“Yes, Ma’am.” He trailed after her, and added softly, “I better start calling you ‘Captain’ now. Set an example.”
She stopped. They were sufficiently alone that she could speak privately by lowering her voice. “Tom Cat.”
“Yes?”
“Don’t call me ‘Captain’—you are Captain until I’ve passed my tests. Then we’ll see. And don’t call me ‘Ma’am.’ I’m either ‘Mrs. Salomon’ or ‘Joan,’ depending on the company, just as before. But in private I’m still your ‘Pussy Cat’. I hope I am.”
“Well…okay.”
“Let’s hear you say it.”
“Pussy Cat. Brave little Pussy Cat. Puss, you surprise me more, longer I know you.”
“That’s better. Tom Cat, Jake knew all along about your tomcatting with me.” (Oh, what a lie! Eunice, she never told me—and I suspected only once and decided I was mistaken.) (I know, Jock. Boss is a deceitful one and not at all truthful and besides she tells fibs even to me.)
“He did?”
“Yes, Thomas Cattus. But Jake Salomon was a true gentleman and saw only what he was expected to see. He never teased me about my little follies. Simply indulged me. But he didn’t tell on himself, either. Do you know if he ever made it with Hester?” (Now see here, Johann—) (Pipe down, Jock; I’ve wondered, too.)
“Uh…hell, Pussy, all men are alike, all after the same thing.”
“And all women are alike, we’ve all got it. Well?”
“Hester spread for him first chance we gave ’em. But she didn’t tell me. Ashamed. Had to catch ’em at it, then twist her arm.”
“Surely you didn’t hurt her?”
“No, no, Puss, I don’t rough a broad, never. Didn’t catch ’em, not to hurt, neither. Backed out fast—then asked later. Told her I knew for certain, so how about coming clean, was all. She did. She hadn’t told me—because of you.”
“Oh. I trust you then told her about me?”
Her sailing master looked horrified. “Pussy, you think I’m out o’ my frimpin’ head? Look, I like what you got, just fine. But I ain’t foolish. I don’t rat on broads. If I did, you’d be last on the list. Believe.”
“Tell Hester if you wish, dear; it can’t matter now. Then at some later time, she would not be surprised if she found me doing what widows so often do.” (‘They don’t tell, they don’t yell, they rarely swell—and they’re grateful as hell.’) (Jock, you’re a dirty old ghost.) “Well, let’s set our course. What ETA, Tom Cat? If it’s later than midnight, I’ll relieve you for the midwatch.”
“You will like hell, Ma’am—Pussy Cat. You sack in a full night, you need it. I’ll put Fred on the wheel now and Hank on lookout—and I’ll drag a corking mat back near the helm and catch some sack drill till we get close in. Pussy Cat, you’ve got to promise me you’ll stay in your cabin. Not go wandering around, I’ll think you’re meaning to jump overboard.”
“Is that an order, Captain?”
“Uh—yes, damn it, that’s an order!”
“Aye aye, sir. It won’t be necessary to check on me; I’ll be in my cabin, door locked, and I will be asleep. I promise not to jump overboard earlier than tomorrow night.”
“Pussy Cat, you wouldn’t jump? Would you?”
“With Jake’s baby inside me? Captain, I do have a concept of duty. Until I have this baby, my life is not my own. I not only must not suicide—I would not in any case—but I must also keep calm and happy and healthy and not risk so much as a dirty drinking glass. So don’t worry about me. Good night, Tom.” She headed for the cabin.
(Nothing doing at that shop tonight, partners—we’re faced with nobility. I think Anton is our best bet.) (The Passionate Pole! Jock darling, I’m not sure your heart can stand it.) (Fortunately, my dears, my old pump no longer has to stand anything—and the one you turned over to Joan, Eunice, is a Swiss watch among tickers. Doesn’t race even when she is racing. But you know that.) (Quit chattering, you two. Either of you have any idea how to get Olga out of the way?)
(Push her overboard?) (Eunice!) (Can’t I joke, Boss? I like Olga, she’s a nice girl.) (Too nice, that’s the problem. Not a tart like you, or me—or Hester.) (Hrrrmph!) (Jake, you’re not in court, dear. The subject is tail. Mine. Ours, I mean.) (Johann, I simply wanted to say that, if you took our problem directly to Mrs. Dabrowski, you might find her sympathetic. I always found her so.)
(Jake! Are you implying that you’ve had Olga? I don’t believe it.) (I don’t either, Jock. If you had said ‘Eve’ I would have boggled—but would have believed you. But Olga? Hell, she wears a panty even in the pool.) (Which comes off very easily—in private.)
(Eunice, I think he means it. Well, I’ll be damned! You and I are pikers. ‘Me ’at’s off to the Duke.’ All right, Jake—tell us how to go about it.) (About what? Getting her out of the way? Just ask her, she’s very sympathetic—and felt my death more than you wenches have.) (Jock, that’s not fair. We felt it…but we’re overjoyed that you decided to stay anyhow.)
(Thank you, my dears. Conversely, if you would like to invite her in—) (Do you mean a Troy?) (I understand that such is the current argot, Eunice; in my youth we called it something else. But wouldn’t it be more of a Pentagon? Five?)
(The word is ‘Star’ today, Jock. But let me give you the first rule of happy ghosting. You must never, never, never admit that you are here, nor tease Joan to admit it. Because she might get groused and do so. Whereupon Joan would wind up in a shrink factory—with us along—and there go our happy games. Look, you’ve been married to Joan quite a while now and jumping her even longer—did you ever suspect that I was present, too?) (Not once.) (You see? Don’t admit it and they leave us alone.)
(Eunice, Jake would never let on. But now about Olga—Jake, did you ever teach her Om Mani?) (No.) (Boss, I begin to see. We’ve taught it to Anton, Jock. Is Olga limber enough to sit in Lotus?) (Lively Legs, Mrs. Dabrowski is limber enough for anything.) (That does it, Joan. Olga will join in, even if she thinks it’s heathen—tonight she will. For you. And there is no easier way to get a party peeled down and rolling than by forming a Circle. You’ve done it again and again.) (As I recall, dears, Joan even used it on me. When it, was hardly necessary. Okay, let’s find the Dabrowskis.)
28
APPOINTMENTS OPEN—FEDERAL GS-19 Assistant Welfare Field Operative (Learner-Visitor) Literacy requirement C. Brown Belt or higher gives 10% preference. Veteran’s preference, parolee’s preference, relevant-experience preference all semi-cumulative. See local Civil Service or Welfare office for pre-examinations and salary formulas. Latter based on standard scale plus field cost-of-living factor and hazardous area rating, cumulative.
In a compromise vote today the Society for Rational Astrology accepted a “grandfather clause” in the licensing bill before the Nebraska Legislature. The Committee on Agriculture & Mechanical Arts then voted the amended bill “Do Pass” by 7 to 2—tantamount to passage in the state’s unicameral legislature. The Protective Association of Intuitive Astrologers called it “the greatest setback for science since Galileo.” The Lunar Commission announced that the Colonies are now 102% self-sufficient in foodstuffs but added that the ten-year plan would continue in order to increase out-migration potential. MAY-DECEMBER ROMANCE LOSES…at sea in their honeymoon yacht. The young widow remained in seclusion…
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“—door for processing. Pleasure meeting you, Mrs. Garcia; good luck, Doctor. Next applicant! Step lively, sit down over there—your husband not with you? Or is it ‘Miss’?”
“I am a widow, Mr. Barnes.”
“So? We don’t get many widows, nor does the Commission encourage them. Out-migration is not an escape for emot
ional problems. Such as bereavement. Nor do we accept applicants so advanced in pregnancy unless there are overriding advantages to the Commission, not the applicant. Take the couple who went through just before you. She’s pregnant—but he is a medical doctor, one of the top categories for subsidized out-migration. So I passed her. Might have passed her on her own; she’s a nurse. But unless you have such a special qualification—”
“I know, sir. Dr. Garcia is my personal physician.”
“Eh? Even if I accept you, that is no guarantee that he would still be your physician on the Moon. Unlikely, in fact. Unless, by coincidence—”
“Mr. Barnes, you have my out-migration proposal in front of you. It has been prepared with great care by my attorney. It might save time to glance through it.”
“All in good time. You would be surprised at how many people come in here without having the slightest idea of what they are up against. They seem to assume that the Commission is anxious to have them. Nothing could be farther from the truth. Nineteen out of twenty who sit down in that chair I do not permit to go on through the processing door. I make it a practice to get rid of the more obvious time-wasters quickly. Uh, Salomon, Eunice.’ Mrs. Salomon, I want to know first—Mrs. ‘Salomon’?”
“‘Mrs. Jacob Moshe Salomon,’ maiden name ‘Joan Eunice Smith.’”
“Your face did look somewhat familiar but your features, uh—”
“—are chubby now. Yes. I’ve gained twenty-six pounds—which Dr. Garcia finds satisfactory for my height, build, and date of impregnation.”
“That brings up other problems. A woman is often mistaken as to the date—and first babies are notoriously in a hurry to arrive. Our Lunar transports aren’t planned for new infants, nor for childbirth. I want you to realize the hazards.”
“I know them. Need we go into this?”
“I must be the judge of that.”
“Mr. Barnes, my doctor is satisfied that I know the exact date of impregnation and—Is all of this confo?”
“Mmm. I’ll put it this way. None of it is privileged. I am a lawyer but not your lawyer. I hear more intimate details from applicants than you can imagine but I haven’t time to waste on gossip.”
“I am glad to hear that, Mr. Barnes…as I would be much displeased if what I am about to tell you were to become a matter of gossip.”
“Hmmph. I think I felt a chill breeze. Are you trying to impress me with your importance? Don’t bother; applicants are all the same size once they come in here. Your money doesn’t mean a thing.”
“Was my manner unfriendly? I’m sorry.”
“Well—Let’s stick to the business at hand. A lawyer in the Lunar Commission’s Civil Service—a job with no squeeze, believe me—doesn’t often find himself dealing with rich people. But it makes no difference; if you don’t want to be frank with the Commission, that’s your problem. But I won’t approve an applicant’s proposal until I am satisfied about it. All about it. Now you implied that you had something pertinent to tell me which you class as ‘confo.’ I don’t accept your restriction. Now…do you talk? Or shall we terminate this interview?”
“You leave me no option, sir. This is not a first baby I am carrying, so no ‘first baby’ hazard exits. If the ‘Goddard’ lifts on schedule, I have every reason to expect to have my baby on the Moon. Dr. Garcia is not worried about the timing and neither am I.”
“So? This brings up other problems. This earlier child—does he, or she, affect your estate?”
“No. That is why this must be treated as confo. I did not have that earlier baby.”
“Eh? You lost me. Better clarify that.”
“Please, Mr. Barnes. I am a sex-change and a brain transplant. Surely you know it—good heavens, the whole world knows it. The first baby this body gave birth to was before that time. It is the reputation of my donor I wish to protect, not mine. The child was illegitimate. Common as that is these days—no longer a legal concept in most states and the very word almost obsolete—so great is my gratitude to the sweet and gracious lady who formerly lived in this body, I would be most unhappy were I to be the cause of any tarnish on her memory.”
(Boss, you know I don’t give a kark.) (Let her handle it, Eunice; this petty bureaucrat can gum up the works if Joan does not divert him just so. Are we kibitzing Joan?—or are we going to the Moon?) (Hell, yes, we’re going to the Moon! My ‘Yes’ vote, plus your ‘Yes’ vote, plus half of Joan’s vote—a natural fence-straddler she is, legs always open—which works out to a five-to-one majority for out-migrating. A landslide!) (So let her alone while she handles him.) (If she didn’t have that big belly, she could handle him a lot better. And faster.)
(Hrrmph. Eunice, you claim you were there…so why don’t you tell poor old melancholy Jacques the straight on that? It was me, wasn’t it? It was I?) (Jock old ghost, I love you dearly—but if you think I’ll split on my twin, you don’t know me.) (Oh, well. A baby is a baby is a baby. I just hope it doesn’t have two heads.) (Two heads would be stretching a good thing too far. Jock, I’ll settle for two balls.) (Thinking about incest, Lively Legs?) (And why shouldn’t I think about it? We’ve tried everything else.)
(Jake, Eunice—will you two please go back to sleep? Squire Pecksniff here is searching for flyspecks on Alec’s masterpiece. Trying to think up more objections—which I’ll have to answer.)
“Mrs. Salomon, I find myself quite disturbed by one aspect concerning this alleged earlier child—the great likelihood that some future action may be brought challenging your disposition of your estate when this child, or some person claiming to be this child, turns up. The fifty percent of estate required—as a minimum—from any out-migrant not of a subsidized-vocation category is a source of capital to the colonies; the Commission is not willing to part with a dime of it once the Commission carries out its half of the bargain. Yet such a ‘missing heir’ could lay claim to all of your estate.”
“Most unlikely, Mr. Barnes, but if you will look at ‘Appendix G,’ you will see how my lawyer handled it. A small trust to buy up any such claim, with a fifty-year conversion of any remainder to a named charity.”
“Uh, let me find it. Mmm, Mrs. Salomon, do you call ten million dollars ‘small’?”
“Yes.”
“Mmm. Perhaps I had better look closely at the other financial provisions. Have you been advised that, even though the Commission claims only half of your fortune, the other half cannot be used to buy you anything on the Moon? In other words, poor or rich, on the Moon out-migrants start off equal.”
“I know that, Mr. Barnes. Believe me, my attorney, Mr. Train, is most careful. He searched the law and made certain that I knew the consequences of my acts—because he did not approve of them. To put it briefly Alec Train said that anyone who goes to the Moon to live must be out of his head. So he tried to talk me out of what he regards as my folly. You’ll find four other possible heirs in ‘Appendix F’—my granddaughters. It is to their advantage to accept what is offered there…as they are told bluntly how much worse off they will be if they wait for me to die. A poor bet for them in any case; I am now physiologically younger than they are; I’ll probably outlive all of them.”
“That could be true. Especially on the Moon, one could add. I wish I could out-migrate myself. But I can’t afford to pay for it the way you can and lawyers are not in demand there. Well, your Mr. Train seems to have thought of most aspects. Let’s look at your balance sheet.”
“One moment, sir. I have asked for one small measure of special treatment.”
“Eh? All out-migrants are treated alike. Must be.”
“A very small thing, Mr. Barnes. My baby will be born not long after I arrive on Luna. I’ve asked to have Dr. Garcia continue to attend me through that time.”
“I can’t promise that, Madam. Sorry. Policy.”
She started slowly to get up. “Then I’m not going through with it.”
“Uh—good God! Is this really your net worth?”
She shrugged
. “What is the worth of one pregnant woman, sir? I suppose it depends on your values.”
“I didn’t mean that. This balance sheet—If it’s correct, you’re not just wealthy—I knew that—you’re a billionaire!”
“Possibly. I haven’t added it. That summary was prepared through Chase Manhattan with the assistance of accountancy firms listed there. I suppose it’s correct…unless some computer got the hiccups. But give it back to me…since the Commission can’t promise me Dr. Garcia to deliver my baby.”
“Please, Madam. I have certain latitude in these matters. I simply don’t exercise it—ordinarily. Policy.”
“Whose policy, Mr. Barnes? The Commission’s? Or yours?”
“Eh? Why, mine. I said so.”
“Then quit wasting my time, you damned idiot!”
(‘That’s telling him, Fat Lady!’) (Eunice, this is one fat lady who isn’t going to take any more nonsense. My back aches.)
The blast almost caused Mr. Barnes to fall out of his swivel chair. He recovered his balance, said: “Please, Madam Salomon!”
“Young man, let’s have no more nonsense! I’m far gone in pregnancy, as you can see. You’ve lectured me about the dangers of childbirth—and you aren’t a doctor. You’ve pried into personal matters with the gall of a kinsey. You’ve tried to tell me I can’t have my own doctor when he is going in the same ship—and now it turns out that it was not a Commission regulation but merely petty tyranny on your part. Bullying. All through this nonsense—although I’ve appeared with a complete and carefully prepared proposal—you’ve kept me sitting on a hard uncomfortable chair. My back aches. On how many poor helpless applicants have you fattened your ego? But I am neither ‘poor’ nor ‘helpless’. You spoke of a ‘chill breeze.’ It’s an icy blast now. I bloody well mean to have your job!”