The Number of the Beast

II

"This Universe never did make sense-"

Zeb:

Tomorrow I will seven eagles see, a great comet will appear, and voices will speak from whirlwinds foretelling monstrous and fearful things- This Universe never did make sense; I suspect that it was built on government contract.

'Big basement?"

"Medium. Nine by twelve. But cluttered. Work benches and power tools."

A hundred and eight square meters- Ceiling height probably two and a half- Had Pop made the mistake of the man who built a boat in his basement?

Mv musing was interrupted by a male voice in a high scream: 'You Overeducated, obstipated, pedantic ignoramus! Your mathematical intuition froze solid the day you matriculated"

I didn't recognize the screamer but did know the stuffed shirt he addressed:

Professor Neil O'Heret Brain, head of the department of mathematics-and God help the student who addressed a note to "Professor N.O. Brain" or even "N. O'H. Brain." "Brainy" had spent his life in search of The Truth-intendinng to place it under house arrest.

He was puffed up like a pouter pigeon with is professional pontifical pomposity reeling. His expression suggested that he was giving birth to a porcupine.

Deety gasped, "It's started," and dashed toward the row. Me, I stay out of rows; I'm a coward by trade and wear fake zero-prescription glasses as a buffer-when some oaf snarls, "Take off your glasses!" that gives me time to retreat.

I headed straight for the row.

Deety had placed herself between the two, facing the screamer, and was saying in a low but forceful voice, "Pop, don't you dare!-I won't bail you out!" She was reaching for his glasses with evident intent to put them back on his face. It was clear that he had taken them off for combat; he was holding them out of her reach.

I reached over their heads, plucked them out of his hand, gave them to Deety. She flashed me a smile and put them back on her father. He gave up and let her. She then took his arm firmly. "Aunt Hilda!"

Our hostess converged on the row. "Yes, Deety? Why did you stop them, darling? You didn't give us time to get bets down." Fights were no novelty at "Sharp" Corners' parties. Her food and liquor were lavish, the music always live; her guests were often eccentric but never dull-I had been surprised at the presence of N. O. Brain.

I now felt that I understood it: a planned hypergolic mixture.

Deety ignored her questions. "Will you excuse Pop and me and Mr. Carter? Something urgent has come up."

"You and Jake may leave if you must. But you can't drag Zebbie away. Deety, that's cheating."

Deety looked at me. "May I tell?"

"Eh? Certainly!"

That bliffy "Brainy" picked this moment to interrupt. "Mrs. Corners, Doctor Burroughs can't leave until he apologizes! I insist. My privilege!"

Our hostess looked at him with scorn. "Merde, Professor. I'm not one of your teaching fellows. Shout right back at Jake Burroughs if you like. If your command of invective equals his, we'll enjoy hearing it. But just one more word that sounds like an order to me or to one of my guests-and out you go! Then you had best go straight home; the Chancellor will be trying to reach you." She turned her back on him. "Deety, you started to add something?"

"Sharp" Corners can intimidate Internal Revenue agents. She hadn't cut loose on "Brainy"-just a warning shot across his bow. But from his face one would have thought she had hulled him. However, her remark to Deety left me no time to see whether he would have a stroke.

"Not Deety, Hilda. Me. Zeb."

"Quiet, Zebbie. Whatever it is, the answer is No. Deety? Go ahead, dear."

Hilda Corners is related to that famous mule. I did not use a baseball bat because she comes only up to my armpits and grosses forty-odd kilos. I picked her up by her elbows and turned her around, facing me. "Hilda, we're going to get married."

"Zebbie darling! I thought you would never ask."

"Not you, you old harridan. Deety. I proposed, she accepted; I'm going to nail it down before the anesthetic wears off."

Hilda looked thoughtfully interested. "That's reasonable." She craned her neck to look at Deety. "Did he mention his wife in Boston, Deety? Or the twins?"

I set her back on her feet. "Pipe down, Sharpie; this is serious. Doctor Burroughs, I am unmarried, in good health, solvent, and able to support a family. I hope this meets with your approval."

"Pop says Yes," Deety answered. "I hold his power of attorney."

"You pipe down, too. My name is Carter, sir-Zeb Carter. I'm on campus; you can check my record. But I intend to marry Deety at once, if she will have me."

"I know your name and record, sir. It doesn't require my approval; Deety is of age. But you have it anyhow." He looked thoughtful. "If you two are getting married at once, you'll be too busy for shop talk. Or would you be?"

"Pop-let it be; it's all set."

"So? Thank you, Hilda, for a pleasant evening. I'll call you tomorrow."

"You'll do no such thing; you'll come straight back and give me a full report. Jake, you are not going on their honeymoon-I heard you."

"Aunt Hilda-please! I'll manage everything."

We were out the side door close on schedule. At the parking lot there was a bobble: which heap, mine or theirs. Mine is intended for two but can take four. The rear seats are okay for two for short trips. Theirs was a four-passenger family saloon, not fast but roomy-and their luggage was in it. "How much luggage?" I asked Deety, while I visualized two overnight bags strapped into one back seat with my prospective father-in-law stashed in the other.

"I don't have much, but Pop has two big bags and a fat briefcase. I had better show you."

(Damn.) "Perhaps you had better." I like my own rig, I don't like to drive other people's cars, and, while Deety probably handled controls as smoothly as she danced, I did not know that she did-and I'm chicken. I didn't figure her father into the equation; trusting my skin to his temper did not appeal. Maybe Deety would settle for letting him trail us-but my bride-to-be was going to ride with me! "Where?"

"Over in the far corner. I'll unlock it and turn on the lights." She reached into her father's inside jacket pocket, took out a Magic Wand.

"Wait for baby!"

The shout was from our hostess. Hilda was running down the path from her house, purse clutched in one hand and about eight thousand newdollars of sunset mink flying like a flag from the other.

So the discussion started over. Seems Sharpie had decided to come along to make certain that Jake behaved himself and had taken just long enough to tell Max (her bouncer-butler-driver) when to throw the drunks out or cover them with blankets, as needed.

She listened to Deety's summary, then nodded. "Got it. I can handle yours, Deety; Jake and I will go in it. You ride with Zebbie, dear." She turned to me. "Hold down the speed, Zebbie, so that I can follow. No tricks, Buster. Don't try to lose us or you'll have cops busting out of your ears."

I turned my sweet innocent eyes toward her. "Why, Sharpie darling, you know I wouldn't do anything like that."

"You'd steal city hall if you could figure a way to carry it. Who dumped that load of lime Jello into my swimming pool?"

"I was in Africa at that time, as you know."

"So you say. Deety darling, keep him on a short leash and don't feed him meat. But marry him- he's loaded. Now where's that radio link? And your car."

"Here," said Deety, pointed the Magic Wand and pressed the switch.

I gathered all three into my arms and dived. We hit the ground as the blast hit everything else. But not us. The blast shadow of other cars protected us.