Time Enough For Love

VARIATIONS ON A THEME-VI

The Tale of the Twins Who Weren't

(Omitted)

-but sky merchant was then my usual occupation, Minerva. That caper in which I moved from slave to high priest was forced on me. I had to be meek a long time, which ain't my style. Maybe Jesus was right when he said that the meek shall inherit the earth-but they inherit very small plots, about six feet by three.

But the only route from field hand to freedom lay through the church -and required meekness all the way, so that's what I gave 'em. Those priests had weird habits- (9,300 words omitted)

-which got me off their damned planet and I never expected to go back.

-did go back a couple of centuries later-freshly rejuvenated and not looking anything like that high priest whose ship had been lost in space.

I was a sky merchant again, which suits me; it lets you travel and see things. I went back to Blessed for money, not revenge. I've never wasted skull sweat on revenge; The Comtede-Monte-Cristo syndrome is too much work and not enough fun. If I tangle with a man and he lives through it, I don't come back later gunning for him. Instead, I outlive him- which balances the books just as well. I figured that two centuries was enough for my enemies on Blessed to be dead, since I had left most of them sort of dead earlier.

Blessed would not have been on my route other than for business reasons. Interstellar trade is economics stripped to basics. You can't make money by making money because money isn't money other than on its planet of issue. Most money is fiat; a ship's cargo of the stuff is wastepaper elsewhere. Bank credit is worth even less; Galactic distances are too great. Even money that jingles must be thought of as trade goods-not money-or you'll kid yourself into starvation.

This gives the sky merchant a grasp of economics rarely achieved by bankers or professors. He is engaged in barter and no nonsense. He pays taxes he can't evade and doesn't care whether they are called "excise" or "king's pence" or "squeeze" or straight-out bribes. It is the other kid's bat and ball and backyard, so you play by his rules-nothing to get in a sweat about. Respect for laws is a pragmatic matter. Women know this instinctively; that's why they are all smugglers. Men often believe-or pretend-that the "Law" is something sacred, or at least a science-an unfounded assumption very convenient to governments.

I've done little smuggling; it's risky, and you can wind up with money you don't dare spend where it's legal tender. I simply tried to avoid places where the squeeze was too high.

By the Law of Supply and Demand a thing has value from where it is as much as from what it is-and that's what a merchant does; he moves things from where they are cheap to where they are worth more. A smelly nuisance in a stable is valuable fertilizer if you move it to the south forty. Pebbles on one planet can be precious gems on another. The art in selecting cargo lies in knowing where things will be worth more, and the merchant who can guess right can reap the wealth of Midas in one trip. Or guess wrong and go broke.

I was on Blessed because I had been on Landfall and wanted to go to Valhalla in order to go back to Landfall, as I was thinking of marrying and raising another family. But I wanted to be rich enough to be landed gentry when I settled down-which I was not, at the time. All I had was the scout ship Libby and I had used * (* Sequence of events cannot be reconciled. Perhaps a similar ship? J.F. 45th) and a modicum of local money.

So it was time to trade.

The trade routes for a two-way swap show minimum profit; they fill up too quickly. But a triangular trade-or higher numbers-can show high profits. Like this: Landfall had something-call it cheese-which was a luxury on Blessed- while Blessed produced-call it chalk-much in demand on Valhalla whereas Valhalla manufactured doohickeys that Landfall needed.

Work this in the right direction and get rich; work it backwards and lose your shirt.

I had worked the first leg, Landfall to Blessed, successfully having sold my cargo of- Now what was it? Durned if I remember; I've handled so many things. Anyhow, I got such a nice price that I temporarily had too much money.

How much is "too much"? Whatever you can't spend before you leave a place you are not coming back to. If you hang onto that excess and come back later, you will usually find-invariably, so far as I recall-that inflation or war or taxes or changes in government or something has wiped out the alleged value of fiat money you may have kept.

As my ship was scheduled to load and I had placed in escrow with the port authority the price of her cargo, what I had left over was burning a hole in my pocket with only a day to get rid of it, that being the time until my ship was to be loaded-I had to be on hand for that; I was my own purser and have an untrusting disposition.

So I took a walk through the retail district, thinking I might buy some doodads.

I was dressed in local high style and had a bodyguard behind me, for Blessed was still a slave economy and in a pyramidal society it is well to be up near the point, or at least look like it. My bodyguard was a slave but not my slave; I had hired him from a rent-a-servant agency. I'm not a hypocrite; this slave didn't have a durn thing to do but follow me around and eat like a hog.

I had him because my assumed status required a manservant in sight. A "gentleman" could not register at a first-class hilton in Charity or anywhere on Blessed without a valet in evidence; I could not eat in a good restaurant without my own bearer standing behind me-and so forth; when in Rome, you shoot Roman candles. I've been places where it was mandatory to sleep with your hostess-which can be dreadful; this Blessed custom wasn't difficult.

I didn't rely on him even though the agency supplied him with a knob stick. I was armed six ways and careful where I walked; Blessed was more dangerous than it had been when I was a slave there and a "gentleman" is more of a target, even though cops don't bother him.

I was taking a shortcut through the slave market, it not being an auction day, on my way to the jewelers' lane, when I saw that a sale was being offered and slowed down-a man who has been sold himself can't walk past, indifferent to the plight of chattels. Not that I had any intention of buying.

Nor did anyone seem about to buy this pair; the knot around the factor's tent was rabble; I could tell by their clothes and the fact that there wasn't a man there with a manservant.

The merchandise was standing on a table, a young woman and a young man. Late adolescence for him and just ripe for her, or the same age in view of the fact that females grow up faster. Call it eighteen measured by my own youth-an age at which a boy should be nailed into a barrel and fed through the bunghole but a girl is ready to marry.

Long sleeveless robes hung from their shoulders-and I knew too well what those robes meant; they would be displayed only to a prospective buyer, not to rabble. Robes signified valuable slaves, not to be knocked down on open bid.

Sure enough, they were being held at Dutch auction, with the minimum bid posted-ten thousand blessings. That amounts to- How can I define money of centuries back on a planet hundreds of light-years away in terms that make sense here and now? Let's put it this way: Unless these kids were something extraordinary, they were overpriced by a factor of five, as prime young stock, either sex, were fetching around a thousand blessings by the morning's financial news.

Ever pause in front of a clothing store and get hooked inside? No, of course you haven't. But that's what happened to me.

All I did was say to the factor, "Goodman, is that posted bid a mistake? Or do these two have something special that doesn't show?" Just curiosity, Minerva, as I neither intended to own slaves nor would the excess in my purse make a dent in a planetwide custom. But I could not see why? The girl was not outstandingly pretty; she would not fetch a high price as an odalisque. The lad wasn't even heavily muscled. Nor were they a matched pair. Back home I would have picked her for Eyetalian and him for a Swede.

Boom, I'm urged into the tent while the chattels are shoved ahead; the factor's manner shows that he hasn't had a live one all day-while my shadow is saying in my ear, "Master, that price is too high. I can take you to a private sale where prices are right and satisfaction is guaranteed."

I said, "Shut up, Faithful"-all rented body servants were named "Faithful," probably by contraries-"I want to see what this is."

As fast as the tent flap is fastened against the rabble, the factor is shoving a chair against my knees and handing me a drink with a bow and a scrape while saying lyrically, "Oh, sweet and gentle master, happy am I that you asked that! I am about to show you a great wonder of science! A thing to astound the very gods! I speak as a pious man, a true son of our Everlasting Church, one who cannot lie!"

A slave factor who can't lie has yet to be whelped. Meantime, the youngsters stationed themselves docilely on a display platform, and Faithful was whispering: "Don't believe a word, Master. The girl is nothing and I can whip three of that punk without my stick-yet the agency would sell you me for eight hundred blessings and that's a fact."

I motioned him to silence. "Goodman, what swindle is this?"

"No swindle, on my mother's honor, kind sir! Would you believe that these are brother and sister?"

I looked at them. "No."

"Would you believe that they are not only brother and sister but twins?"

"No."

"Would you believe the same stud, the same dam, the same womb, born the same hour?"

"Possibly the same womb," I conceded. "Host-mother?"

"No, no! Exactly the same ancestry. And yet-here is the miracle-" He held my eye and spoke in a hushed voice: "They are nevertheless a sound breeding pair...for these twins are unrelated to each other! Would you believe it?"

I told him what I would believe, including his losing his license and facing a charge of blasphemy.

His smile grew broader, and he complimented me on my wit and asked me how much-if he proved all of these things-how high a bid I would place against them? Higher than ten thousand since I must realize that the posted figure represented a prior bid. Fifteen thousand, perhaps, with escrow the morrow before noon?

I said, "Forget it, I'm shipping out before noon"-and started to stand up.

He said, "Wait, I beg you! I see that you are a gentleman of education, of science, of deep knowledge and widely traveled-surely you will grant your humble servant a moment to show proof?"

I still would have left; swindles bore me. But he waved a hand, and the kids dropped their robes and fell into display poses, the lad with his arms folded across his chest and his feet planted firmly, the girl in that graceful pose that must be as old as Eve-one knee slightly advanced, hand on hip, other arm hanging- easily, chest slightly raised. It almost made her beautiful save that she looked bored-having taken it hundreds of times, no doubt.

But that wasn't what made me stay; something annoyed me. The lad was bare of course-she was wearing a chastity girdle. Do you know what one is, Minerva?

"Yes, Lazarus."

Too bad. I said, "Take that damned thing off that kid! Now!" Silly of me; I rarely interfere with anything on a strange planet. But those things are abominations.

"Certainly, gentle sir; I was about to. Estrellita!"

The girl turned her back, with that same bored look. The factor stood so that his back kept the lad from seeing him work the combination lock, saying apologetically, "She must wear it not only because of ruffians but to protect her from her brother; they share the same pallet, for she is-would you believe it, sir, seeing how full ripe she is?-a virgin! Show the gentle master, 'Trellita."

Bored as ever, she promptly started to do so. I regard virginity as a correctable perversity of no interest; I motioned her to stop and asked the factor if she could cook.

He assured me that she was the envy of every gourmet chef on Blessed, and started to lock her back into that steel diaper. I said roughly, "Leave it off! Nobody here is going to rape her. What's this proof you promised?"

Minerva, he proved every word-except about her cooking-with exhibits that made me suspicious only because he showed them; I wouldn't have boggled had I seen them in the Clinic here.

I should mention that Blessed had a rejuvenation clinic even though it was not settled by the Families. Eventually the clinic was taken over by the church and antigeria techniques that work fairly well even on short-lifers were no longer available to any but big shots. But the planet stayed advanced in biological techniques; the church needed it.

Minerva, I told you that he claimed and you are now as learned in biology and genetics and associated manipulations as Ishtar is-more so; you don't have her limitations in time and in memory storage. What did he prove to me?

"That they were diploid complements, Lazarus."

"Right! Although he called them "mirror twins." Can you tell me how these kids were made, Minerva? How would you go about producing such twins?

The computer answered thoughtfully, "'Mirror twins would be an inexact term for zygotes satisfying the listed requirements-although it is colorful. I can answer only theoretically as the records in me do not show that it has been attempted on Secundus. But the steps necessary to achieve exact diploid complements would be these: There must be intervention in gametogenesis in each parent just before meiotic division-reduction of chromosome number-that is, one would start with primary spermatocytes and primary oocytes, unreduced diploids.

"In the male parent the intervention presents no theoretical problem but would be difficult because the cells are very small-but I would not hesitate to attempt it given time to construct the necessary fine extensionals.

"The logical place to start, both parents, would be with gonia placed in vitro, and cherished. When a spermatogonium was observed to change to a primary spermatocyte-still diploid-it would be segregated and at the instant it divided into two secondary spermatocytes-haploids, one with an X chromosome and one with a Y chromosome-they would be again segregated and each would be encouraged to develop into spermatozoa.

"It would not be sufficient to intervene at the spermatozoa stage; confusion of gamete pairs could not be avoided, and resulting zygotes could be complementary only by wildest chance.

"Intervention with the female parent is mechanically simpler because of larger ceils-but involves a different problem; the primary oocyte must be encouraged, at point of meiosis, to produce two haploid and complementary secondary oocytes, rather than one oocyte and one polar body. Lazarus, this might require many attempts before a reliable technique could be worked out. It would be similar to the process of identical twinning but must take place two stages earlier in the gametogenetic sequence. However, it might turn out to be no more difficult than it is to produce fatherless female rabbits. I do not venture an opinion as I lack former art to draw on-save that I feel certain that it can be done, given time to develop technique.

"At this point we have complementary groups, of spermatozoa, one group with Y and one with X, and a complementary pair of ova, each with an x chromosome. Fertilization would be in vitro, with a possibility of choosing either of two potential pairs of female-male complements but with no basis for choice unless the genetic charts of haploids are determined precisely, which is difficult and likely to cause genetic damage; I do not think it would be attempted. Instead one sperm would be inserted into one ovum, its complement into the other, on a blind basis.

"One last requirement must be met to justify all of this slave factor's allegations: The two fertilized ova must be removed from vitro and planted in the womb of the donor of the oogonium, and there allowed to develop as twins through natural gestation and birth.

"Am I right, Lazarus?"

Exacly right! Go to the head of the class, dear; you get a gold star on your report card. Minerva, I don't know that it happened that way. But that's what the factor claimed, and that's what his exhibits-lab reports, holomovies, and so forth-seemed to show. But that thief may have faked those "proofs" and offered a random pair not likely to fetch a price above average-save for his fancy sales talk. The so-called proofs looked good, and lab reports and such carried, a bishop's chop and seal. The stills and movies looked good, too-but how can a layman judge? Even if those exhibits weren't phony, all they could prove was that such a process had once taken place; they did not prove that these kids were the result. Shucks, they might have been used to sell many slave pairs, with a bishop in on the racket.

I looked over the stuff, including a scrapbook of the kids growing up, said, "Very interesting," and started to, leave.

This pimple teleported himself between me and the tent flap. "Master," he said urgently. "Kind and generous sir- twelve thousand?"

Minerva, my trader instincts took over. "One thousand!" I snapped. I don't know why. Yes, I do know. The girl's body was scarred from that damned Torquernada girdle; I wanted to insult this flesh peddler.

He flinched and looked as if he were giving birth to broken beer bottles. "You jest with me. Eleven thousand blessings, and they are yours-though I won't make expenses!"

"Fifteen hundred," I answered. I had money I couldn't spend elsewhere and told myself I could afford to manumit them rather than let that girl be bound into that damned atrocity again.

He moaned. "If they were mine, I would give them to you. I love these cute darlings like my own children and could ask for them, nothing better than a kind and gentle master learned in science who appreciates the wonders that have gone into their making. But the Bishop would hang me and have me cut down alive to be dragged to death by my tool. Ten thousand and take all proofs and exhibits. I'll suffer a loss for their sakes-and because I admire you so much."

I got up to forty-five hundred and he got down to seven thousand and there we stuck, as I had to hold out cash for last-minute squeeze, whereas it felt to me that he was close to the point where he really could not sell without risking the Bishop's wrath. If there was a bishop- He turned away in a fashion that says that a dicker is over and he is through flattering you, and told the girl sharply to step back into her steel harness.

I got out my purse. Minerva, you understand money; you handle the government's finances. But possibly you don't know that cash money affects some people the way catnip does Diablo. I counted out forty-five hundred blessings in big red-and-gold bills under that scoundrel's nose-and stopped. He was sweating and swallowing his Adam's apple but managed to shake his head a tenth of an inch.

So I counted more bills, very slowly, and reached five thousand-then started briskly to pick them up.

He stopped me-and I found that I had bought the only slaves I have ever owned.

He relaxed then, in a resigned way, but wanted lagniappe for the exhibits. I didn't care one way or another but offered two hundred and fifty for the pix and tapes, take it or leave it. He took it and again started to put the girl back into her harness.

I stopped him and said, "Show me how that works," I knew how-a cylinder-type ten-letter combination lock you could set to a new combination each time you used it. Set the combination, slide the ends of the steel strap that went around her waist through the ends of the barrel, spin the alphabet disks of the cylinder, then it stays locked until you reset whatever ten-letter combo you picked. An expensive lock and good steel in the girdle-alloy a hacksaw couldn't touch. This was another thing that made his story convincing, as, while there was a market for virgins on that weird globe, a trained odalisque fetched about the same, and this girl wasn't being reserved for harem stock either way. So an expensive custom-made chastity belt had to have some other reason.

With our backs to the slaves he showed me the combination: E,S,T,R,E,L,L,I,T,A-and was smug about how clever he was to pick a combination he couldn't forget. So I fumbled on purpose, then pretended to catch on, and opened it. He was about to put it on the kid again and send us on our way. I said, "Wait a moment. I want to be sure I can work it in place. You step into it and let me get you out of it."

He didn't want to. So I got snotty and said he was trying to cheat me-put me in a position where I would have to send for him and pay through the nose to get my property unlocked. I demanded my money back and started to tear up the bill of sale. He gave in and stepped into the contrivance.

He could squeeze into it although the ends of the steel belt barely met; he was bigger around the waist than the girl was. I said, "Now spell that combination for me"-and leaned over the lock. As he spelled- "ESTRELLITA," what I set was "HORSETHIEF~" then jammed the ends together as hard as possible and spun the disks.

"Good," I said. "It works. Now spell it again."

He did so and I carefully spelled "ESTRELLITA." It stayed locked. I suggested that he had had me spell it with one i and two t's the first time. That didn't work either.

He dug up a mirror and tried it himself. No go. I said it might be jammed, so suck up your gut and we'll shake it. By now he was sweating.

Finally I said, "Tell you what, goodman-I'll give you this belt. I'd rather trust a padlock anyhow. So go to a locksmith-no, you won't want to wear this outside; just tell me where to find one and I'll send him here, and pay him myself. Fair enough? I can't hang around; I've got a dinner engagement at the Beulahland. Where are their clothes? Faithful, gather up this junk and fetch the kids." So I left him still blatting about telling the locksmith to hurry.

As we left his tent, a taxicab was cruising by. I had Faithful hail it and we all piled in. I didn't bother with a locksmith; I had the driver head for the skyport, then stopped on the way at a slopchest and bought the kids proper clothes, a clout for him and sort of Balinese sarong for her-uh, that's much like the dress Hamadryad wore yesterday. I think those were the first real clothes the youngsters had ever had. I couldn't get shoes on them; I settled for sanáals-then had to drag Estrellita away from a mirror; she was admiring herself and preening. I threw away those auction robes. I shoved the kids into the taxi and said to Faithful: "See that alley? If I turn my back and you run down it, I won't be able to chase you; I've got to keep an eye on these two."

Minerva, I ran into something I'll never understand: the slave mentality. Faithful didn't get my meaning-and when I spelled it out, he was aghast. Hadn't he given good service? Did I want him to starve? I gave up. We dropped him at the Rent-a-Servant, and got my deposit back-tipping him for good service-and my slaves and I rode on out to the skyport.

Turned out I needed that deposit and almost every blessing I had left-had to pay squeeze at outgoing customs to get the kids aboard my ship, even though the bill of sale was in order.

But I got 'em aboard; I immediately had them kneel, put my hands on their heads and manumitted them. They did not seem to believe it, so I explained. "Look, you're free now. Free, get me? No longer slaves. I'll sign your manumission papers and you can go to the diocese office and get them registered. Or you can have dinner here and sleep aboard, and I'll give you what blessings I can just before my ship lifts tomorrow. Or, if you want to, you can stay aboard and go to Valhalla, a nice planet though chillier than this one-but where there is no such thing as slavery."

Minerva, I don't think 'Llita-pronounced 'Yeetah,' her everyday name-or her brother Joe-Josie, or José understood what I meant by a place that did not have slavery; it was foreign to anything they knew. But they knew what a starship was, from hearsay, and the prospect of going somewhere in one had them awestruck-they would not have missed it if I had told them they were going to be hanged on arrival. Besides, in their minds I was still their master; manumission hadn't taken hold even though they knew what it was. Something for old and faithful retainers, that is, who stayed on at the funda where they had been all along, but maybe got paid a little.

But to travel! The farthest they had ever been in their lives was from a diocese north of there to the capital, to be sold.

A little trouble next morning- Seems that one Simon Legree, licensed dealer in slaves, had sworn a complaint against me alleging bodily harm, mental duress, and assorted mopery and dopery. So I sat the cop down in my wardroom, poured him a drink, called in Llita and had her take off her wonderful new clothes and let the cop see the scars on her hips, then told her to skedaddle. I happened to leave a hundred-blessing note on the table while I got up to fetch the bill of sale.

The cop waved away the bill of sale, saying there had been no complaint on that score-but he was going to tell Goodman Legree that he was lucky not to face a counter-charge of selling damaged goods...no, on second thought it was simpler if he just couldn't find me until after my ship lifted. The hundred blessings was gone, and soon the cop was gone-and by midafternoon, so were we.

But, Minerva, I got cheated; Llita couldn't cook worth a damn.

It is a long and complex passage from Blessed 'to Valhalla, and Shipmaster Sheffield was pleased to have company.

There was a mild contretemps the first night of the voyage caused by a misunderstanding that had started the night before, dirtside. The ship had a cabin and two staterooms. Since the Captain normally operated by himself, he used the Staterooms for casual storage or light cargo; they were not ready for passengers. So that first night dirtside he put his freedwoman into his cabin, while her brother and he slept on transom couches in the wardroom.

The following day Captain Sheffield unlocked the staterooms, switched power to them, had the young people clean them and move the clutter to a gear locker until he could see what space he had left in his holds, and told them each to take a room-and forgot it, being busy with cargo and final squeeze, then with supervising his piloting computer while they got clear of that system. It was late that "night," ship's time, before he had his ship on her first leg in n-space, and could relax.

He went to his cabin while considering whether to eat first or shower first, or possibly neither.

Estrellita was in his bed-wide awake and waiting.

He said, "Llita, what are you doing here?"

She told him in blunt slave lingo what she was doing in his bed-waiting for him-as she had known what would be expected of her when milord Shipmaster Sheffield had offered to take them along, and had discussed it with her brother, and Brother had told her to do it.

She added that she was not a bit afraid; she was ready and eager.

The first part of this Aaron Sheffield had to believe; the addendum seemed clearly a white lie; he had seen frightened virgins before-not often, but a few.

He dealt with her fear by ignoring it. He said, "You impudent bitch, get your arse out of my bed and into your own." The freedwoman was startled and unbelieving, then sulky and offended-then she wept. Fear of an unknown that she had felt earlier was drowned in a worse emotion; her tiny ego was crushed by his rejection of service she knew she owed him-and had believed he wanted. She sobbed, and dripped tears on his pillow.

Female tears always had a strong aphrodisiac effect on Captain Sheffield; he responded to them at once-by grabbing her ankle, dragging her out of bed, hustling her out of his cabin, into her stateroom, and locking her in. Then he returned to his cabin, locked its door, took measures to calm himself, and went to sleep.

Minerva, there was 'nothing wrong with Llita as a woman. Once I taught her to bathe properly she was quite attractive-good figure, pleasant face and manner, good teeth, and her breath was sweet. But taking her did not fit any customs. All "Eros" is custom, dear; there is never anything moral or, immoral about copulation as such, or any of its nonfunctional frills. "Eros" is simply a way of keeping human beings, individuals, each different-keeping them together and happy. It - is a survival mechanism developed through long evolution,- and its reproductive function is the least complex aspect of its very complex and pervasive role in keeping the human race going.

But any sexual act is moral or immoral by precisely the same laws of morality as any other human act; all other rules about sex are simply customs-local and transient. There are more codes of sexual customs than a dog has fleas

-and all they have in common is that they are "ordained by God." I recall a society where copulation in private was obscene and forbidden, criminal-while in public it was "anything goes." The society I was brought up in had the reverse of those rules-again "ordained by God." I'm not sure which pattern was harder to follow, but I wish God wouldn't keep changing his mind-as it is never safe to ignore such customs, and ignorance is no excuse; ignorance like to got my ass shot off several times.

In refusing Llita I was not being moral; I was following my own sexual customs, worked out by trial and error and many bruises over the centuries: Never bed a female dependent on me unless I am married to her or willing to marry her. This is an amoral rule of thumb, subject to change according to circumstances and not applying to females not dependent on me-another negotiation entirely. But this rule is a safety precaution applicable most times and places with widely varying customs-a safety measure for me... because, unlike that lady from Boston I told you about, many females tend to regard copulation as a formal proposal of contract.

I had let impulse lure me into a predicament in which Llita was temporarily my dependent; I had no intention of making matters worse by marrying her, I didn't owe her that. Minerva, long-lifers should never marry ephemerals; it is not fair to the ephemeral or to the long-lifer.

Nevertheless, once you pick up a stray cat and feed it, you cannot abandon it. Self-love forbids it. The cat's welfare becomes essential to your own peace of mind-even when it's a bloody nuisance not to break faith with the cat. Having bought these kids I could not shuck them off by manumission; I had to plan their future because they did not know how. They were stray cats.

Early next "morning" (by ship's routine) Captain Sheffield got up, unlocked the freedwoman's stateroom, found her asleep. He called her and told her to get up, wash quickly, then get breakfast for three. He left to wake her brother-found his stateroom empty, found him in the galley. "Good morning, Joe."

The freedman jumped. "Oh! Good morning, Master." He ducked and bent his knee.

"Joe, the correct answer is: 'Good morning, Captain.' It amounts to the same thing at present, for I am indeed master of this ship and everyone in it. But when you leave my ship on Valhalla, you will have no master of any sort. None, as I explained yesterday. Meanwhile, call me 'Captain.'"

Captain." The young man repeated obeisance.

"Don't bow! When you speak to me, stand tall and straight and proud, and look me in the eye. The correct answer to an order is 'Aye aye, Captain.' What are you doing there?"

"Why, I don't know-Captain."

"I don't think you do, either. That's enough coffee for a dozen people." Sheffield elbowed Joe aside, salvaged most of the coffee crystals the lad had poured into a bowl, measured enough for nine cups, made note to teach the girl how if she did not know, then have her keep coffee ready during working hours.

As he sat down with his first cup of coffee, she appeared. Her eyes were red and had circles under them; he suspected that she had wept some more that morning. But he made no comment other than a morning greeting and let her cope with the galley unassisted, she having seen what he had done the morning before.

Shortly he was recalling fondly the scratch lunch and supper-sandwiches he had made himself-of the day before. But he said nothing other than to order them to sit down and eat with him, rather than hovering over him. Breakfast was mostly coffee, cold ship's bread, tinned butter. Reconstituted accra eggs with mushrooms were an inedible mess, and she had managed to do something to heavenfruit juice. To spoil that took talent; all it needed was eight parts of cold water for each part of concentrate, and the instructions were on the container.

"Llita, can you read?"

"No, Master."

"Make that 'Captain,' instead. How about you, Joe?"

"No, Captain."

"Arithmetic? Numbers?"

"Oh, yes, Captain, I know numbers. Two and two is four, two and three makes five, and three and five is nine-"

His sister corrected him. "Seven, Josie-not nine."

"That's enough," Sheffield said. "I can see we'll be busy." He thought, while he hummed: "So it's well to...Have a sister...Or even an old captain-" He added aloud: "When you have finished breakfast, take care of your personal needs, then tidy your rooms-shipshape and neatly, I'll inspect later-and make the bed in my cabin, but don't touch anything else there, especially my desk. Then each of you take a bath. Yes, that's what I said: Bathe. Aboard ship everyone bathes every day, oftener if you wish. There is plenty of pure water; we recycle it and we'll finish the voyage with thousands of liters more than we started with. Don't ask why; that's the way it works and I'll explain later." (Several months later, at least-to youngsters unsure about three plus five.) "When you're through, say, an hour and a half from now-Joe, can you read a clock?"

Joe stared at the old-fashioned ship's clock mounted on a bulkhead. "I'm not sure, Captain. That one has too many numbers."

"Oh, yes, of course; Blessed is on another system. Try to be back here when the little hand is straight out to the left and the big hand is straight up. But this time it doesn't matter if you are late; it takes awhile to shake down. Don't neglect your baths to be on time. Joe, shampoo your head. Llita, lean toward me, dear; let me sniff your hair. Yes, you shampoo, too." (Were there hair nets aboard? If he cut the pseudogravity and let them go free-fall, they would need hair nets-or haircuts. A haircut would not hurt Joe, but his sister's long black hair was her best feature-would help her catch a husband on Valhalla. Oh, well, if there were no hair nets-he didn't think there were, as he kept his own hair free-fall short-the girl could braid her hair and tie something around it. Could he spare power to maintain an eighth gee all 'the way? People not used to free-fall got flabby, could even damage their bodies. (Don't worry about it now.) "Get our quarters tidy, get clean yourselves, come back here. Git."

He made a list: Set up a schedule of duties-N.B.: Teach them to cook!

Start school: What subjects?

Basic arithmetic, obviously-but don't bother to teach them to read that jargon spoken on Blessed; they were never going back there-never! But that jargon would have to be ship's language until he had them speaking Galacta, and they must learn to read and write in it-and English, too: Many books he would have to use for their hurry-up education were in English. Did he have tapes for the variation of Galacta spoken on Valhalla? Well, kids their age quickly picked up local accent and idiom and vocabulary.

What was far more Important was how to heal their stunted, uh, "souls." Their personalities- How could he take full-grown domestic animals and turn them into able, happy human beings, educated in every needful way and capable of competing in a free society? Willing to compete, undismayed by it-He was just beginning to see the size of the "stray cat" problem he had taken on. Was he going to have to keep them as pets for fifty or sixty years or whatever, until they died naturally?

Long, long before that, the boy Woodie Smith had found a half-dead fox kit in the woods, apparently lost by its mother, or perhaps the vixen was dead. He took it home, nursed it with a bottle, raised it in a cage through one winter. In the spring he took it back where he had found it, left it there in the cage with the door latched-open.

He checked a few days later, intending to salvage the cage. He found the creature cowering in the cage, half starved and horribly dehydrated-with the door still latched open. He took it home, again nursed it back to health, built a chicken-wire run for it, and never again tried to turn it loose. In the words of his grandfather, "The poor critter had never had a chance to learn how to be a fox."

Could he teach these cowed and ignorant animals how to be human?

They returned to his wardroom when "the little hand was straight out and the big hand was straight up'-they waited outside the door until this was so, and Captain Sheffield pretended not to notice.

But when they came in, he glanced at the clock and said, "Right on time-good! You've certainly shampooed, but remind me to find combs for you." (What other toilet articles did they need? Would he have to teach them how to use them? And-oh, damn it!-was there anything in the ship for a woman's menstrual needs? What could be improvised? Well, with luck that problem would hold off a few days. No point in asking her; she couldn't add. Tarnation, the ship was not equipped for passengers.)

"Sit down. No, wait a moment. Come here, dear." It seemed to the Captain that the garment she wore was clinging suspiciously; he felt it, it was wet. "Did you leave that on when you bathed?"

"No, Mas- No, Captain; I washed it."

"I see." He recalled that its gaudy pattern had been enhanced by coffee and other things while the girl was botching breakfast. "Take it off and hang it somewhere; don't let it dry on your body."

She started slowly to comply. Her chin quivered-and he recalled how she had admired herself in a tall mirror when he bought it for her. "Wait a moment, Llita. Joe, take off your breechclout. And sandals."

The lad complied at once.

"Thank you, Joe. Don't put that clout back on without washing it; by now it's dirty even though it looks clean. Don't wear it under way unless it suits you. You sit down. Llita, were you wearing anything when I bought you?"

"No...Captain."

"Am I wearing anything now?"

"No, Captain."

"There are times and places to wear clothes-and other times and places when clothes are silly. If this were a passenger ship, we would all wear clothes and I would wear a fancy uniform. But it is not, and there is nobody here but me and your brother. See that instrument there? That's a thermohumidostat which tells the ship's computer to hold the temperature at twenty-seven Celsius and forty percent humidity, with random variation to stimulate us-which may not mean anything to you but is my notion of comfort in bare skin. For an hour each afternoon it drops that temperature to encourage exercise, as flab is the curse of shipboard life.

"If that cycle doesn't suit you two, we'll reach a compromise. But first we'll try it my way. Now about that wet rag plastered to your hips- If you are stupid, you'll let it dry where it is and be uncomfortable. If you are smart, you'll hang it up and let it dry without wrinkling. That's a suggestion, not an order; if you wish, you may wear it at all times. But don't sit down with it on you, wet; there is no reason to get cushions wet. Can you sew?"

"Yes, Captain. Uh...some."

"I'll see what I can dig up. You are wearing the only woman's garment in the ship, and if you insist on clothes, you'll need to make some for the months ahead. You'll need something for Valhalla, too: it's not as warm as Blessed. Women there wear trousers and short coats; men wear trousers and long coats; everyone wears boots. I had three outfits custom-made on Landfall; maybe we can make do with them until I can get you two to a tailor. Boots- Mine would fit you like socks on a rooster. Hmm- We can wrap your feet so that a pair will stay on long enough to get you to a bootery.

"We won't worry about that now. Join the conference- standing up and wet, or sitting down and comfortable."

Estrellita bit her lip and decided in favor of comfort.

Minerva, those youngsters were brighter than I had expected. At first they studied because I told them to. But once they tasted the magic of the printed word, they were hooked. They learned to read like grass through a goose and didn't want to do anything else. Especially stories. I had a good library, mostly in micro, thousands of those, but also a few dozen valuable bound books, facsimile antiques I had picked up on Landfall where they speak English and use Galacta only as a trade tongue. Savvy Oz books, Minerva?

Yes, of course you do; I helped plan the Great Library and included my childhood favorites as well as more sober things. I did make sure that Joe and Llita read a spread of sober stuff but mostly I let them wallow in stories- The Just So Stories, and the Oz books, and Alice in Wonderland, and A Child's Garden of Verses, and Two Little Savages, and such. Too limited; they were books from my childhood, three centuries before the Diaspora. On the other hand, every human culture in the Galaxy derives from that one.

But I tried to make sure that they understood the difference between fiction and history-difficult, as I wasn't certain that there was a difference. Then I had to explain that a fairy tale was still a different sort, one step farther along the spectrum from fact to fancy.

Minerva, this is very hard to explain to an inexperienced mind. What is "magic"? You are more magical than any "magic" in fairy tales, and it does no good to say that you are 'a product of science, rather than magic, in speaking to kids who have no idea what is meant by "science"-and I wasn't sure that the distinction was valid even when I was explaining the distinction. In my wanderings I have run across magic many times-which simply says that I have seen wonders I could not explain.

I finally let it go by asserting ex cathedra that some stories were just for fun and not necessarily true-Gulliver's Travels were not the same sort of thing as The Adventures of Marco Polo, while Robinson Crusoe lay somewhere in between-and they should ask me, if in doubt.

They did ask, sometimes, and accepted my decision without argument. But I could see that they did not always believe me. That pleased me; they were starting to think for themselves-didn't matter if they were wrong. Llita was simply politely respectful to me about Oz. She believed in the Emerald City with all her heart and, if she had had her druthers, she would have been going there rather than to Valhalla. Well, so would I.

The important thing was that they were cutting the cord.

I did not hesitate to use fiction in teaching them. Fiction is a faster way to get a feeling for alien patterns of human -behavior than is nonfiction; it is one stage short of actual experience and I had only months in which to turn these cowed and ignorant animals into people. I could, have offered them psychology and sociology and comparative anthropology; I had such books on hand. But Joe and Llita could not have put them together into a gestalt-and I recall another teacher who used parables in putting over ideas.

They read every hour I would let them, huddled together like puppies and staring at the reading machine and nagging each other about how fast to raise the pages. Usually Llita nagged Joe; she was quicker than he-but as may be, they spurred each other from-illiterate to speedreaders in zip time. I didn't let them have sound-and-picture tapes-I wanted them to read.

Couldn't let 'em spend all their time reading; they had to learn other things-not just salable skills but, much more important, that aggressive self-reliance necessary to a free human-which they totally lacked when I saddled myself with them. Shucks, I wasn't certain they had the potential; it might have been bred out of their line. But if the spark was in them, I had to find it and fan it into flame-or I would never be able to make them run free.

So I forced them to make up their -own minds as much as possible, while being cautiously rough on them in other ways and greeted every sign of rebellion-silently, in my mind- as a triumphant proof of progress.

I started by teaching Joe to fight-just hand to hand; I didn't want either of us killed. One compartment was fitted as a gymnasium, with equipment that could be adapted for gee or for free-fall; I used it that hour a day of lowered temperature. Here I worked Joe out. Llita was required to attend but just to exercise-although I had in mind that it might spur Joe along if his sister saw him getting the whey knocked out of him.

Joe needed that spur; he had a terrible time getting it through his head that it was okay to hit or kick me, that I wanted him to try, that I would not be angry if he succeeded-but that I would be angry if he didn't try his darnedest.

Took a while. At first he wouldn't chop at me no matter how wide open I left myself and when I got him past that, calling him names and taunting him, he still hesitated that split second that let me close and chop him instead.

But one afternoon he got the idea so well that he landed a good one on me and I hardly had to hold back to let him land it. After supper he got his reward: permission to read a bound book, one with pages, him dressed in a pair of my surgical gloves and warned that I would clobber him if he got it dirty or tore a page. Llita wasn't permitted to touch it; this was his prize. She sulked and didn't even want to use the reading machine-until he asked if it was all right for him to read aloud to her.

I ruled that she could even read it with him-as long as she didn't touch it. So she snuggled up close, head by his, happy again, and started bossing him about turning the pages.

The next day she asked me why she could not learn to fight, too?

No doubt she was finding solo exercise a bore-I always found it so and did it only because it was needful to stay in shape-no telling what hazards next groundfall might bring. Minerva, I've never felt that women should have to fight; it is a male's business to protect females and children. But a female should be able to fight because she may have to.

So I agreed, but we had to change the rules. Joe and I had been working out by dockside rules-no rules, that is, save that I didn't tell him that I planned not to do him any permanent damage and did not intend to let him give me anything worse than bruises. But I never said this-if he could manage it, he was free to gouge out one of my eyes and eat it. I just made damn sure that he didn't.

But females are built differently from males. I could not let Llita work out with us until I devised a plastron to protect her tits-necessary; she was a bit oversized in that department, and we could have hurt her without intending to. Then I told Joe privately that bruises were okay, but that if he broke one of her bones, I would break one of his, just for drill.

But I put no restrictions on his sister-and I underestimated her; she was twice as aggressive as he was. Untrained but fast-and she meant business.

The second day we worked out with her, not only was she wearing that plastron, her brother and I were wearing jockstraps. And Llita had been allowed to read a real book the night before.

Joe turned out to have talent for cooking, so I encouraged him to be as fancy as ship's stores permitted while crowding her to become an adequate cook. A man who can cook can support himself anywhere. But anyone, male or female, should be able to cook, keep house, and care for children. I hadn't located a trade for Llita, although she displayed a talent for mathematics once I set up inducements for that, too. That was encouraging; a person who can read and write and has a head for math can learn anything she needs to know. So I started her on bookkeeping and accounting, from books, not helping her, and required Joe to learn to use all the tools the ship boasted-not many, mainly maintenance gear-and supervised him closely; I didn't want him losing fingers or ruining tools. I was hopeful. Then the situation changed-

(Circa 3,100 words omitted)

-easy to say that I was stupid. I had raised stock and a good many children. Being ship's surgeon as well as everything else, I had given them the most thorough examinations my equipment permitted when we were a couple of days out- quite thorough for those days; I had not practiced medicine after leaving Ormuzd but did keep my sick bay stocked and equipped, and picked up the latest tapes whenever I was on a civilized planet and studied them during long jumps. I was a good jackleg doctor, Minerva.

The kids were as healthy as they looked, aside from slight dental caries in him, two small cavities. I noticed that the factor's allegation about her was correct-virgo intacta, semilunar hymen, unfrayed, so I used my smallest speculum. She neither complained nor tensed up nor asked what I was looking for. I concluded that they had had regular checkups and other medical attention, far more than slaves on Blessed usually received.

She had thirty-two teeth in perfect condition but could not tell me when the last four molars had erupted, just that it was "not long ago." He had twenty-eight teeth and so little space in his jaw for adult molars that I anticipated trouble. But X-ray prints showed no buds.

I cleaned and filled the cavities, and made note that he must have those fillings removed and the tissue regenerated on Valhalla, and be inoculated against further decay; Valhalla had good dentistry, far superior to what I could do.

Llita could not tell me when she had last menstruated. She discussed it with Joe; he tried to count on his fingers how many days it had been since they had been taken from their home place, as they agreed that it was before that. I told her to let me know next time and each time, so that I could determine her cycle. I gave her a tin of napkins, emergency supplies I hadn't known I had-must have been in the ship twenty years.

She did tell me, and I had to open the tin for her; neither of them knew how. She was delighted with the little elastic panty included in the package, and often wore it when she did not need it, as "dress up." The kid was crazy about clothes; as a slave she had never had a chance to pamper her vanity. I told her it was all right as long as she washed it every time she wore it-I clamped down hard on cleanliness, inspecting their ears, sending them from the table to scrub their nails, and so forth. They had received no more training than a hog. She never had to be told twice, and picked on him and made sure that he met my standards, too. I found myself being more exacting with myself; I could not bring dirty fingernails to the table or skip a shower because I was sleepy-I had set the standards and had to live up to them.

She was almost as unskilled a seamstress as she was a cook, but she taught herself because she liked clothes. I dug out some bright-colored trade cloth and let her have fun-and used it as carrot-and-stick; wearing anything became a privilege that depended on good behavior. I put a stop that way-well, mostly-to her nagging her brother.

That wouldn't work with Joe; clothes did not interest him-but if he rated it, I gave him more of a working over during exercise period. Seldom-he was not the problem she was.

One evening, three or four of her periods later, I noticed on my calendar that she was past due-having forgotten the matter. Minerva, I never walked into their staterooms without knocking; shipboard life required such privacy as can be managed-too little, that is.

Her door was open, and her room was empty. I tapped on his door, got no answer, went on, looked for her in the wardroom and galley, even in our little gym. I decided that she must be taking a bath and I would speak to her in the morning.

As I passed his stateroom again in heading back to my cabin, his door opened; she stepped out and closed it behind her. I said, "Oh, there you are!" or some such. "I thought Joe was asleep."

"He's just gone to sleep," Llita said. "Do you want him, Captain? Shall I wake him?"

I said, "No, I was looking for you, but I tapped on his door five or ten minutes ago and got no answer."

She was contrite over not having heard my knock. "I'm sorry, Captain. I guess we were so busy we didn't hear you." She told me how they were busy-which I had figured out, having suspected it from the moment I noticed that she was a week overdue after being clock regular. "That's understandable," I said. "I'm glad my knock didn't disturb you."

"We try never to disturb you with it, Captain," she answered with sweet seriousness. "We wait till you go, to your cabin at night. Or sometimes when you take siesta."

I said, "Goodness, dear, you don't have to be that careful. Do your work and keep your study hours, then do as you please the rest of the time. Starship 'Libby' is not a sweatship; I want you kids to be happy. Can't you get it through your fuzzy head that you are not a slave?"

Apparently she could not, quite, Minerva, for she still fretted that she had not heard my knock and jumped to respond. I said, "Don't be silly, LIita. It will keep till tomorrow."

But she insisted she wasn't sleepy and was ready and anxious to do whatever I wanted-which made me a touch nervous. Minerva, one of the oddities about "Eros" is that women are never so willing as when they just have, and there was nothing in Llita's background to inhibit her. Worse, I found that I was aware of her as a ripe female for almost the first time since the two came aboard-she was standing close to me in a narrow passageway, carrying in one hand one of those weird costumes she delighted in making, and was a bit whiff from happy exercise. I was tempted-and felt certain that she would respond at once and happily. The thought crossed my mind that she was already pregnant-nothing to fret about.

But I had gone to much trouble with these ephemerals to shift from slave owner to father figure, stern but loving. If I took her, I would lose that and, add one more disturbing variable a problem already too complex. So I grasped the nettle.

Captain Sheffield said, "Very well, Llita. Come to my cabin." He headed toward it, she followed. Once there, he offered her a seat. She hesitated, then put her gaudy dress down and sat on it-thoughtfulness that pleased him, as the ignorant animal she had been would not have been capable of it; the humanizing process was working. He did not comment.

"Llita, your period is a week overdue, is it not?"

"It is, Captain?" She seemed puzzled but not troubled.

Sheffield wondered if he could be mistaken. After he had taught her how to open a sealed tin, he had turned over to her the limited emergency supply, warning her that if she used it too lavishly, she would have to fashion by hand some make-do, as Valhalla was months away. Then he had dismissed the matter other than to log it on his desk calendar whenever she reported onset. Could he have failed to notice? There had been three days last week when he had kept to his cabin, leaving the young people on their own and having his meals sent in-a habit he had when he wanted to concentrate on a problem. During such periods he ate little and slept not at all and barely noticed anything not part of what he was studying. Yes, it was possible.

"Don't you know, Llita? If you were on time, then you failed to report it."

"Oh, no, Captain!" She was round-eyed with distress. "You told me to tell you...and I have-every time, every time!"

Further questions showed first, that despite her new grasp of arithmetic she did not know when she should have experienced onset, and second, that it had not been last week but a much longer time.

Time to tell her-"Llita dear, I think you are going to have a baby."

Her mouth dropped open, again her eyes rounded. "Oh, wonderful!" She added, "May I run tell Josie? May I, please? I'll be right back!"

"Wups! Don't rush things. I said only that I thought so. Don't get your hopes up yet, and don't bother Joe with it till we know. Many a girl has gone much longer than a week past her date, and it didn't mean a thing." (But I'm pleased to learn that you want it, child, as it appears you've had every opportunity.) "Tomorrow I'll examine you and try to find out." (What did he have aboard for a pregnancy test? Damn it, if he must abort her, it should be as quickly as possible when it's no worse than plucking a splinter. Then-no, there wasn't so much as a "Monday morning" pill in the ship, much less modern contraception. Woodie, blast your stupid soul, don't ever go into space again so poorly equipped!) "In the meantime, don't get excited." (But women always did get excited by it. Of course.)

She was as dashed as she had been jubilant. "We tried so hard! Everything in the Kama Sutra and more. I thought we ought to ask you to show us what we were doing wrong, but Joe was certain we were doing it right."

"I think Joe is correct." Sheffield got up, poured a cup of wine for each of them while performing legerdemain which dosed hers such that she would go to sleep before long-after some relaxed talk that she might not remember; he wanted the full picture. "Here."

She looked at it. dubiously. "I'll get silly. I know, I had a chance to try it once."

"This isn't the popskull they sell on Blessed; this is wine I fetched from Landfall. Pipe down and drink it. Here's to your baby if you're having one, or here's to good luck next time." (But how to handle that "next time"?-if his worries were well grounded. These kids must not be saddled with a defective. A healthy baby would be burden enough while they were learning to stand on their own feet. Could he stave things off to Valhalla, then get her on proper contraception? Then what? Split them up? How?)

"Tell me about it, dear. When you came aboard, you were virgin."

"Oh, yes, certainly. They always kept me locked in that virgin's basket. Except when they shut me up and Brother had to sleep in the barracks: You know. When I bleed." She took a deep breath and smiled. "Now is ever so much nicer. Josie and I tried for the longest time to get around that awful steel basket. But we couldn't. Hurt him to try, and some ways we tried hurt me, too. Finally we gave up and just did fun things we had always done. 'Brother said to be patient; it wouldn't be forever. Because we knew we would be sold together, as a breeding pair."

Estrellita looked radiant. "And so we were and now we are, and thank you, Captain!"

(No, it wasn't going to be easy to split them up.) "Llita, have you ever thought of being bred by some other man than Joe?" (Sound her out, at least. It won't be hard to find her a husband; she's really quite attractive. That "Earth Mother" feeling.)

She looked puzzled. "Why, of course not. We knew what we were, way back when we were almost babies. Our mother told us, and so did the priest. I've always slept with Brothcr, all my life. Why would I want anyone else?"

"You seemed ready enough to sleep with me. You claimed you were eager to."

"Oh! That's different-that's your right. But you didn't want me," she added, almost accusingly.

"That wasn't quite it, Llita. There were reasons-that I won't go into now-not to take you no matter if I wanted you and you were willing. Although it was Joe you really wanted, you said so."

"Well...yes. But I was disappointed just the same. I had to tell Brother you wouldn't have me-which hurt all over again. But he said to be patient. We waited three more days before he broached me. In case you changed your mind."

(Nagging wife vertically-docile horizontally. Not too uncommon a pattern, Sheffield thought.)

He found that she was looking at him with sober interest. "Do you want me now, Captain? Joe told me, the very night he decided to go ahead, that it was still your right and always would be-and it is."

(Beelzebub's brass balls!-the only way to avoid a willing female was to go off-planet.) "Dear, I'm tired, and you are getting sleepy."

She swallowed a yawn. "I'm not that tired-I never am. Captain, the night I first, asked you, I was a tiny bit scared. But I'm not scared now. I want to. If you will."

"You're very sweet, but I am very tired." (Why hasn't that dose taken hold?) He changed the subject. "Aren't those little bunks almost impossible for two people?"

She chuckled right through another yawn. "Almost. Once we fell out of Brother's bunk. So now we use the deck."

"'The deck'? Why, Llita, that's dreadful. We must do something about it" (Put the kids in here? The only full-sized bed in the ship- A bride needed a proper workbench for her honeymoon...which this was; she was deeply in love and should make the most of it, no matter what. Sheffield had decided, centuries back, that the saddest thing about ephemerals was that their little lives rarely held time enough for love.)

"Oh, the deck isn't bad, Captain; we've slept on the floor all our lives." 'She yawned again, could not suppress it.

"Well...tomorrow we'll make better arrangements." (No, his cabin wouldn't do; his desk was in here, and his papers and files. The kids would be in his way and he in theirs. Could he and Joe convert two narrow bunks into one double bed? Probably-although it would nearly fill one stateroom. No matter, that bulkhead between their rooms was not structural-cut a door and they would have a suite. A "bridal suite." For a sweet bride. Yes.) He added, "Let's get you to bed before you fall out of that chair. Everything's going to be all right, dear." (I'll damned well see to it!) "And tomorrow night and from now on, you and Joe can sleep together in a wide bed."

"Really? Oh, that would be"-she yawned again-"lovely!" He had to steady her into her stateroom; she was asleep as she hit the bunk. Sheffield looked down at her, said softly, "Poor little kitten." He leaned down and kissed her, went back to his cabin.

There he dug out everything the slave factor had offered as proof of the alleged odd genetic heritage of Llita and Joe, and gave each item intense study. He was looking for clues to truth or falsity of the allegation that they were "mirror twins"-complementary diploids having the same mother and father. From such clues he hoped to estimate the probability of unfavorable gene reinforcement in any child Llita and Joe might have.

The problem seemed to divide into three (simplified) cases:

The two might be no relation to each other. Chance of a bad reinforcement: slight.

Or they might be the usual sort of brother and sister. Chance of bad reinforcement: too high to be ignored.

Or they might be (as alleged) zygotes resulting from complementary gametes-all genes conserved at reduction-division but with no duplication. In this case the chance of unfavorable reinforcement would be-what?

Let that wait. First assumption, that they were no relation but simply raised together from babyhood-no special hazard, forget it.

Second assumption, that they might be full siblings of the usual sort. Well, they did not look like it-but, more important, that scoundrel had set up a most elaborate "store" for such a swindle, and had used publicly the name of a bishop to back him up. The Bishop might be just as crooked (likely-he knew that priesthood too well!)-but why be so careless when slave babies were so cheap?

No, even if he assumed a swindle, there was no reason to expect an unnecessary risk in a setup so elaborate. So forget that, too: Llita and Joe were not sister and brother' in the ordinary sense-although they might have shared the same host-mother's womb. The latter, if true, was of no genetic significance.

So the remaining worry concerned the chance that the slave factor had told the truth-in which case what were the chances of a bad cross? How many ways could such artificially produced zygotes recombine unfavorably?

Sheffield tried to set up the problem while cursing the lack of sufficient data, plus the fact that the only real computer in the ship was the piloting computer, which could not be programmed for a genetics problem. He wished Libby were aboard. Andy would have stared at the bulkhead a few minutes, then come up with answers definite where possible and expressed in probability percentages where not.

A genetics problem, even with all pertinent data (many thousands!), was too unwieldy to solve without computer assistance.

Well, try some simplified illustrative problems and see what insight could be gained.

Primary assumption: Llita and Joe were "mirror twins"- genetically complementary zygotes from the same parent zygotes.

Control assumption: They were unrelated other than being part of the home planet's gene pool. (An extreme assumption, as slaves from the same area were likely to derive from a much smaller gene pool, which might be still further reduced by inbreeding. But this "most favorable normal breeding pattern" was the correct control against which he must measure.)

Simplified example: Test one gene site-call it site 187 of the twenty-first chromosome-for reinforcement, masking, or elimination, of an assumed "bad" gene, under each assumption.

Arbitrary assumption: Since this site might hold an unfavorable gene-or two, or none-in its gene pair, assume that the chance was exactly the same for both primary and control assumptions, and even-i.e., 25 percent no bad gene in the pair at the site, 50 percent one bad gene, 25 percent two bad genes-an extreme condition since, over the generations, reinforcement (two bad genes at one site) tended toward non-survival, either lethal or reducing a zygote's ability to compete. Never mind; make it even for both of them-there were no data on which to base any better assumption.

Wups! If a bad reinforcement was visibly demonstrated, or could be shown by tests, such zygotes would not be used. A scientist competent to attempt this experiment would use specimens as "clean" in a genetic sense as possible-free of all the hundreds (thousands now?) of identifiable hereditary defects; the primary assumption should include this subsidiary assumption.

These young people were free of any defect Sheffield could detect in a shipboard examination-which enhanced the probability that this horsethief had told the truth and these exhibits were sober records of an exotic and successful experiment in gene manipulation.

Sheffield now tended to believe that the experiment had taken place-and wished that he had the resources of a major Howard Clinic, say the one on Secundus, to give these kids a genetic going-over that he was not equipped to do aboard ship and not qualified to do in any case.

One nagging doubt lay in how he had acquired these kids. Why had that gonif been so anxious to sell? If they were what the exhibits claimed? Why sell them when breeding the two created complements back together was the next step of the experiment?

Well, perhaps the kids knew but he bad not asked the right questions. Certain it was that they had been brought up to believe that such was their proper destiny; whoever planned this had induced in the kids from earliest childhood a pair-bond stronger than most marriages, in Sheffield's long experience. More than any of his own- (Except one, except one!)

Sheffield put it out of his mind and concentrated on the theoretical consequences.

At the selected site, each parent zygote had been assumed to have three possible states or gene pairs in probability 25-50-25.

Under the control assumption, parents (diploid zygotes) both male and female would show this distribution at the selected site:

25% good-good ("clean" at that site)

25% good-bad (bad gene masked but could be transmitted)

25% good-bad (bad gene masked but could be transmitted)

25% bad-bad (bad reinforcement-lethal or disabling)

But under his modified primary assumption Sheffield assumed that the priest-scientist would discard bad stock as displayed in zygotes-which would eliminate the fourth group ("bad-bad") and leave a parent-zygote distribution for this site of:

33-1/3% good-good

33-1/3% good-bad

33-1/3% good-bad

Such culling gave marked improvement over the original random-chance situation and meiotic division would produce gametes (both sperm and ova) in this incidence:

Good, four out of six, and

Bad, two out of six-

-but with no way to detect the bad genes without destroying the gametes carrying them. Or so Sheffield assumed, while stipulating that the assumption might not be true forever. But to protect Llita (and Joe) it was necessary that his assumptions be pessimistic within the limits of available data and knowledge-i.e., that a bad gene could be spotted only as reinforcement in a zygote.

Sheffield reminded himself that the situation was never as black-and-white as was implied by "good-dominant" and "bad-recessive"-these descriptions were less complex than the real world they were used to image. A characteristic exhibited by an adult zygote was prosurvival or contrasurvival only in terms of what and when and where-and also in terms of more than one generation. An adult who died saving its progeny had to be counted a prosurvival whereas a cat that ate her own young was contrasurvival no matter how long she lived.

In the same vein, a dominant gene sometimes was of no importance one way or the other-e.g., brown eyes. Just as its corresponding recessive when paired and thereby reinforced to produce blue eyes gave the zygote exhibiting it no measurable disadvantage. The same was true of many other in-heritable characteristics-hair patterns, skin color, et cetera.

Nevertheless this description-good-dominant, bad-recessive-was in essence correct; it synopsized the mechanisms by which a race conserved its favorable mutations and destroyed (eventually) its unfavorable mutations. "Bad-dominant" was almost a contradiction in terms, as a thoroughly bad mutation which was dominant killed itself off (along with the unfortunate zygote inheriting it) in one generation, either lethal in womb or so damaging to the zygote that it failed to reproduce.

But the usual weeding process involved bad-recessives. These could remain in the gene pool until one of two events happened, each controlled by the blind laws of chance: Such a gene could pair with a gene like it when sperm fertilized ovum and thereby eliminate itself by eliminating the zygote-hopefully before birth, or-tragically-after birth. Or this bad-recessive might be eliminated by chromosome reduction at meiosis and the result would be a healthy baby who did not carry this bad gene in its gonads-a happy outcome.

Both these statistical processes slowly weeded out bad genes from the race's gene pool.

Unfortunately the first of these processes often produced babies viable but so handicapped they needed help to stay alive-sometimes needing economic help, born losers, who never managed to support themselves; sometimes needing plastic surgery or endocrine therapy or other interventions or supports. When Captain Aaron Sheffield had been practicing medicine (on Ormuzd and under another name), he had gone through stages of increasing frustration over these poor unfortunates.

At first he had tried to practice therapy by the Hippocratic Oath-or close to it; he was by temperament unable to follow any man-made rule blindly.

Then he had had a period of temporary mental aberrance during which he had sought a political solution to what he saw as a great danger: reproduction by defectives. He tried to persuade his colleagues to refuse therapy to hereditary defectives unless they were sterile or sterilized or willing to accept being sterilized as a precondition for receiving therapy. Worse yet, he had attempted to include in the definition of "hereditary defective" those who displayed no stigmata save that they had never managed to be self-supporting--on a planet not overcrowded and which he himself had selected centuries earlier as nearly ideal for human beings.

He got nowhere, he encountered nothing but fury and contempt-save for a few colleagues who agreed with him privately and denounced him publicly. As for laymen, tar-and-feathers was the mildest medicine they prescribed for Dr. "Genocide."

When his license to practice was lifted, Lazarus regained his normal emotional detachment. He shut up, realizing that. grim old Mother Nature, red of tooth and claw, invariably punished damfools who tried to ignore Her or to repeal Her ordinances; he need not interfere.

So he moved and changed his name again and started to get ready to go off-planet-when a plague hit Ormuzd. He had shrugged and gone back to work, an unfrocked physician whose services were temporarily welcome. Two years and a quarter of a billion deaths later he was offered his license back-subject to good behavior.

He told them what to do with that license and left Ormuzd as quickly as possible, eleven year later. He was a professional gambler during that wait, that being the handiest way he could see at the time for saving up the necessary.

Sorry, Minerva, I was talking about those mirror twins. So the silly little wench was knocked up, which caused me to slip back into my baby-cotching, country-doctor persona, and I stayed up all night worrying about her and her brother and the baby they were going to have-unless I did something about it. To find out what I should do, I had to reconstruct what had happened and from that what could happen. Having no certain data, I had to follow that old rule for finding a lost mule.

First I had to think like that slave factor- A man who auctions slaves is a scoundrel but too smart to risk a caper in which he might wind up a slave himself, or dead if he was lucky-which is what would happen to one who played fast and loose on Blessed with the authority of a bishop. Ergo, the scoundrel had believed what he had said.

That being so, I could table the question of why this factor was commissioned to sell these two, while I tried to think like a priest-scientist engaged in human biological experimentation. Forget the chance that these two were ordinary siblings-no point in picking such a pair even for a swindle. Forget the chance that they were unrelated in any fashion, as in such a case it would simply be a normal case of breeding. Sure, sure, any woman, can give birth to a monster, as even with the most genetically hygienic of breeding a bad mutation can show up-and an alert midwife may neglect to give that first lifegiving spank~-and many have.

So I considered only the third hypothesis: complementary diploids from the same parents. What would this experimenter do? What-would I do?

I would use as near perfect stock as I could find and not start the experiment until I had both a male and a female parent who tested "clean" genetically in the most subtle ways for which I could test-which on Blessed meant quite sophisticated ways, for that century.

For a selected gene site and an assumption of 50-50 in the Mendelian distribution of 25-50-25, this pre-experiment testing would chop off the 25 percent chance of reinforcement of a bad recessive and leave a distribution of one-third bad, two-thirds good, at the parent generation-possible parents of possible Joes and Llitas, that is.

Now I start putting together mirror twists in my persona as a priest-experimenter. What happens? If we consider the minimum number of gametes needed to represent this one-third and two-thirds distribution, we get eighteen possible "Joes," eighteen possible "Llitas"-but in both male and female two of them show up as "bad"-the bad recessive has reinforced and the zygote is defective; the experimenter eliminates them...or he may not need to; the reinforcement may be lethal.

We wind up at this point with an 8 & 1/3 percent improvement, or a total improvement of 25 percent in favorable chances for Llita's baby. I felt better. If you add the fact that I am the sort of a midwife who is too busy helping the mother to stop to spank a monster, the favorable chances went way up.

But all that this shows is that bad genes tend to be eliminated at each generation-with the tendency greatest with the worst genes and reaching 100 percent whenever reinforcement produces a lethal-in-womb-while favorable genes are conserved. But we knew that-and it applies also to normal outbreeding and even- more strongly to inbreeding, although the latter is not well thought of for humans as it hikes up the chances of a defective by precisely the same amount that it weeds-that being the hazard, that I was afraid of for Llita. Everybody wants the human gene pool cleaned up, but nobody wants its tragic aspects to take place in his own family. Minerva, I was beginning to think of these kids as "my family."

I still did not know anything about "mirror twins."

I decided to investigate a more probable incidence of bad recessives at a given site. Fifty-fifty is far too high for a really bad gene; the weeding is drastic, and the incidence drops to a lower percentage each generation, until the incidence of a particular bad gene is so low that reinforcement at fertilization is a rare event, as reinforcement is the square of the incidence; e.g., if one-in-a-hundred haploids carry this bad gene, then it will be reinforced one-in-ten-thousand fertilizations. I speak of the total gene pool, or in this case a minimum of two hundred adult zygotes, female and male; random breeding in such a pool will, bring together that bad reinforcement only by that long chance-a chance happy or unhappy depending on whether you look at it impersonally in terms of -cleaning the gene pool or personally in terms of individual human tragedy.

I looked at it very personally; I wanted Llita to have a healthy baby.

Minerva. I'm sure you recognized that 25-50-25 distribution as representing the most drastic case of inbreeding, one which can happen only half the time with tine breeding, only a quarter of the time with full siblings, in both cases through chromosome reduction at meiosis. A stockbreeder uses this drastic measure regularly-and culls the defectives and winds up with a healthy stabilized line. I have a nasty suspicion that such culling after inbreeding was sometimes used among royalty back. on old Earth-but certainly such culling was not used often enough or drastically enough. Royalism might work quite well if kings and queens were treated like racehorses-but regrettably they never were. Instead, they were propped up like welfare clients, and princelings who should have been culled were encouraged to breed like rabbits-bleeders, feebleminded, you name it. When I was a kid, "royalty" was a bad joke based on the worst possible breeding methods.

Captain Sheffield investigated next a lower incidence of a bad gene: Assume a lethal gene in the gene pool from which Joe and Llita's parents were derived. Being lethal, it could exist in an adult zygote only if it was masked in gene-pair by its benign twin. Assume a 5 percent masked incidence in zygotes-still too high to be realistic for a lethal gene but check, it anyhow. What trend would show?

Parent zygote generation: 100 females, 100 males, each a possible parent for Llita and for Joe-and 5 of the females and 5 of the males carry the lethal gene, masked.

Parent haploid stage: 200 ova, 5 of which carry the lethal gene; 200 spermatozoa, 5 of which carry the lethal gene.

Son-and-daughter zygote generation (possible "Joes" and possible "Llitas"): 25 dead through reinforcement of lethal gene; 1,950 carrying the lethal gene masked; 38,025 "clean" at that site.

Sheffield noted that a hypothetical hermaphrodite had crept in through not doubling his sample size in order to avoid anomaly through odd numbers, Oh, the hell with!-it did not change the statistical outcome. No, do it!-start with a sample of 200 males and 200 females with the same lethal-gene incidence for that site. This gave him:

400 ova, 10 with the lethal gene;

400 spermatozoa, 10 with that lethal gene-

-which gave in the next zygote generation (possible "Joes" and "Llitas"): 100 dead, 7,800 carriers, 152,100 "clean"- which changed no percentages but got rid of that imaginary hermaphrodite. Sheffield considered briefly the love life of an hermaphrodite, then got back to work. The numbers became very cumbersome, jumping to the billions in the next zygote generation (i.e., Little Nameless, now just started in Llita's belly)-l 5,210,000 culled by reinforcement, 1.216.800,000 carriers, 24,336,000,000 "clean"-and again he wished for a clinic computer and tediously converted the unhandy numbers into percentages: 0.059509 percent, 4.759 percent, 95.18 percent plus.

This showed a decided improvement: approximately 1 defect out of 1,680 (instead of 1 out of 1,600), the percentage of carriers decreased to below 5 percent and the number of "clean" increased to above 95 percent in one generation.

Sheffield worked several such problems to confirm what he had seen by inspection: A child from complementary diploids ("mirror twins") had at least as much chance of being healthy as did the offspring of unrelated strangers-plus the happy fact that such a baby's chances were improved by culling at one or more stages by the priest-scientist who had initiated the experiment-an almost certain assumption and one that made Joe the best possible mate for his "sister" rather than the worst.

Lilta could have her baby.