The Number of the Beast

XLIV

"-where do we get the corpse?"

Zeb:

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

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

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

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

But suppose we did miss?

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

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

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

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

Hilda was certain that nothing could go wrong.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yes, Captain?" Sharpie had answered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I said, "We shall!"

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

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

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

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

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

"Don't cancel dinner, Sharpie."

"Zebbie, you have me confused."

"Beulahland is on a different time axis."

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

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

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

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

"Goodnight, Hilda. Roger and out."

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

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

Lazarus replied. "Feels like Mizzoura."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lazarus glowered.

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

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

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

"Jake?"

"I don't like it, Zeb."

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

"Possible. But that's his problem."

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

'~Whose ship?"

"Mv ship. Woodie. Gentlemen?"

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

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

'Not me, Pop."

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

"Lazarus! Tell them."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"That's the cheapest way-"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Huh? Fresh corpse'!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Zebadiah?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Deety sighed. "Lib?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"The best ones always do."

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

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

Sharpie bites.