The Number of the Beast

XXVIII

"He's too fat."

Zeb:

Sharpie sat on the Governor's right with my wife on his left, which gave Jake and me the privilege of sharing Lady Herbert, a loud shout away. The space was filled with mess jackets, dinner coats, and wives in their best. We each had one footman to insure that we did not starve; this platoon was bossed by a butler as impressive as the Pope, who was aided by a squad of noncom butlers. Female servants rushed in and out to serving tables. His Supremacy the Butler took it from there but used his hands only in offering splashes of wine to the Governor to taste and approve.

All were in livery-decorated with the Broad Arrow. The British colony consisted of a) wogs, b) transportees, c) discharged transportees, d) officers and enlisted men, e) civil servants, and f) spouses and dependents. I know even less about the Russian colony. Military and serfs, I think.

The ladies were in Victorian high-style dowdiness, which made Deety and Sharpie birds of paradise among crows. Jump suit and sailor pants had shocked people at tea. But at dinner-Deety wore the velvet wrap she had the night we eloped; Sharpie wore her sunset-shade mink cape; Jake and I unveiled them on the grand staircase leading down to the reception hall. Naw, we didn't rehearse; we were mysterious strangers, guests of the Governor General and His Lady, so all eyes were upon us. Maids, hurrying up, met us there to take our ladies' wraps.

I had questioned the propriety of house guests coming downstairs in wraps. Sharpie had answered, "Utterly correct, Zebbie-because I set the style. I did so this afternoon; I shall until we leave." I shut up; Sharpie has infallible instinct for upstaging.

Have I mentioned how Sharpie and Deety were dressed at Sharpie's party? They practically weren't. I wish I had had that hail bugged to record the gasps when Jake and I uncovered our prizes.

These two had last been seen at tea, one in a jump suit, the other in an outfit that looked donated by the Salvation Army, with no makeup. We had been to our suite before tea only for a hasty wash.

But now-Sharpie did Deety's hair; Deety did Sharpie's; Sharpie styled both faces, including too much lipstick, which Deety doesn't often wear. I asked Sharpie if she knew the history and significance of lipstick. She answered, "Certainly do, Zebbie. Don't bother us." She went on making Deety beautiful. Deety is beautiful but doesn't know it because her features have that simple regularity favored by Praxiteles.

Having put too much lipstick on Deety, Sharpie removed some, then carried her makeup onto her breasts so that it disappeared under the dress. Which is pretty far because they saved material on that dress at the top in order to give it a full, floor-length skirt. You can't quite see her nipples-in the flesh I mean; they generally show through her clothes, always when she's happy- because Deety stands tall. Her mother had told her, "Deety, if a woman is tall, the answer is to look at least three centimeters taller than you are."

Deety always believed her mother; she stands tall, sits straight; she never leans or slouches; she can get away with that dress by half a centimeter. I'm not sure of the material but the color is the shade of green that goes best with strawberry hair. That dress, her height, long legs, broad shoulders, a waist two sizes too small setting off breasts two sizes too big-the combo could get her a job as a show girl.

When Sharpie finished gilding Deety I couldn't see that she had been made up at all....ut knew durn well that she did not look the way she had before. Sharpie picked her jewelry, too-sparingly, as Deety had all her pretties with her, her own and those that had belonged to her mother. Sharpie based it on an emerald-and-pearl neckpiece, plus a matching pin and ring.

As for Sharpie, twice my darling's age and half as big, restraint was not what she used. The central diamond of her necklace was smaller than the Star of Africa.

She wore other diamonds here and there.

Here is something I don't understand. Sharpie is underprivileged in mammary glands. I know she was not wearing cheaters as I returned to get my tie tied just as Deety was about to lower it onto her. No bra, no underwear. But when that dress was fastened, Sharpie had tits-little ones but big enough for her size. Stuffing built into the dress? Nope. I went out of my way to check.

Is that why some couturiers get such high prices?

Still... the Captain looks best in her skin.

So we uncovered these confections and gave the British colony, male, female, and the others, something to talk about for months.

I can't say the English ladies were pleased. Their men gravitated toward our darlings like iron filings toward a magnet. However, Betty, Lady Herbert, is sweet all through. She rushed toward us (a bow wave of juniors getting out of her way), stopped short, looked only at our ladies, and said with the delight of a child at Christmas: "Oh, how beautiful you are!" and clapped her hands.

Her voice projected against dead silence, then conversation resumed. Lady Herbert took them, an arm around each, and toured the hall (busting up a receiving line). Brigadier Hird-Jones rolled with the punch, gathered in Jake and me, made sure we met those who had not been at tea.

Shortly before dinner a colonel said to me, "Oh, I say, is it true that the tiny beauty is in command of your ship?"

"Quite true. Best commanding officer I've ever had."

"Haw. Astounding. Fascinating. The taller girl, the strawberry blonde- introduced simply as 'Mrs. Carter.' She's part of your ship's company. Yes?"

"Yes," I agreed. "Astrogator and second-in-command. Doctor D. T. Burroughs Carter, my wife."

"Well! My congratulations, sir."

"Thank you."

"I say, Carter, would it be rude of me to ask why the ladies have the senior posts while you and Doctor Burroughs appear to be junior? Or am I intruding?"

"Not at all, Colonel. We each do what we do best. Mrs. Burroughs is not only best as commander; she is also best cook. While we take turns at cooking, I'll happily volunteer as scullery maid if it will persuade the Captain to cook."

"Amazing. Could you use a colonel of lancers about to retire? I'm a wonderful scullery maid."

The dinner was excellent (Irish chef, transported for shooting his landlord) and Lady Herbert was delightful, even though she drank her dinner and her words became increasingly difficult to understand. But any answer would do as long as it was friendly. Jake displayed the charm he can when he bothers and kept her laughing.

One thing marred it. Lady Herbert started to slump and nursing sisters appeared and took her away. What is protocol for this?

I checked Hilda and the Governor; they didn't seem to see it. I glanced at Hird-Jones; the Brigadier did not seem to see it-but Squeaky sees everything. Ergo: no member of the colony could "see" it.

Someone else gathered the ladies while the gentlemen remained for port and cigars. While we were standing as the ladies left, Hird-Jones leaned close:

"Your captain has asked me to tell you that the Governor invites you to join them later in his study."

I tasted the port, lit the cigar (I don't smoke-fake it when polite) when the Brigadier caught my eye and said, "Now." Bertie had left, leaving a stooge, a wit who had them all laughing-that colonel of lancers.

When Jake and I came in, Deety and Hilda were there, with a large man,

tall as I am and heavier-Major General Moresby, chief of staff. Bertie stood while waving us to chairs. "Thanks for coming, gentlemen. We are settling tomorrow's schedule and your captain prefers to have you present."

The Governor reached behind him, moved out a globe of Mars. "Captain, I think I have marked the places we visited yesterday."

"Deety, please check it," Sharpie directed.

My darling looked it over. "The Russian settlements extended almost one hundred fifty kilometers farther east than this borderline shows-ninety-one English miles, seventy-nine nautical miles-call it two and a half degrees."

"Impossible!" (The bulky Major General-)

Deety shrugged. "Might be a few miles more; all we took were spot checks."

Jake said, "General Moresby, you had better believe it."

Bertie stepped in with: "Is that the only discrepancy, Doctor Deety?"

"One more. But there is something I want to ask about. May I borrow a marking pen? Grease pencil?"

Bertie found one; she placed three bingoes in an equilateral triangle, well detached from both zones. "What are these, sir? This one is a village, the other two are large farms. But we did not determine nationality."

Bertie looked at her marks. "Not ours. Moresby, how long ago did we reconnoitre that area?"

"There are no Russians there! She's doing it by memory. She's mistaken."

I said, "Moresby, I'll bet my wife's marks are accurate within two kilometers. How high do you want to go? What is a pound worth here in gold?"

Bertie said, "Please, gentlemen-wagers another time. What was the other error, Astrogator Deety?"

"Our touchdown point. Where we tangled with the Russians. Your memory is off by many degrees. Should be here."

"Moresby?"

"Governor, that is impossible. Either they did not land there or they had trouble with Russians somewhere else."

Deety shrugged. "Governor, I have no interest in arguing. Our time of arrival at 'Touchdown' just after dawn day before yesterday was fourteen-ohsix in the afternoon Windsor City local time. Six past two pip emma. You saw the remains of that ornithopter today. What did shadows and height of the sun tell you as to local time there, and what does that tell you about longitude from here ?" She added, "With one degree of longitude being four minutes of local time difference, you can treat one minute of arc as equal to one kilometer and measure it on this globe. The errors will be smaller than your own error in estimate of local time."

"Astrogator, I'm not good at this sort of problem. But it was about eightthirty in the morning where we saw the burned ornithopter."

"That's right, Governor. We'll lay that out as kilometers and see how close it comes to my mark."

Moresby objected, "But that globe is scaled in miles!"

Deety looked back at Bertie with a half smile, an expression that said wordlessly: (He's your boy, Bertie. Not mine.)

Bertie said testily, "Moresby, have you never worked with a French ordnance map?"

I'm not as tolerant as Deety. "Multiply by one-point-six-oh-nine."

"Thanks but we will assume that the Astrogator is correct. Moresby, reconnaissance will cover two areas. Captain, how many spot checks can be made per hour?"

"Just a moment!" Captain Sharpie interrupted. "Has this discussion been directed at the ride I promised Brigadier Hird-Jones?"

"I'm sorry, Ma'am. Wasn't that clear?"

"No, I thought you were telling General Moresby what you saw today. Isn't the Brigadier available? I want to settle the time with him."

Moresby answered, "Madam, that has been changed. I'm taking his place."

Sharpie looked at Moresby as if he were a side of beef she was about to condemn. "Governor, I do not recall offering this person a ride. Nor has the Brigadier told me that he is not going."

"Moresby, didn't you speak to Hird-Jones?"

"Certainly I did, sir. I dislike to tell you but he was not cooperative. I had to remind him that there was rank involved."

I looked around for somewhere to hide. But Sharpie did not explode. She said sweetly, "Certainly there is, Major General Bores-me. My rank. I am commanding; you are not." She turned to Bertie. "Governor, I may offer other rides after I keep my promise to the Brigadier. But not to this person. He's too fat."

"What! I weigh only seventeen stone-trim for a man with my height and big bones." Moresby added, "Homeside weight, of course. Only ninety pounds here. Light on my feet. Madam, I resent that."

"Too fat," Sharpie repeated. "Bertie, you remember how tightly we were packed yesterday. But even if Bores-me did not have buttocks like sofa cushions, he's much too fat between the ears. He can't enter my yacht."

"Very well, Captain. Moresby, please have Hird-Jones report to me at once."

"But-"

"Dismissed."

As the door closed, the Governor said, "Hilda, my humblest apologies. Moresby told me that it was all arranged... which meant to me that he had seen you and Squeaky and arranged the exchange. Moresby hasn't been here long; I'm still learning his quirks. No excuse, Captain. But I offer it in extenuation."

"Let's forget it, Bertie. You used 'reconnaissance' where I would have said 'joy ride.' 'Reconnaissance' is a military term. Did you use it as such?"

"I did."

"Gay Deceiver is a private yacht and I am a civilian master." She looked at me. "Chief Pilot, will you advise me?"

"Captain, if we overfly territory for the purpose of reconnaissance, the act is espionage."

"Governor, is this room secure?"

"Hilda-Captain, in what way?"

"Is it soundproof and are there microphone pickups?"

"It is soundproof when I close that second door. There is one microphone. I control it with a switch under the rug-right here."

"Will you not only switch it off but disconnect it? So that it cannot be switched on by accident."

"If that is your wish. I could be lying. Other microphones."

"It's accidental recording I want to.avoid. Bertie, I wouldn't trust Moresby as far as I could throw him. I have learned to trust you. Tell me why you need to reconnoitre?"

"I'm not certain."

"Reconnaissance is to learn something you are not certain about. Something that can be seen from Gay Deceiver-but what?"

"Uh....ill you all swear to secrecy?"

"Hilda-"

"Not now, Jacob. Governor, if you don't want to trust us, tell us to leave!"

Smythe-Carstairs had been standing since turning the rug to remove the switch. He looked down at Hilda and smiled. "Captain, you are an unusually small woman... and the toughest man I've dealt with in many a year. The situation is this: The Russians have sent another ultimatum. We have never worried about Russians as we settled halfway around the planet from them and logistics here are almost impossible. No oceans. No navigable streams. Some canals if one enjoys suicide. Both sides have attempted to raise horses. They don't live long, they don't reproduce.

"Both sides have ornithopters. But they can't carry enough or fly far enough. I was startled when you said that they had given you trouble where you had first touched down-and proved it by showing me wreckage of a 'thopter.

"Any logistics problem can be solved if you use enough men, enough time. Those Russian craft must have, behind them, stockpiles about every fifty miles. If they have the same continuing this way, when they get here, they will wipe us out."

"Is it that bad?" I inquired. Sharpie said, "Governor, our Chief Pilot is the only one of us with combat experience."

"Yes," agreed Jake with a wry smile, "I was awarded rank in lieu of combat. I signed papers."

Bertie gave the same mirthless smile. "Welcome to the lodge. Twenty years since I last heard a bullet say 'wheat!' Now I may be about to lose my last battle. Friends, my rank states that I am qualified to command an army corps... but I have possibly one platoon who will stand and die."

Jake said, "Governor, this city must be two hundred thousand people."

"More than that, Jake. Over ninety-nine percent are convicts or discharged convicts or their wives and children. Do you imagine that they are loyal to me? Even if they were, they are neither trained nor armed.

"I have a nominal regiment, a battalion in numbers-and a platoon in strength. Friends, my troops, officers and men, and my civil servants, are, with few exceptions, transportees quite as much as the convicts. Example: An officer with a court staring him in the face can often get the charges dropped by volunteering for Mars. I don't get murderers. What I do get is worse... for

me. The mess treasurer who dips into mess funds because he has a 'sure thing' at a racing meet. The- Oh, the devil take it! I don't get villains; I get weaklings. There are a few good ones. Hird-Jones. Young fellow named Bean. Two old sergeants whose only shortcomings are that one had two wives and, while the other had only one, she wasn't his. If the Russians get here, they'll kill our wogs-they don't domesticate them; they hunt and eat them-they'll kill anyone in uniform....nd transportees will learn that being a serf is worse than being a free man not on the planet of his choice. Squeaky! Where have you been?"

"In the card room, sir. First table to the right."

"So? How long ago did you get my message?"

"About twenty seconds ago, sir."

"Hm! How long have you been in the card room?" "A bit over an hour."

"I see. Bolt the outer door, close the inner door, sit down."

Twenty minutes later Sharpie was asking, "Deety, what time is sunrise here ?" She indicated a point 300 east of the western boundary of the westernmost of the two loci Bertie wanted investigated.

"In about twenty minutes. Shall I have Gay check it?"

"No. Sunset over here?"

"More leeway there. One hour fifty-seven minutes."

"Very well. Zeb, those zeroed packs?"

"Being charged, they told me. Ready in the morning."

"Good. Squeaky, if I get you to bed by oh-two-hundred hours could you take us to the fields about eleven-hundred hours?"

"Oh-eight-hundred, if you wish, Captain Hilda."

"I don't wish. This job requires sunlight, so we will work whatever it takes. I intend to sleep late. Bertie, would your kitchen service extend to breakfast in bed about ten ack emma?"

"Tell the night maid. The sideboard in your dining room will be loaded and steaming whenever you say and the day maid will be delighted to bring you a tray in bed."

"Heavenly! All hands and Brigadier Hird-Jones: Lift in thirty-nine minutes. Car doors open five minutes before that. Questions?"

"Just a comment. I'll fetch sandwiches."

"Thank you, Squeaky! Bertie."

"Eh? Ma'am!"

"Deety and I expect to be kissed good-bye....n case something goes wrong."