Time Enough For Love

VARIATIONS ON A THEME-XI

The Tale of the Adopted Daughter

Stand with me on Man's old planet, gazing north when sky has darkened; follow down the Dipper's handle, half again and veering leftward- Do you see it? Can you sense it? Nothing there but cold and darkness. Try again with both eyes covered, try once more with inner vision, hearken now to wild geese honking, sounding through the endless spaces, bouncing off the strange equations- There it glistens! Hold the vision, warp your ship through crumpled spaces. Gently, gently, do not lose it. Virgin planet, new beginnings- Woodrow Smith, of many faces, many names, and many places, led this band to New Beginnings, planet clean and bright as morning. End of line, he told his shipmates. Endless miles of untouched prairie, endless stands of uncut timber, winding rivers, soaring mountains, hidden wealth and hidden dangers. Here is life or here is dying; only sin is lack of trying. Grab your picks and grab your shovels; dig latrines and build your hovels-next year better, next year stronger, next year's furrows that much longer.

Learn to grow it, learn to eat it. You can't buy it; learn to make it! How d'you know until you've tried it? Try again and keep on trying- Ernest Gibbons, né Woodrow Smith, sometimes known as Lazarus Long, et al., President of New Beginnings Bank of Commerce, walked out of the Waldorf Dining Room. He stood on the veranda, picking his teeth and looking over the busy street scene. Half a dozen saddle mules and a loper (muzzled) were hitched just below him. Up the street to the right a mule train from out back was unloading at the dock of the Top Dollar Trading Post (E. Gibbons, Prop.). A dog lay in the dust in the middle of the street; mounted traffic went around him. Across the street to his left a dozen children played some noisy game in the yard of Mrs. Mayberry's Primary School.

He could count thirty-seven people without moving from that spot. What a change eighteen years made! Top Dollar was no longer the only settlement, or even the largest. New Pittsburgh was larger (and dirtier), and both Separation and Junction were large enough to be called towns; This from only two shiploads and in a colony that had almost starved its first winter.

He did not like to think about that winter. That one family-cannibalism had not actually been proved-still, it was just as well that they were all dead. Forget it. The weak ones died, and the bad ones died or were killed; the stock that survived was always stronger, smarter, more decent. New Beginnings was a planet to be proud of, and it would get better and better and better for a long time.

Still, almost twenty years was long enough to stay in one place; it was time to ship out again. In many ways it had been more fun when he and Andy, God rest his sweet innocent soul, had gone banging around the stars together, lining up real estate and never staying longer than necessary to assess potentialities. He wondered if his son Zaccur would be back on time with a third load of hopefuls.

He lifted his kilt and scratched above his right knee-checked his blaster-hitched at the belt band on the left, checked his needle gun-scratched the back of his neck, made sure of his second throwing knife. Ready to face the public, he considered whether to go to his desk at the bank or to the trading post and check that incoming shipment. Neither appealed to him.

One of the hitched mules nodded at him. Gibbons looked at him, then said, "Hi, Buck. How are you, boy? Where's your boss?"

Buck closed his lips tightly, then said explosively, "Pannnk!"

That settled one point: If Clyde Leamer had hitched here instead of in front of the bank, it meant that Clyde intended to use the, side door and was looking for another loan. Let's see what effort he makes to find me.

Skip the trading post, too-not only would Clyde look there next but it wasn't fair to make Rick nervous by showing up before he had time to steal his usuals; good storekeepers were hard to come by. Rick was always honest-5 per cent, no more, no less.

Gibbons felt in his shirt pocket, found a sweet, gave it to Buck on the flat of his hand. The mule took it neatly, nodded thanks. Gibbons reflected that these mutant mules, fertile and breeding true, were the biggest help to colonizing since the Libby Drive. They took cold-sleep easily-when you shipped swine, half your breeding stock arrived as pork-and they could look out for themselves in many ways; a mule could stomp a wild loper to death.

He said, "So long, Buck. Going for a walk. Walk. Tell Boss."

"Shoh-rrrongl" acknowledged the mule, "Pye!"

Gibbons turned left and headed out of town while considering how big a loan to offer Clyde Learner with Buck as security. A good-tempered, smart stallion mule was a prize- and about the only unmortgaged asset Clyde had left. Gibbons had no doubt that a loan on Buck would put Clyde back on his feet-literally-as soon as the loan was due. Gibbons felt no pity. A man who couldn't cut the mustard on New Beginnings was worthless; no sense in propping him up.

No, don't lend Clyde a dollar! Offer to buy outright-at 10 percent aver a fair price. A decent hardworking animal should not belong to a lazy bum. Gibbons had no need for a saddle mule-but it would do him good to ride an hour or so each day. Man got flabby sitting in a bank.

Marry again and give Buck to his bride as a wedding present-A pleasant thought, but the only Howards on planet were married couples and not one with a husband-high daughter-as well as all being in masquerade until the place grew populous enough that the Families would set up a clinic here. Safer. Once burned, forever shy. He avoided Howards, and they avoided each other, on the surface. Be nice to be married again, though. The Magee family-actually Barstows-had two or three girls growing up. Maybe he should pay them a call someday.

In the meantime- He felt gusty and good, stuffed with scrambled eggs and wicked thoughts, and wondered where there was a female who felt the same way and could duck out and share their interest. Ernie knew several who shared his enthusiasm-but not available at this time of day, not for a casual romp. Which was all he was wanted; it was not fair to engage in anything serious with an ephemeral no matter how sweet she was-especially if she was truly sweet.

Banker Gibbons was at the edge of town and about to turn back when he noticed smoke from a house farther out-the Harper place. What had been the Harper place, he amended, before they homesteaded outback, but now occupied by, uh, Bud Brandon and his wife, Marje-nice young couple from the second shipload. One child? He thought so.

Running a fireplace on a day like this? Possibly, burning trash-Hey, that smoke is not from the chimney!

Gibbons broke into a run.

As he reached the Harper place, the entire roof was burning. Lazarus skidded to a stop and tried to judge the situation. Like most older houses, the Harper place had no ground-floor windows and but a single door that fit tightly and opened outward-a design for a time when lopers and dragons were ubiquitous.

Opening that door would be opening the damper on a burning fire.

He did not waste an. instant debating it; that door must stay closed. He ran around the house, spotting windows of the upper floor and looking for means to reach one-a ladder or anything. Was anyone inside? Didn't the Brandons even have knotted-rope fire escapes? Probably not; good rope came from Earth and retailed at ninety dollars a meter- the Harpers would not have left any behind.

A window with its shutters open and smoke pouring out- He yelled, "Hey! Anybody home?" A figure showed at the window, and something was thrown out to him.

Automatically he made a good catch, spotting what it was while in the air, going to the ground with it to soften the impact. A small child- He looked up, saw an arm hanging over the windowsill.

The roof fell in, the arm disappeared.

Gibbons scrambled up fast, holding, the little boy-no, little girl, he corrected-and moved hastily back from the holocaust. He did not consider the possibility that someone might be alive in that raging fire; he simply hoped that they had died quickly and gave it no more thought. He cradled the child in his arms. "Are you all right, honey?"

"I guess so," she answered, then added gravely, "but Mama's awful sick."

"Mama is all right now, dear," he said gently, "and so is Papa."

"You're sure?" The child twisted in his arms, tried to see the burning house.

He interposed his shoulder. "I'm sure." He held her more firmly and started walking.

Halfway back to town they encountered Clyde Learner, mounted on Buck. Clyde reined up. "Oh, there you are! Banker, I want to talk to you."

"Stow it, Clyde." -"Huh? But you don't understand; I've got to have some money. Nothing but bad luck the whole season. Seems like everything I touch-"

"Clyde-shut your yap!"

"What?" Learner seemed to notice for the first time that the banker was carrying something. "Hey! ain't that the Brandon kid?"

"'Yes."

"Thought so. Now about this, loan-"

"I told you to shut up. The bank won't lend you another dollar."

"But you've got to listen. Seems to me the community ought to help a farmer who's had bad luck. If it weren't for the farmers-"

"You listen. If you spent as much time working as you do talking, you wouldn't need to talk about 'bad luck.' Even your stable is dirty. Mm...what price do you want for that stud brute?"

"Buck'? Why, I wouldn't sell Buck. But here's what I had in mind, Banker. You're a kindly man even if you do talk rough and I bow you won't see my kids starve. Now Buck is a valuable property, and I figure he ought to be security for about-well, about, say-"

"Clyde, the best thing you can do for your kids is to cut your throat. Then people would adopt them. No loan, Clyde-not a dollar, not a dime. But I'll buy Buck myself, right now. Name a price."

Learner gulped and hesitated. "Twenty-five thousand."

Gibbons started walking toward town. Learner said hastily, "Twenty thousand!" Gibbons did not answer.

Learner reined the mule around, turned in front of the banker, and stopped. "Banker, you've got me by the short hairs. Eighteen thousand and you're stealing him."

"Learner, I won't steal from you. Put him up for auction, and I might bid. Or might not. How much do you think he'll bring at auction?"

"Uh...fifteen thousand."

"You think so? I don't. I know how old he is without looking at his teeth, and just what you paid for him, off the ship. I know what people around here can afford and will pay. But go ahead; he's yours. Bear in mind that if you put a low-bid price against him, you owe the auctioneer ten percent even if he doesn't sell. But it's your business, Clyde. Now get out of my way; I want to get this child into town and lying down; she's had a bad time."

"Uh...what will you pay?"

"Twelve thousand."

"Why, that's robbery!"

"You don't have to take it. Suppose an auction brings fifteen thousand dollars-as you hope. Your net is thirteen five. But suppose an auction brings only ten thousand, which I find more likely. You net nine thousand. G'bye, Clyde; I'm in a hurry."

"Well-thirteen thousand?"

"Clyde, I named my top price. You've dealt with me often enough to know that when I say it's top dollar, then it's top dollar. But-throw in that saddle and bridle and answer one question and I'll sweeten it by five hundred dollars."

"What question?"

"How did you happen to migrate?"

Learner looked startled, then laughed unmirthfully. "Because I was crazy, if you want to know the truth."

"Aren't we all? That's hardly an answer, Clyde."

"Well...my old man is a banker-and as hard-nosed, as you are! I was doing all right, I had a proper, respectable job, teaching. College. But the pay wasn't much, and my old man was always snotty about it when I ran a little short. Snoopy. Disparaging Finally I got so sick of it that I asked him what he would think of paying Yvonne s fare and mine in the 'Andy'J.'? Migrate. Be rid of us.

To my surprise he agreed But I didn't back out. I knew that a man with a fine education like mine could get ahead anywhere and it wasn't like we was being dumped on some wild planet; we were second wave you may remember.

Only it was a wild planet and I've had to do things that no gentleman ought to have to touch. But you just wait Banker, kids around here are growing up and there will be a place for higher education, not the trivia Mrs. Mayberry teaches in that so-called school of hers. That's where I come in- you'll be calling me 'Professor' yet, and speaking respectfully.

'You'll see."

"Good luck to you. Are you accepting my offer? Twelve thousand five hundred, net, including bridle and saddle."

"Uh...I said I was, didn't I?"

"You didn't say. You still have not."

"I accept."

The girl child had listened quietly, face serious. Gibbons said to her, "Can you stand up a moment, dear?"

He put her down; she trembled and held onto his kilt. Gibbons dug into his sporran-, then using Buck's broad rump as a desk, wrote a draft and a bill of sale. He handed them to Learner. "Take that to Hilda at the bank. Sign the bill of sale and give it back to me."

Silently Learner signed, looked at the draft and pocketed it, handed over the bill of sale. "Thanks; Banker-you old skinflint. Where do you want him delivered?"

"You've delivered him. Dismount."

"Huh? How do I get to the bank? How am I supposed to get home?"

"You walk."

"What? Well, of all the sneaky, underhanded tricks! You get the mule when I get the cash. At the bank."

"Learner, I paid top dollar for that mule because I need him now. But I see that we did not have a meeting of minds. Okay, hand back my draft and here's your bill of sale."

'Learner looked startled. "Oh, no, you don't! You made a deal."

"Then get off my mule at once"-Gibbons just happened to rest his hand on the handle of the all-purpose knife every man carried-"and dogtrot into town and you'll be there before Hilda closes,. Now move." His eyes, cold and blank, held Learner's.

"Can't you take a joke?' Learner grumbled as he swung down. He started walking rather fast toward town.

"Oh, Clyde!"

Learner stopped; "What do you want now?"

"If you see the Volunteer Fire Team headed this way, tell them it's too late; the Harper place is gone. But tell McCarthy I said it wouldn't hurt to send a couple of men to check."

"Okay, okay!"

"And, Clyde-what was it you used to teach?'

"Teach'? I taught 'Creative Writing.' I told you I had a good education."

"So you did. Better hurry; Hilda closes promptly, she has to pick up her kids at Mrs. Mayberry's school."

Gibbons ignored Learner's answer, picked up the little girl, then said, "Steady, Buck. Stand still, old fellow," He swung the child high, settled her gently astride the mule's withers. "Hang onto his mane." He toed the left stirrup, swung up behind her, scooted back in the saddle, then lifted her again and placed her somewhat in his, lap but mostly in the saddle just back of the pommel. "Hang onto the horn, dear. Both hands. Comfortable?"

"This is fun!"

"Lots of fun, baby girl. Buck! Hear me, boy?"

The mule nodded.

"Walk. Walk back to town. Slow walk. Steady. Don't stub your feet. Get me? I'm not going to use the reins."

"Shrrow...Rrrawkr"

"Right, Buck." Gibbons took a hitch in the reins, let them fall loosely on Buck's neck-squeezed the mule with his knees, let him go. Buck ambled toward town.

After a few minutes the little girl said gravely, "What about Mama and Daddy?"

"Mama and Daddy are all right. They know I'm taking care of you. What's your name, dear?"

"Dora."

"That's a nice name, Dora. A pretty name. Do you want to know my name?"

"That man called you 'Banker.'"

"That's not my name, Dora; that's just something I do sometimes. My name is...'Uncle Gibbie.' Can you say that?"

"'Uncle Gibbie.' That's a funny name."

"So it is, Dora. And this is Buck we are riding. He is a friend of mine, and he'll be your friend, too, now-so say hello to Buck."

"Hello, Buck."

"Hayrrroh Jorrrah!"

"Say, he talks lots plainer than most mules! Doesn't he?"

"Buck is the best mule on New Beginnings, Dora And the smartest. When we get rid of this bridle-Buck doesn't need a bit in his mouth-he'll be able to talk plainer still and you can each him more words. Would you like that?"

"Oh, yes!" Dora added, "If Mama lets me."

"It's' all right with Mama. Do you like to sing, Dora?"

"Oh, sure! I know a clapping song. But we can't clap right now. Can we?"

"Right now I think we had better hang on tight." Gibbons rapidly reviewed in his mind his repertoire of happy songs, rejected a round dozen as unsuitable for young ladies. "How about this one?

"There's a pawnshop

On the corner

Where I usually keep my overcoat.

"Can you sing that, Dora?'

"Oh, that's easy!" The baby girl sang it in a voice so high that Gibbons was reminded of a canary. "Is that all, Uncle Gibbie? And what's a 'paunshot'?"

"It's a place to keep overcoats when you don't need them. Lots more, Dora. Thousands and thousands of verses."

"Thousands and thousands-' Why, that's almost as much as a hundred. Isn't it?"

"Almost, Dora. Here's another verse:

"There's a trading post

By the pawnshop

Where my sister sells candy.

"Do you like candy, Dora?"

"Oh, yes! But Mama says its 'spensive."

"Won't be so expensive next year, Dora; there'll be more sugar beets cropped. But...Open your mouth and close your eyes, and I'll give you something for a s'prise!'" 'He felt around in his shirt pocket, then said, "Oh, sorry, Dora; the surprise will have to wait until I can get to the trading post; Buck got the last one. Buck likes candy, too."

"He does?"

"Yes and I'll teach you how to give it to him without losing a finger by mistake. But candy isn't too good for him, so he gets it only as a special surprise. For being a good boy. Okay, Buck?"

"Oh-gay!...Pawsss!"

Mrs. Mayberry's school was letting out as Gibbons halted Buck in front of it. When he lifted Dora down, she seemed very tired, so he picked her up again. "Wait, Buck." The stragglers among the pupils stared but separated and let him through.

"Afternoon, Mrs. Mayberry." Gibbons had gone there almost by instinct. The schoolmistress was a gray-haired widow, fifty or more, who had outlasted two husbands, and was coping sensibly with her meager chance of finding a third, preferring to support herself rather than live with one of her daughters, stepdaughters, or daughters-in-law. She was one who shared Ernest Gibbons' enthusiasm for the hearty pleasures in life but was as circumspect about it as he was. He considered her sensible in every way-a prime prospect for marriage were it not for the unfortunate fact that they ran on different time rates.

Not that he let her know this. He had not been a disclosed Howard when they both had arrived in the first shipload, and, although freshly rejuvenated on Secundus when he had reappeared on Earth and organized the migration, he had elected to be thirty-five or so (cosmetically). Since that time he had carefully aged himself each year; Helen Mayberry thought of him as a contemporary, returned his friendship, shared mutual pleasure with him from time to time without trying to own him. He respected her highly.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Gibbons. Why, it's Dora! We missed you, dear; what happened! And- Is that a bruise?" She looked closely, said nothing about the fact that the little girl was filthy dirty.

She straightened up. "Seems to be just a smudge. I'm glad to see her; I fretted a little this morning when she didn't show up with the Parkinson children. It's almost Marjorie Brandon's time-perhaps you knew?"

"Vaguely. Where can I put Dora down for a few minutes? Conference. Private."

Mrs. Mayberry's eyes widened slightly, but she answered at once. "The couch- No, put her on my bed." She led the way, said nothing about getting her white coverlet dirty, went back into the schoolroom with him after he assured Dora that they would be gone only a few moments.

Gibbons explained what had happened. "Dora doesn't know that her parents are dead, Helen-nor do I think it's time to tell her,"

Mrs. Mayberry considered it. "Ernest, are you sure they both died? Bud would have seen the fire if he had been working his own fields, but he sometimes works for Mr. Parkinson."

"Helen, that was not a woman's hand I saw. Unless Marje Brandon has thick black hair on the back of her hands."

"No. No, that would be Bud." She sighed. "Then she's an orphan. Poor little Dora! A nice child. Bright, too."

"Helen, can you take care of her a few days? Will you?"

"Ernest, the way you phrase that is almost offensive. I will take care of Dora as long as I am needed."

"Sorry, I didn't mean to phrase it unpleasingly. I don't expect it to be long; some family will adopt her. In the meantime keep track of your expense, then we'll work out what her room and board should be."

"Ernest, that will come to exactly zero. The only cost will be aboout enough food to feed a bird. Which I can certainly do for Marjorie Brandon's little girl."

"So? Well, I can find some family to board her. The Learners. Someone-"

"Ernest!"

"Get your feathers down, Helen. That child was placed in my hands, her father's last dying act. And don't be a dumb fool; I know to the penny how much you manage to save. As well as how often you have to take tuition in food rather than cash. This is a cash deal. The Learners would jump at it-as well as several others. I don't have to leave Dora here-and won't, unless you are sensible."

Mrs. Mayberry looked grim-then suddenly smiled and looked years younger. "Ernest, you're a bully. And a bastard. And other things I never say out of bed. All right-room-and-board."

"And tuition. Plus any special expenses. Doctor's bills, maybe."

"Triple bastard. You always pay for anything you get, don't you? As I should know." She glanced at the unshuttered windows. "Step out here in the hall and seal it with a kiss. Bastard."

They moved, she placed Herself so that the angle, did not permit anyone to see them, then delivered a kiss that would have astounded her neighbors.

"Helen-"

She brushed her lips against his. "The answer is; No, Mr. Gibbons. Tonight I'll be busy reassuring a baby girl."

"I was about to say, Don't give her that bath I know you intend to until I get hold of Doc Krausmeyer and have him examine her. She seems all right-but she may have anything from broken ribs to a skull concussion. Oh, get her clothes off and sponge her a little for the worst of the dirt; that won't hurt her and it will make it easier for Doc to examine her."

"Yes, dear. Get your lecherous hands off my bottom and I'll get to work. You find Doc."

"Right away, Mrs. Mayberry."

"Until later, Mr. Gibbons. Au 'voir."

Gibbons told Buck to wait, walked over to the Waldorf, found (as he expected), Dr. Krausmeyer in the bar. The physician looked up from his drink. "Ernest! What's this I hear about the Harper place?'

'Well, what do you hear about it? Put down that glass and grab your hat. Emergency."

"Now, now! Haven't seen the emergency yet that wouldn't leave time to finish a drink. Clyde Learner was just in and bought us a round of drinks-bought this one you urged me to abandon-and told us that the Harper place had burned and killed the whole Brandon family. Says he tried to rescue them, but it was too late."

Gibbons briefly considered the desirability of a fatal accident happening to both Clyde Learner and Doe Krausmeyer some dark night-but, damn it, while Clyde would be no loss, if Doc died, Gibbons would be forced to hang out his own shingle-and his diplomas did not read "Ernest Gibbons." Besides, Doc was a good doctor when sober-and, anyhow, it's your own fault, old son; twenty years ago you interviewed him and okayed the subsidy. All you saw was a bright young intern and failed to spot the incipient lush.

"Now that you mention it, Doc, I did see Clyde hurrying toward the Harper place. If he says he was too late to save them I would have to back his story. However, it was not the whole family; their little girl, Dora, was saved."

"Well, yes, Clyde did say that. He said it was her parents he couldn't save."

"That's right. It's the little girl I want you to attend. She's suffering from multiple abrasions and contusions, possibly broken bones, possible internal injuries, a strong possibility of smoke poisoning-and a certainty of extreme emotional shock; very serious in a child that age. She's across the street at Mrs. Mayberry's place." He added softly, "I think you ought to hurry, Doctor, I really do. Don't you?"

Dr. Krausmeyer looked unhappily at his drink, then straightened up and said, "Mine host, if you will be so kind as to put this on the back of the bar, I shall return." He picked up his bag.

Dr. Krausmeyer found nothing wrong with the child, gave her a sedative. Gibbons waited until Dora was asleep, then went to arrange temporary board for his mule. He went to Jones Brothers ("Fine Stock-Mules Bought, Sold, Traded, Auctioned-Registered Stallions Standing at Stud") because his bank held a mortgage on their place.

Minerva, it wasn't planned; it just grew. I expected Dora to be adopted in a few days, a few weeks, some such. Pioneers don't feel about kids the way city people do. If they didn't like kids, they wouldn't have the temperament to pioneer. And as soon as pioneer kids stop being babies, the investment starts paying off. Kids are an asset in pioneer country.

I certainly did not plan to raise an ephemeral, or hold any fear that it would be necessary-nor was it necessary. I was beginning to simplify my affairs, expecting to leave soon, as my son Zaccur should show up any year.

Zack was my partner then, in a loose arrangement based on mutual trust. He was young, a century and a half or such, but steady and smart-out of Phyllis Briggs-Sperling by my last marriage but two. A fine woman, Phyllis, as well as a number-one mathematician. We made seven children together and every one of them smarter than I am. She married several times-I was her fourth* (* Fifth, James Matthew Libby was her fourth. J.F. 45th) and, as I recall, the first woman to win the Ira Howard Memorial Century Medal for contributing one hundred registered offspring to the Families. Took her less than two centuries but Phyllis was a girl of simple tastes, the other being pencil and paper and time to think about geometry.

I digress. To engage in the pioneering business profitably takes a minimax of a suitable ship and two partners, both shipmasters, both qualified to mount a migration and lead it-otherwise you are taking a shipload of city folks and abandoning them in wilderness...which often- happened in the early days of the Diaspora.

Zack and I did it properly, each fully qualified as captain in space, or as leader on a strange planet-taking turns. The one who stays behind when the ship leaves really does pioneer; he can't fake it, he can't just wave the baton. He may not be political head of the colony-I preferred not to be; talk is so time consuming. What he does have to be is a survivor, a man who can force that planet to feed him, and by his example show others how-and advise them if they want it.

The first wave is a break-even; the captain unloads and goes back for more migrants; the planet offers nothing for export that soon. The trip has been paid for by fares charged the migrants; profit, if any, will come from the partner on the ground selling what else the ship has carried-mules, hardware, swine, fertile chicken eggs-to the pioneers, on credit at first. Which means the partner on the ground has to look sharp and mind his rear; it doesn't take much to convince migrants who are having a tough time that this bloke is profiteering and should be lynched.

Minerva, the six times I did this-let myself be left behind with the first wave of a colony-I never once plowed a field without weapons at hand and I was always far more cautious with my own breed than I was with any dangerous animals that planet held.

But on New Beginnings we were past most such hazards. The first wave had made it, though just barely that terrible first winter-Helen Mayberry was not the only widow who had married a widower as a result of a weather cycle that Andy Libby and I had not anticipated; the star there-called "the Sun' as always, but you can check your memories for catalog designation-New Beginnings' Sun was a variable star by about the amount that old Sol is, just enough to give "unusual" wheather-and when we arrived we hit the bad weather jackpot.

But those who made it through that winter were tough enough to stand anything; the second wave had a much easier time.

I had disposed of my farm to migrants of the second wave and was putting my attention on business and trade to build up a cargo for the Andy J. to take back after Zack unloaded the third wave-and I would go back, too. Go somewhere, that is. What and where and how would be settled after I saw Zack.

In the meantime I was bored, getting ready to wind up my on-planet affairs, and found this waif an interesting diversion.

Delightful, I should say. Dora was a baby who was born grown-up. Utterly innocent, ignorant in the fashion that a small child necessarily is but most intelligent and delighted to learn anything. There was no meanness in her anywhere, Minerva, and I found her naïve conversation more entertaining than most talk of adults-usually trivial and rarely new.

Helen Mayberry took as much interest in Dora, and we two found ourselves in loco parentis without planning it.

We consulted each other and kept the baby girl away from the burial-some charred bones, including tiny ones of the baby that had never been born-and kept her away from the memorial service, too. Some weeks later, when Dora seemed to be in good shape and after I had had time to have a gravestone cut and erected, I took her out there and let her see it. She could read, and did-names and dates of her parents, and the single date for the baby,

She looked it over solemnly, then said, "That means Mama and Daddy won't ever be coming back. Doesn't it?"

"Yes, Dora."

"That's what the kids at school said. I wasn't sure."

"I know, dear. Aunt Helen told me. So I thought you had better see for yourself."

She looked again at the headstone, then said gravely, "I see. I guess I do. Thank you, Uncle Gibbie."

She didn't cry, so I didn't have any excuse to pick her up and console her. All I could think of to say was; "Do you want to go now, dear?"

"Yes."

We had ridden out on Buck, but I had left him at the foot of the hill, there being an unwritten rule against letting mules or tamed lopers walk on graves. I asked if she wanted mc to carry her-piggyback, perhaps. She decided to walk.

Halfway down-she stopped. "Uncle Gibbie?"

"Yes, Dora?"

"Let's not tell Buck about this."

"All right, Dora."

"He might cry."

"We won't tell him, Dora."

She did not say any more until we were back at Mrs. Mayberry's school. Then she was very quiet for about two weeks, and never mentioned it again to me, nor-I think-to anyone. She never asked to go back there, although we went riding almost every afternoon and often within sight of graveyard hill.

About two Earth-years later the Andy J. arrived, and Captain Zack, my son by Phyllis, came down in the gig to make arrangements for landing the third wave of migrants. We had a drink together, and I told him I was staying over another trip, and why. He stared. "Lazarus, you are out of your mind."

I said quietly, "Don't call me 'Lazarus.' That name has had too much publicity."

He said, "All right. Although there is no one around but our hostess-Mrs. Mayberry, did you say?-and she's gone out to the kitchen. Look, uh, Gibbons, I was thinking of making a couple of trips to Secundus. Profit in it, and ways to invest our net on Secundus-safer than investing on Earth now, things being the way they are."

I agreed that he was almost certainly right.

"Yes," he said, "but here's the point. If I do, I won't be back this way for, oh, maybe ten standard years. Or longer. Oh, I will if you insist; you're majority shareholder. But you'll be wasting your money and mine, too. Look, Laz- Ernest, if you must take care of this kid-though I don't see that it's your obligation-come with me and bring her along. You could put her in school on Earth-as long as you post bond to insure that she leaves. Or perhaps she could settle on Secundus, although I don't know what the immigration rules are there now; it's been a long time since I've been there."

I shook my head. "What's ten years? I can hold my breath that long. Zack, I want to see this child grown up and able to make it on her own-married, I hope, but that's her business. But I won't uproot her; she's had one shock of that sort and shouldn't have to soak up another while she's still a child."

"On your head be it. You want me back in ten years? Is that long enough?"

"More or less but don't rush. Take time enough to show a profit. If it takes longer, you'll pick up a better cargo here next time. Something better than food and soft goods."

Zack said, "There is nothing better than food to ship to Earth these days. Sometime soon we're going to have to stop touching at Earth, just trade among the colonies."

"As bad as that?"

"Pretty bad. They won't learn. What's this about trouble over your bank? Do you need a show of force while the 'Andy J.' is overhead?"

I shook my head. "Thanks, Captain, but that's not the way to do it. Or I would have to go along with you. Force is an argument to use when nothing else will do and the issue is that important. Instead I'm going to go limp on them."

Ernest Gibbons did not worry about his bank. He never worried over any issue less important than life-and-death.

Instead he applied his brain to all problems large and small as they came along, and enjoyed life. Especially he enjoyed helping raise Dora. Right after he acquired her and the mule Buck-or they acquired him-he discarded the savage curb bit Learner had used (salvaging the metal) and had the Jones Brothers' harnessmaker convert the bridle into a hackamore. He ordered also another saddle, sketching what he wanted and offering a bonus for early delivery. The leather crafter shook his head over that sketch, but delivered.

Thereafter Gibbons and the baby girl rode Buck in a saddle built for two: a man-sized saddle in the usual position, with a tiny saddle with tiny stirrups an integral part of it in that forward position where a normal saddle carries its pommel horn. A little wooden arch, leather covered, curved up from this, a safety bar the child could grab. Gibbons also had this extended saddle fitted with two belly bands, more comfortable for the mule, safer on steep trails for riders.

They rode that way several seasons, usually an hour or more after school-holding three-cornered conversations at a walk, or singing as a trio with Buck loudly off key but always on beat with his gait acting as a metronome, Gibbons carrying the lead, and Dora learning to harmonize. It was often the "Paunshot" song, which Dora regarded as her own, and to which she gradually added verses, including one about the paddock next to the schoolhouse, where Buck lived.

But soon there was too much girl for the tiny forward saddle as Dora grew straight and slender and tall. Gibbons bought a mare mule, after trying two others-one was rejected by Buck because she was (so he said) "shdoop'd" and the other because she failed to appreciate a hackamore and tried to run away.

Gibbons let Buck pick the third, with advice from Dora but none from him-and Buck acquired a mate in his paddock, and Gibbons had the stable enlarged. Buck still stood at stud for a fee but seemed pleased to have Beulah at home. However, Beulah did not learn to sing and talked very little. Gibbons suspected that she was afraid to open her mouth in Buck's presence-she was willing to talk, or at least to answer, when Gibbons rode tier alone...for it worked out, to Gibbons' surprise, that Beulah was his saddle mule; Dora rode the big male brute, even when the stirrups of the stock saddle had to be shortened ridiculously to fit her child's legs.

But steadily the stirrups had to be lengthened as Dora grew toward young womanhood. Beulah dropped a foal; Gibbons kept her and Dora named her "Betty" and trained the baby mule as she grew, at first letting her amble along behind with an empty saddle, then teaching her to accept a rider in the paddock. There followed a time when their daily rides became sixsomes and often picnics, with Mrs. Mayberry up on Buck, the steadiest, and with the lightest load-Dora--on Betty, and with Gibbons as usual riding Beulah. Gibbons remembered that summer as a most happy one: Helen and himself knee to knee on the older mounts while Dora and the frisky youngster galloped ahead, then turning back with Dora's long brown hair flying in the breeze.

One such time he asked, "Helen, are the boys beginning to sniff around her?"

"You old stud, don't you think about anything else?"

"Come off it, dear; I asked for information."

"Certainly the boys are noticing her, Ernest, and she is noticing them. But I will do all the worrying necessary. Not much; she's far too choosy to put, up with second best."

The happy family picnics did not resume the following summer. Mrs. Mayberry was feeling the years in her bones, and could mount and dismount only with help.

Gibbons had plenty of time to be ready before the murmurings about his monopoly of the banking business came to a head. The New Beginnings Bank of Commerce was a bank of issue; he (or Zaccur) always set up such a bank in each colony they pioneered. Money was necessary to a growing colony; barter was too clumsy. Some medium of exchange was needed even before government was needed.

He was not surprised when he was invited to meet with the town's selectmen to discuss the matter; it always happened. That evening, as he trimmed his Vandyke and added, a touch more gray to it and to the hair on his head in preparation for the confrontation, he reviewed in his mind proposals he had heard in the past for making water run uphill, the sun to stand still, and one egg to be counted as two. Would there be some novel numbskullery tonight? He hoped so but did not expect it.

He plucked hairs from his "receding" hairline-damn it, it was getting harder and harder to age enough each year!-then put on his war-plaid kilt...not only more impressive but with more ways to conceal weapons-and get at them quickly. He was fairly sure that no one was, as yet, annoyed enough at him to start violence, but once he had been too optimistic; since that time he had been a pessimist as a fixed policy.

He hid some items, locked up others, set some gadgets that Zaccur had fetched last trip but which were not offered for sale at the Top Dollar T.P., unlocked his-door, hand locked it from outside, and left by the route through the bar, so that he could tell the barkeep that would be away "a few minutes."

Three hours later Gibbons had settled one point: No one had been able 'to think of any new way to debase currency that he had not heard at least five hundred years earlier-more likely a thousand-and each was certainly much, much older in history. Early in the meeting he asked the Moderator to have the Town Scribe write down each question so that he could answer them in a lump-and was allowed to have it his way by being balky.

At last the Moderator Selectman, Jim "Duke" Warwick, said, "That seems to be it. Ernie, we have a motion to nationalize-I guess that's the word-the New Beginnings Bank of Commerce. You're not a selectman, but we all agree that you are a' party with a special interest, we want to hear from you. Do you want to speak against the proposal?'

"Not at all, Jim. Go right ahead."

"Eh? I'm afraid I didn't understand you."

"I have no objection to the bank being nationalized, if that's all, let's adjourn and go to bed."

Someone in the audience called out, "Hey, I want my question about New Pittsburgh money' answered!"

"And mine about interest! Interest is wrong-it says so in the Bible!"

'Well, Ernie? You said earlier that you would answer questions."

"So I did. But if you are nationalizing the bank, wouldn't it make more sense to put questions, to your state treasurer, or whatever you decide to call him? The new head of the bank. By the way, who is he? Hadn't he better sit up here on the platform?"

Warwick pounded his gavel, then said, "We haven't got that far, Ernie. For the time being the entire Council of Selectmen is the finance committee-if we go ahead with this."

"Oh, by all means go ahead. I'm shutting down."

"What do you mean?"

"Just what I said: I quit. A man doesn't like to have his neighbors dislike him. The people of Top Dollar don't like what I've been doing or this meeting would never have been called. So I've quit. The bank is closed it will not reopen tomorrow. Nor ever with me as president of it. That's why I asked who your state treasurer will be. I'm as interested as anyone in finding out what we are going to use for money from here on-and what it will be worth."

There was dead silence; then the Moderator had to pound his gavel and the Sergeant at Arms was very busy, all to shouts ,of "What about my seed loan?" "You owe me money!" "I sold Hank Brofsky a mule on his personal note-what do I collect?" "You can't do this to us!"

Gibbons sat quietly, not letting his alertness show, until Warwick got them quieted down. Then Warwick said, wiping sweat from his-brow: "Ernie, I think you've got some explaining to do."

"Certainly, Mr. Moderator. The liquidation will be as orderly as you will let it be. Those who have: deposits will be paid...in banknotes, that being what was deposited. Those who owe money to the bank-well, I don't know; it depends on the policies the council sets up. I suppose I'm bankrupt. I can't know until you tell me what you mean when-you say my bank is being 'nationalized.'

"But I have bad to take this step: Top Dollar Trading Post is no longer buying with banknotes-they may be worthless. Each deal will have to be barter. But we will continue to sell for banknotes. But I took down the posted prices just before I came here tonight...because the stock I have on hand may be all I ever have with which to redeem those banknotes. Which could force me to raise prices. It all depends on whether 'nationalize' is simply another word for 'confiscate.'"

Gibbons spent several days explaining to Warwick the elementary principles of banking and currency, patiently and with good humor-to Warwick by Hobson's choice because, the other selectmen found that they were too busy with their farms or businesses to take on the chore. There had been one candidate for the job of national banker or state treasurer (no agreement as yet on title) from outside the selectmen, a farmer named Learner, but his self-nomination got nowhere despite his claim of generations of experience in banking plus a graduate degree in such matters.

Warwick got his first shock while he was taking inventory, with Gibbons, of the contents of the safe (almost the only safe on New Beginnings and the only one of Earth manufacture); "Ernie, where's the money?"

"What money, Duke?"

"What money?' Why, these account books show that you've taken in thousands and thousands of dollars. Your own trading post shows a balance of nearly a million. And I know you've been collecting mortgage payments on three or four dozen farms-and haven't loaned hardly anything for a year or more. That's been one of the major complaints, Ernie, why the selectmen just had to act-all that money going into the bank and none coming out. Money scarce everywhere. So where's the money, man?"

"I burned it," Gibbons answered cheerfully.

"What?"

"Certainly. It was piling up and getting too bulky. I didn't dare keep it outside the safe even though we don't have much theft here-if somebody stole it, it could ruin me. So far the past three years, as money came into the bank, I've been burning it. To keep it safe."

"Good God!"

"What's the trouble, Duke. It's just wastepaper."

"'Wastepaper'? It's money."

"What is 'money,' Duke? Got any on you? Say a ten-dollar bill?" Warwick, still looking shocked, dug out one. "Read it, Duke," Gibbons urged. "Never mind the fancy engraving and the pretty paper that can't be made here as yet-read what it says."

"It says it's ten dollars."

"So, it does. But the important part is where it says that this bank will accept that note at face, value in payment of debts to the bank." Gibbons took out of his sporran a thousand dollar banknote, set fire to it while Warwick watched in horrified fascination. Gibbons rubbed the char off his fingers. "Wastepaper, Duke, as long as it's in my possession. But if I let it get into circulation, it becomes my IOU that I must honor. Half a moment while I record that serial number; I keep track of what I burn so that I know how much is still in circulation. Quite a lot, but I can tell you to the dollar. Are you going to honor my IOU's? And what about debts owed to the bank? Who gets paid? You? Or me?"

Warwick looked baffled. "Ernie, I just don't know. Hell, man, I'm a mechanic by trade. But you heard what they said at the meeting."

"Yeah, I heard. People always expect a government to work miracles-even people who are fairly bright other ways. Let's lock up this junk and go over to the Waldorf and have a beer and discuss it."

"-or should be, Duke, simply a public bookkeeping service and credit system in which the medium of exchange is stable. Anything more and you are jiggering with other people's wealth, robbing Peter to pay Paul.

"Duke, I did my best to keep the dollar stable by keeping key prices stable-seed wheat in particular. For over twenty years the Top Dollar Trading Post has paid the same price for prime seed wheat, then resold it at the same markup- even if I took a loss and sometimes I did. Seed wheat isn't too good a money standard; it's perishable. But we don't have gold or uranium as yet, and it has to be something.

"Now look, Duke-when you reopen as a treasury, or a government central bank, or whatever you call it, you're certain to have pressures on you to do all sorts of things. Lower the interest rates. Expand the money supply. Guarantee high prices to the farmer for what he sells, guarantee low prices for what he buys. Brother, you're going to be called worse names than they call me, no matter what you, do."

"Ernie-there's only one thing for it. You know how...so you've got to take the job of community treasurer."

Gibbons laughed heartily. "No, sirree, bub, I've had that headache for more than twenty years; now it's your turn. You grabbed the sack, now you hold it. If I let you put me back in as banker, all that will happen is that they will lynch both of us."

Changes-Helen Mayberry married the Widower Parkinson, went to live with him in a small new house on the farm now worked by two of his sons; Dora Brandon became schoolmistress of what was still called "Miss Mayberry's Primary School." Ernest Gibbons, no longer banker, was now silent partner in Rick's General Store, while his own warehouses bulged with cargo for the Andy J. if and when. Soon, he hoped, as the new inventory tax was eating into cash he had held out for trading, and inflation was eating into the buying power of that cash. Better hurry, Zack, before we are nibbled to death by ducks!

At last the ship appeared in New Beginnings' sky, and Captain Zaccur Briggs came down with the first load of the fourth wave-almost all of them quite old. Gibbons refrained from comment until the partners were alone:

"Zack, where did you find those walking corpses?"

"Call it charity, Ernest. That sounds better than what did happen."

"Such as?"

"Captain Sheffield, if you want our ship to go back to Earth again, you are welcome to take her there yourself. Not me. Not there. If a man is seventy-five years old there now, he becomes officially dead. His heirs inherit, he can't own property, his ration books are canceled-anybody can kill him just for the hell of it. I didn't get these passengers on Earth; they were refugees at Luna City and I took as many as I could-no messroom passengers; cold-sleep or nothing. I insisted on payment in hardware and pharmaceuticals, but cold-sleep let me hold down the price per head. I think we'll break even. If not, we've got investments on Secundus; I haven't lost money for us. I think."

"Zack, you worry too much. Make money, lose money- who cares? The idea is to enjoy it. Tell me where we are going next, and I can begin picking cargo-I've got twice the metric tonnage we can stow. While you get her loaded, I'll liquidate what we aren't lifting and invest the proceeds. Leave it with a Howard, that is." Gibbons looked thoughtful. "This new situation probably means no Clinic here any time soon?"

"I think that is certain, Ernest. Any Howard who needs rejuvenation soon had better take passage with us; we are bound to hit Secundus in a leg or six, no matter where we go. Then you are definitely coming along? All over your problem? What became of that baby girl? The short-lifer."

Gibbons grinned. "I don't think I'll let you lay eyes on her, Son; I know you."

Captain Briggs' arrival caused Gibbons to miss three days running his usual daily ride with Dora Brandon. On the fourth day he showed up at the schoolhouse as school let out, Briggs having gone back up for a couple of days. "Got time for a ride today?"

She flashed him a smile. "You know I have. Half a minute while I change."

They rode out of town, Gibbons as usual riding Beulah but with Dora on Betty. Buck was saddled (for his pride), but the saddle was empty; he was now ridden only ceremonially, by mule years he was quite old.

They paused on a sunny hilltop well out of town. Gibbons said, "Why so silent, little Dora? Buck has had more to say than you have."

She turned in the saddle and faced him. "How many more rides will we have together? Is this the last?"

"Why, Dora! Of course we will have more rides together."

"I wonder. Lazarus, I-"

"What did you call me?"

"I called you by your name, Lazarus."

He stared at her thoughtfully. "Dora, you're not supposed to know that name. I'm your 'Uncle Gibbie.'"

"'Uncle Gibbie' is gone, and so is 'Little Dora. I'm almost as tall as you are now, and I've known for two years who you are, and I had guessed it before that-guessed that you were one of the Methuselahs, I mean. But I said nothing to anyone. And never will."

"Don't make it a promise, Dora; it isn't necessary. It's just that I never meant to burden you with it. How did I give myself away? I thought I had been most careful."

"You have been. But I have seen you nearly every day almost as far back as I can remember. Little things. Things no one would notice who didn't see you-really look at you-every day."

"Well, yes. But I didn't expect to have to keep it up so long. Helen knew?"

"I think she did. We never spoke of it; But I think she guessed the same way I did...and she may have figured out which Methuselah you are-"

"Don't call me that, dear. It's like calling a Jew a 'kike.' I'm a member of the Howard Families. A Howard."

"I'm sorry. I didn't know that the name mattered."

"Well...it doesn't, really. It's just a word that reminds me of a time long gone. A time of persecution. Sorry, Dora; you were telling me how you learned that my name is Lazarus? One of my names, that is, for I am 'Ernest Gibbons' just as truly."

"Yes, 'Uncle Gibbie.' It was in a book. A picture. A microbook one has to read with the viewer at the town library. I saw this picture and winked on past it-then clicked back and looked again. You weren't wearing whiskers in the picture and your hair was longer...but the longer I stared at it, the more it looked like my foster uncle. But I couldn't be sure-and couldn't, ask."

"Why not, Dora? I would have told you the truth."

"If you had wanted me to know, you would have told me. You always have reasons for everything you do, everything you say. I learned that when I was so little we used to ride the same saddle. So I didn't say anything. Until-Well, until today. Knowing that you are leaving."

"Have I said that I was leaving?"

"Please! Once, when I was very little, you told me a story about when you were a little boy hearing wild geese honking in the sky-how, when you grew up, you wanted to find out where they went. I didn't know what a wild goose was; you had to explain to me. I know you follow the wild goose. When you, hear them honking, you have to go. You've been hearing them in your head for three or four years. I know...because when you hear them, I hear them, too. And now the ship is here and it's very loud in your head. So I knew."

"Dora, Dora!"

"Don't, please. I'm not trying to hold you back, truly I'm not. But before you go, I want something very much."

"What, Dora'? Uh, didn't mean to tell you this yet, but Fm leaving some property for you with John Magee. Should be enough for-"

"No, no, please! I'm a grown woman now, and self-supporting. What I want doesn't cost anything." She looked him steadily in the eye. "I want your child, Lazarus."

Lazarus Long took a deep breath, tried to steady his heartbeat. "Dora, Dora, my dear, you are hardly more than a child yourself; it is too soon for you to be talking about having one. You don't want to marry me-"

"I did not ask you to marry me."

"I was trying to say that, in a year or two-or three, or four-you will want to marry. Then you will be glad that you did not have my child."

"You refuse me this?"

"I'm saying that you must not let an emotional upset over parting cause you to make any such hasty decision."

She sat very straight in the saddle, squared her shoulders. "It is not a hasty decision, sir. I made up my mind long ago, even before I guessed that you were a-Howard. Long before. I told Aunt Helen, and she said that I was a silly girl and that I must forget it. But I have never forgotten it, and if I was a silly girl then, I am much older now and know what I am doing. Lazarus, I am not asking for anything else. It could be syringes and such, with Dec Krausmeyer's help. Or-again she looked him squarely in his eyes-"it could be the usual way." She dropped her eyes, then looked up again, smiled briefly and added, "But, either way, it had best be quickly. I don't know the ship's schedule; I do know mine."

Gibbons spent all of a half second reviewing certain factors in his mind. "Dora."

"Yes...Ernest?"

"My name is not 'Ernest,' nor is it 'Lazarus.' My right name is Woodrow Wilson Smith. So since I am no longer 'Uncle Gibbie'-and you are right on that point; 'Uncle Gibbie' is gone and will never be back-you might as well call me 'Woodrow.'"

"Yes, Woodrow."

"Do you want to know why I had to change my name?'

"No, Woodrow."

"So? Do you want to know how old I am?"

"No, Woodrow."

"But you want to have a child by me?"

"Yes, Woodrow."

"Will you marry me?"

Her eyes widened slightly. But she answered at once: "No, Woodrow."

Minerva, at that point Dora and I almost had our first- and last, and only-quarrel. She had been a sweet and lovable baby who had grown into a sweet-tempered and utterly lovable young woman. But she was as stubborn as I am with the sort of firmness that can't be argued with, because she would not argue. I pay her the respect of believing that she had thought this through, all aspects, and had long since made up her mind to bear my child if I would let her-but not to marry me.

As for me, I did not ask her to marry me on impulse; it just sounds like it. A supersaturated solution will crystallize almost instantly; that's the shape I was in. I had lost interest in that colony years earlier, as soon as it stopped presenting real challenges; I was itching to do something else. At the top of my mind I thought I was waiting for Zack to return...but when the Andy J. finally did orbit in that sky, two years overdue-well, I learned that it was not what I had been waiting for.

When Dora made that amazing request, I knew what I had been waiting for.

Surely, I tried to argue her out of it-but I was playing devil's advocate. In fact, my mind was busy with, what and how. All the objections to marrying a short-lifer still remained. My even stronger objections to leaving a pregnant woman behind me-shucks, dear, I didn't spend a nanosecond on that.

"Why not, Dora?"

"I told you. You are leaving, I will not hold you back."

"You won't hold me back. No one ever has yet, Dora. But-no marriage, no child."

She looked thoughtful; "What is your purpose in insisting on a marriage ceremony, Woodrow? So that our child will bear your name? I don't want to be a sky widow...but if that is what it takes, let's ride back to town and find the Moderator. Because it really should be today. If the books are right about how to figure it."

"Woman, you talk too much." She did not answer this; he went on: "I don't give a hoot about a wedding ceremony-certainly not one in Top Dollar."

She hesitated, then said, "May I say that I do not understand?"

"Eh? Yes, surely. Dora, I won't settle for one child. You're going to have half a dozen children by me, or more. Probably more. Maybe a dozen. Any objection?"

"Yes, Woodrow-I mean No, I do not object. Yes, I will have a dozen children by you; Or more."

"Having a dozen kids takes time; Dora. How often should I show up? Every two years, maybe?"

"Whatever you say, Woodrow. Whenever you come back- each time you come back-I'll have a child by you. But I do ask that we start the first one at once."

"You crazy little idiot, I believe you would do it that way."

"Not 'would'-shall. If you will."

"Well, we're not going to do it that way." He reached out and took her hand. "Dora, will you go where I go, do what I do, live where I live?"

She looked startled but answered steadily, "Yes, Woodrow. If this is truly what you want."

"Don't put any conditions on it. Will you, or won't you?"

"I will."

"If it comes to a showdown, will you do what I tell you to? Not give me any more stubborn arguments?'

"Yes, Woodrow."

"Will you bear my children and be my wife till death do us part?"

"I will."

"I take thee, Dora, to be my wife, to love and protect and cherish-and never to leave you...so long as we both shall live. Don't sniffle! Lean over here and kiss, me instead. We're married."

"I was not either sniffling! Are we really married?"

"We are. Oh, you can have any wedding ceremony you want. Later. Now shut up and kiss me."

She obeyed. Some long moments later he said, "Hey, don't fall out of your saddle! Steady, Betty! Steady, Beulah! 'Durable Dora, who taught you to kiss that way?"

"You haven't called me that since I started to grow up. Years."

"Haven't kissed you since you started to grow up, either. For good reason. You didn't answer my question."

"Is that one of the things I just promised? Whoever taught me to kiss, it was before I was a married woman."

"Mmm, you may have a point there. I'll take it up with my legal staff and have them write you a letter. Besides it might be native talent rather than instruction. Tell you what, Dora, I'll refrain from quizzing you about your sinful past...and you leave mine alone. A deal?"

"Yes indeed-for I have a very sinful past!"

"Piffle, darling, you haven't had time to be sinful. Swiped some sweets I had fetched for Buck, maybe? Very sinful."

"I never did any such thing! But lots worse."

"Oh, sure. Give me another of those native talent kisses."

Presently he said, "Whew! No, the first one wasn't a fluke. Dora, I think I married you just barely in time."

"You insisted on marrying me-my husband. I didn't make an issue of it."

"Conceded. Sweetheart, are you still anxious to get started on that baby? Now that you know that I am not going away without you?"

"No longer anxious. Eager, perhaps. Yes, eager is the right word. But not demanding."

"'Eager' is a fine word. Me, too. I could also add 'demanding.' Who knows?-you may have other native talents."

She barely, smiled. "If not, Woodrow, I'm sure you can teach me. I'm willing to learn. Eager."

"Let's head back to town. My apartment? Or the schoolhouse?"

"Either one, Woodrow. But see that little stand of trees? It's much closer."

It was almost dark as they neared town; they rode back at a gentle walk. As they passed the Markhams' house on the old Harper place, Woodrow Wilson Smith said, "Adorable Dora-"

"Yes, my husband?"

"Do you want a public wedding?"

"Only if you want one, Woodrow. I feel very much married. I am married."

"You certainly are. Not going to run away with a younger man?"

"Is that a rhetorical question? Not now or ever."

"This young man is an immigrant who may not be down until the last or nearly the last trip. He is about my height, but he has black hair and a darker skin than I have. Can't say just how old he is, but he looks about half the age I look. Smooth-shaven. His friends call him 'Bill.' Or 'Woodie.' Captain Briggs says Bill is very fond of young schoolmarms and is anxious to meet you."

She appeared to consider it. "If I kissed him with my eyes closed, do you think I would recognize him?"

"It's possible, Dorable. Almost certain. But I don't think anyone else will. I hope they don't."

"Woodrow, I don't know your plans. But if I recognize this 'Bill,' should I attempt to convince him that I am that other schoolmarm?' The one you were singing about? Rangy Lil?"

"I think you could convince him, dearest one. All right, 'Uncle Gibbie' is back, temporarily. It will take Ernest Gibbons three or four days to wind up what he must do here, then he'll say good-bye to people-including his foster niece, that old-Maid schoolmarm Dora Brandon. Two days later this Bill Smith comes down with the last, or nearly the last, load of cargo from the ship. You had better be packed and ready to leave by then because Bill is going to drive past your schoolhouse the following day, or the day after that, just before dawn, headed for New Pittsburgh."

"New Pittsburgh. I'll be ready."

"But, we won't stay there more than a day or two. On we go, past Separation; then right over the horizon. We're going to tackle Hopeless Pass, dear. Does that appeal to you?"

"I go where you go."

"Does it appeal to you? You won't have anyone to talk to but me. Until you bake one and teach him-or her-to talk. No neighbors. Lopers and dragons and God knows what else. But no neighbors."

"So I'll cook and help you farm-and bake babies. When I have three I'll open 'Mrs. Smith's Primary School.' Or should we call it 'Rangy Lil's Primary School'?"

"The latter, I think. For young hellions. My kids are always hell-raisers, Dora. You'll teach school with a club in your hand."

"If necessary, Woodrow. I've got some like that now, and two of them outweigh me. I clobber them as necessary,"

"Dora, we don't have to tackle Hopeless Pass. We could leave in the 'Andy J.' and go to Secundus. Briggs tells me that there are over twenty million people there now. You could have a nice house. Inside plumbing. A flower garden instead of breaking your back helping ale to make a farm. A good hospital with real doctors when you have babies. Safety and comfort."

"Secundus.' That's where all the-Howards moved. Isn't it?"

"About two-thirds of them. A few are right here, as I told you. But we don't admit it because when you are outnumbered, it is neither safe nor comfortable to be a Howard. Dora, you don't have to make up your mind in only three or four days. That ship will stay in orbit here as long as I want it to. Weeks. Months. As long as I order it to stay."

"Goodness! You can afford to have Captain Briggs hold a starship in orbit? Just to let me make up my mind?"

"I shouldn't have rushed you. But it's not exactly a case of affording it, Dora-although it doesn't cost much to stay in orbit. Uh...I've kept my own counsel so long that I'm out of the habit of being a married man, with a wife I can trust with secrets; I must stop it. I own sixty percent of the 'Andy J.' Dora; Zack Briggs is my junior partner. And my son. Your stepson, you could say."

She did not answer at once. Presently he said, "What's the trouble, Dora? Did I shock you?"

"No, Woodrow, I'm just having to get used to new ideas. Of course you've been married before, you're a Howard. I'd never thought about it, that's all. A son-sons. And daughters, too, no doubt."

"Yes, surely. But what I was getting at is that I've done some bad planning-through my own selfishness. I was rushing you when there is no need for it. If we stay on New Beginnings, I want 'Ernest Gibbons' to disappear-leave in the 'Andy J.,' that is, as he is getting too old: I can't keep it up much longer.

So young Bill Smith, who's much nearer your age, takes his place...which looks better and no one here will ever suspect that I'm a Howard.

"I've worked this shenanigan many times; I know how to make it stand up. But I was trying to get rid of 'Ernest Gibbons' as fast as possible because he's your old foster uncle who is about three times your age and wouldn't dream of patting your pretty bottom, nor would you encourage him to. As everybody knows. But I want to pat your pretty bottom, Dorable."

"And I want you to pat it." She reined up; they were getting close to where houses were near together. "And more. Woodrow, you're saying that we can't live together right away because of what the neighbors might think. But who taught me never to care what the neighbors think? You did."

"True. Although sometimes it's expedient to make the neighbors think what you want them to think in order to influence what they do and say-and this might be such a time. But I also tried to teach you to be patient, dear one."

"Woodrow, I will do exactly what you tell me to. But I'm not really patient about this. I want my husband in my bed!"

"And I want to be there."

"Then what does it matter if people assume that I choose to tell my Uncle Gibbie good-bye in bed? Or that I then go away with a new settler almost at once? Woodrow, you didn't say a word about it at the time-but you knew that I was not virgin, I'm certain. Don't you think there must be others who know it, too? Probably the whole town. I've never worried about it. Why should I worry what they think now?"

"Dora."

"Yes, Woodrow?"

"I'll be in your bed every night, that's settled."

"Thank you, Woodrow."

"The pleasure is mine, madam. Or half of it, at least; you seem to enjoy it, too-"

"Oh, I do! And you know it. Or should."

"So stipulated, let's pass to other matters-except to say that had I found you virgin-big as you are, old as you are- it would have worried me a little, and I might have felt that Helen had not been quite the wholesome influence that I thought she was. That she was indeed, bless her heart! The matter of pretending to be dear old 'Uncle Gibbie' who would never touch little Dora was purely for your face; since it does not worry you, let's drop it. What I started to say is that you can take as long as you like in deciding whether to pioneer here or go to Secundus. Dora, Secundus has more than inside plumbing; it has a Rejuvenation Clinic."

"Oh! You need to 'be near one, Woodrow?"

"No, no! For you, dear."

She was very slow in answering. "That would not make me a Howard."

"Well, no. But it helps. Rejuvenation therapies don't make Howards last forever, either. Some people are helped quite a lot by them; some are not. Maybe someday we'll know more- but now, on the average, rejuvenation techniques seem to about double whatever a person could expect normally, whether he's a Howard...or not a Howard. Uh, do you know anything about how long your grandparents lived?"

"How could I, Woodrow? I just barely remember that I once had parents. I don't even know the names of my grandparents."

"We can find out. The ship carries records of every migrant who takes passage in her. I'll tell Zack-Captain Briggs-to look up your parents' records. Then-in time, for it will take time-I can have your family traced on Earth. Then-"

"No, Woodrow."

"Why not, dear?"

"I don't need to know, I don't want to know. Long ago, three or four years at least, shortly after I figured out that you were a Howard, I also figured out that Howards don't really live any longer than we ordinaries do."

"So?"

"Yes. We all have the past and the present and the future. The past is just memory, and I can't remember when I began, I can't remember when I wasn't. Can you?"

"No."

"So we're even on that. I suppose your memories are richer; you are older than I am. But it's past. The future? It hasn't happened yet, and nobody knows. You may outlive me...or I may outlive you. Or we might happen to be killed at the same time. We can't know and I don't want to know. What we both have is now...and we have that together and it makes me utterly happy. Let's get these mules put away for the night and enjoy some now."

"Suits." He grinned at her. "E.F., or F.F.?"

"Both!"

"That's my Dora! Anything worth doing is worth overdoing."

"And doing again. But just a moment, dear. You told me that Captain Briggs is your son, and consequently my stepson. I suppose he is, but I really can't think of him as such. But- and you needn't answer this; we agreed not to quiz each other about our pasts-"

"Go ahead and ask. If it suits me, I'll answer."

"Well...I can't help being curious about Captain Briggs' mother. Your former wife?'

"Phyllis? Phyllis Briggs-Sperling is her full name. What do you want to knew about her dear? Very nice girl. Further Deponent Sayeth Not. No invidious comparisons."

"I guess I'm being snoopy."

"Perhaps you are. Not that I mind, and it can't hurt Phyllis. Dear, that was a couple of centuries ago; forget it."

"Oh. She's dead?"

"Not that I know of. Zack would know; he's been to Secundus recently. I think he would have told me. But I haven't stayed in touch with her since she divorced me."

"Divorced you? A woman of poor taste!"

"Dora. Dora! Phyllis is not a woman of poor taste; she is a very nice girl. I had dinner with her and her husband the last time I was on Secundus. Zack and I did, I mean-and she and her husband had gone to the trouble of rounding up my other children by her, those who were on planet, and some of my other relatives and made it a family party for me. Thoughtful of her. By the way, she's a schoolmarm, too."

"She is?"

"Yup. Libby Professor of Mathematics, Howard University, New Rome, Secundus. If we go there, we can look her up and you can decide for yourself what sort of person she is."

Dora did not answer. She kneed Betty and started on down the street; Beulah pulled abreast without being told. Buck said, "Shupper...dime!" quite emphatically, and trotted on ahead.

"Lazarus-"

"Careful with that name, dear."

"No one can hear me: Lazarus, unless you insist...I don't want to live on Secundus."