about—that I cannot venture an opinion. Wives technically faithful form so small a part of the sample that I can't evaluate them. People being what they are, a rational man should be satisfied if his meals are on time and his dignity not affronted. What I was trying to say is, that if you ever want my friendly cooperation, don't assault my credibility with a wet firecracker such as Hubert. Judge Mac I could believe. Tom Finchley is a very masculine person too, and one who bathes regularly—even though he sometimes abuses the sacred English tongue in a manner which causes me to flinch. Bob Garcia shows your good taste. But, please, darling, don't expect me to believe that Hubert's name could be in the hat." (Twin, Jake knows us too well. Better not try to fool him too much.) (Ever hear of a ‘red herring,' love?)

"Very well, sir; I'll take Hubert's name out of the hat. That still leaves endless possibilities, does it not? And I will try always to respect your dignity. But, speaking of meals on time, I had better get busy or your dinner will be late."

"Why not just cold cuts and such when we feel like it and heat a tin of soup? I was thinking of a nap."

"Shall I join you, sir?"

"I said ‘nap,' sweetheart. Sleep. A nap with you is not restful. Old Señor Jacob needs-a Siesta."

"Yes, sir. May 1 finish quickly what I was saying? We can take care of anyone who wants to retire, or wants another job, or wishes to stay on with Hugo. But I am hoping that some of them might come with us as crew in our trimaran or whatever. Especially if they've been to sea before and know something about it."

"Finchley does. He was sent up for smuggling or some such."

"I was hoping that all of my mobiles except Hugo—and Rockford, if you want him—might decide to sail with us. They are all strong and able, and not much family problem. Fred's wife split some months back, Dabrowski has no children at home, and Olga might be willing to be a chambermaid—stewardess, I should say—if she likes to sail; she's insisted on doing most of the cleaning and such here even though she doesn't have to. As for the Finchleys, Tom is just what we need—It wasn't smuggling drugs; they were running arms into Central America as I recall, and he was first mate—and Hester Finchley is a good cook. Eve is no problem, she already knows how to read and write and do arithmetic—and if they tell her about this, she'll be teasing her parents to take the job; all kids want to travel. Dear? If you are going in, would you see who's on guard at the lift, and ask him to dig out Finchley? He may know something about trimarans."

"I think he has the watch now. Shall I chuck you a robe?"

"Am I getting too much sun? Doesn't feel so; I've been using the lotion. Oh! You mean for Thomas the Tom Cat? But, dear, we've been swimming with him and his family every day. As well as with Fred and the Dabrowskis."

"I don't give a hoot, dear, but I thought you were anxious to preserve appearances."

"Seems silly when I swim and sunbathe with all of them. As for appearances, didn't I see you patting Hester's bottom in the pool yesterday? Or was it Wednesday?"

"It was Tuesday and it wasn't Hester, it was her daughter Eve. Just practicing to be a sex maniac, Beautiful—nothing serious. So don't be jealous."

"Beloved, the day I'm jealous of a little girl I want you to beat me. Not spank me. Beat some sense into me, woodshed style. But it was Hester, not her daughter. My gallant, wonderful Jacob would never bother a little- girl."

"Perhaps not but that little girl bothers the hell out of me. Furthermore she does it on purpose."

"Poor Jake. Even thirteen-year-olds won't leave him alone. I'm not surprised; I didn't leave him alone, either."

"In this case, she's thirteen-going-on-twenty-one. I'll make you a deal, dearest. I'll carefully avoid chaperoning you with her father if you will be very careful always to chaperon me with his daughter."

"Yes, sir. To hear is to obey, my lord—though I am chagrined that you think I might need chaperoning—or not chaperoning, as the case may be-with one of our servants. But how about Hester? Must I always be sure to be in sight when she's around?"

"Mind your own business, wench. Uh, no need to be fanatical about it. I want them all to feel easy when they come up here to swim as I don't want any of our household ever to swim in that sewage down there. You know the coliform count in that beautiful surf. That was the deal we offered—stay off the beaches entirely and they could swim in our pool at any time. So we sacrifice a little privacy but don't have one of them picking up amebiasis or such and spreading it through our whole family. It evens out—and they are all nice people...even our precocious Eve who's doing her best to see if she can upset me."

"I haven't minded, Jacob; it is not good to be too much alone. But we were speaking of Hester's bottom. Shapely, huh?"

"Hon, you're as bad as Eve. I'm going to go and say ten Money Hums and catch that siesta. I'll send out Tom. Don't let me sleep more than an hour. Kiss."

She turned her face up. As he left she dived in, swam a couple of lengths and climbed out, was waiting, staring down at the yacht harbor when Finchley arrived. "You sent for me, Ma'am?"

She smiled. "Thomas Cattus, that's not my name when we're alone."

He glanced over his shoulder, said almost soundlessly, "Pussy Cat, the Boss is awake."

"So he is. But he's gone to his room and closed the door. Siesta. He'll be asleep in almost no time. But I don't mean to scare you, Thomas Cattus dear. Come here to the rail, want to show you something. Have you done any sailing? Or has it all been power?"

"Sailing? Oh, sure, I grew up on Chesapeake Bay. Cat boats and such."

"Ever sail a trimaran?"

"Never skippered one. Crewed in one when I was sixteen."

"What do you think of them?"

"Depends on what for. Okay if you want something more like a houseboat than a racer. But I wouldn't have one without an auxiliary engine. In tight waters they can be as awkward as two people in a bathtub."

"Ever try it in a bathtub, Thomas Cattus?'

"Sure, who hasn't? Okay for a giggle with a few drinks aboard. But a bed is better. Or a floor."

"How about a sunbathing mat?"

"Pussy Cat, you enjoy scaring me. You gonna get us caught, yet."

"Rhetorical question, dear; I wasn't twisting your arm. Tell me, do you think Hester and Jake have ever made it?"

"Practically certain they never." He grinned at her. "But I can tell you something."

"Then do. Pretty please. Pretty Tom Cat with the muscles."

"Not Hester's fault they haven't. I know. She told me bang, one night, while we were at it. Said the Boss could have it any time he reached for it. Hester thinks the Boss is God's right hand."

"Well, so do I. But it doesn't keep me from appreciating my Thomas Cat. How would you feel about it? Jake and Hester."

"Me?" He looked astonished. "Look, Pussy Cat, you ‘know if anybody does I don't see no sense in putting a fence around a broad. Just makes her want to jump it. I'd ruther hold open the gate for her, she wants to."

"I said, ‘How would you feel about it, dear?'"

"Oh." Her driver-guard looked thoughtful. "Wouldn't get my nose out of joint. The Boss is numero uno, da kine. Rozzer?"

"Roz."

"He knocked up a broad, he'd pay. No huhu. But no huhu anyhow; we were only licensed for one and Hester had herself fixed, right after she had Eve. Good broad I married—didn't split when I dropped one, took me back when I was paroled. Oh, she shacked, sure—but just with her boss, she worked. Didn't peddle it. Or kept it to herself, didn't tell me. Hester and the Boss? Sure, if they want to. Told her so, bang. Have fun, I told her."

"Mmm...Thomas Cattus, let's give them a chance. Or six chances. Might be insurance for us, later."

He nodded thoughtfully. "Smart thinking, Pussy Cat. But how? And would he? The Boss?"

"I feel sure he would if he knew it was safe. Private, I mean; Jake has courage under fire, just as you have, dear.

Main problem is to get Eve out from underfoot. Mmm... you could take me shopping or such and I could ask Hester to get Mr. Salomon's lunch... then as an afterthought I could invite Eve to come with me. Hmm?"

"With either Fred or Ski up here? No good, Pussy Cat."

"All it needs is a time when you have the guard. Jake won't send for your relief; at most he'll lock open the lift door. He doesn't worry about him, he worries about guarding me."

"Mmm... roz. Could work if he wants it. You're filling out, Pussy Cat. Tits prettier than ever."

"Joe says a woman gets prettier as she bigs out. But I don't think many men think so."

"Hester looked awful cute, clear up to the last minute. And on you it looks good, too. Uh... you're sure the Boss is asleep?"

"Certain enough that I'm willing to risk it. But I don't mean to scare you, dear. Want to wait and see how our plans for Jake and Hester work out?"

"Uh...oh, hell, we might all be dead by then."

"Right here?"

"Uh, copter might cruise by."

"Let's go into the lanai."