The Cat Who Walks Through Walls

  “Day in and day out Lazarus averages closer to a nine, Richard. You’ll see.”

  “Richard,” Hilda went on, “despite what you heard me say, I don’t think badly of Lazarus. I have borne one child by him…and I go that far only with men I respect. But Lazarus does have his little ways; it is necessary to spank him from time to time. Nevertheless I love him.”

  “Me, too,” agreed Deety. “I have a little girl by Lazarus and that means I love and respect him or it would not have happened. Correct, Zebadiah?”

  “How would I know? ‘Love, oh careless love!’ Boss Lady, are we going somewhere? Gay wants to know.”

  “Report readiness.”

  “Starboard door sealed, irrelevant gear ready.”

  “Portside door sealed, seat belts fastened, all systems normal.”

  “Time Corps Headquarters via Alpha and Beta. At will, Chief Pilot.”

  “Aye aye. Captain. Gay Deceiver, Checkpoint Alpha. Execute.”

  “Yassuh, Massuh.” The bright sunlight and green lawn beside the Long House bunked away to blackness and stars. We were weightless.

  “Checkpoint Alpha, probably,” Zeb said. “Gay, do you see THQ?”

  “Checkpoint Alpha on the nose,” the car answered. “Time Corps HQ dead ahead. Zeb, you need glasses.”

  “Checkpoint Beta, execute.” The sky blinked again.

  This time I could spot it. Not a planet but a habitat, perhaps ten klicks away, perhaps a thousand—in space, with a strange object, I had no way to guess.

  Zeb said, “Time Corps Headquarters, ex—Gay Scram!”

  A nova bomb burst in front of us.

  XXV

  Schrödinger’s Cat

  “God’s bones!” the car moaned. “That one burned my tail feathers! Hilda, let’s go home. Please!” The nova bomb was now a long way off but it still burned with intense white light, looking like Sol from out around Pluto.

  “Captain?” Zeb inquired.

  “Affirmative,” Hilda answered calmly. But she was clinging to me and trembling.

  “GayMaureenExecute!” We were back on the grounds of the Romanesque mansion of Lazarus Long and his tribe.

  “Chief Pilot, please beep Oz annex and tell them to disembark; we won’t be going anywhere soon. Richard, if you will slide out to the right as soon as Jake is out of your way, that will let our passengers climb out.”

  I did so as quickly as Dr. Burroughs cleared the way. I heard Lazarus Long’s voice rumbling behind me. “Hilda! Why have you ordered us out of the car? Why aren’t we at Headquarters?” His tone reminded me of a drill sergeant I had had as a boot, ten thousand years ago.

  “Forgot my knitting, Woodie, had to go back for it.”

  “Knock it off. Why haven’t we started? Why are we disembarking?”

  “Watch your blood pressure, Lazarus. Gay just proved that she was not being a Nervous Nellie when she asked me to break our usual trip to THQ into three jumps. Had I used our old routine, we would all glow in the dark.”

  “My skin itches,” Gay said fretfully. “I’ll bet I would make a Geiger stick rattle like hail on a tin roof.”

  “Zebbie will check you later, dear,” Hilda said soothingly, then went on to Lazarus: “I don’t think Gay was hurt; I think none of us was. Because Zeb had one of his bad-news flashes and bounced us out of there almost ahead of the photons. But I am sorry to report, sir, that Headquarters isn’t there anymore. May it rest in peace.”

  Lazarus persisted, “Hilda, is this one of your jokes?”

  “Captain Long, when you talk that way, I expect you to address me as ‘Commodore.’”

  “Sorry. What happened?”

  Zeb said, “Lazarus, let them finish unloading and I’ll take you back and show you. Just you and me.”

  “Yes indeed, just you two,” the car put in. “But not me! I won’t go! I didn’t sign up for combat duty. I won’t let you close my doors; that means you can’t seal up, and then you can’t move me. I’m on strike.”

  “Mutiny,” said Lazarus. “Melt her down for scrap.”

  The car screamed, then it said excitedly, “Zeb, did you hear that? Did you hear what he said? Hilda, did you hear him? Lazarus, I don’t belong to you and never did! Tell him, Hilda! You lay one finger on me and I’ll go critical and blow your hand off. And take all of Boondock County with me.”

  “Mathematically impossible,” Long remarked.

  “Lazarus,” said Hilda, “you shouldn’t be so quick to say ‘impossible’ when speaking of Gay. In any case, don’t you mink you’ve been in the doghouse enough for one day? You get Gay sore at you and she’ll tell Dora, who’ll tell Teena, who’ll tell Minerva, who will tell Ishtar and Maureen and Tamara, and then you’ll be lucky to get anything to eat and you won’t be allowed to sleep or go anywhere.”

  “I’m henpecked. Gay, I apologize. If I read you two chapters from Tik-Tok tonight, will you forgive me?”

  “Three.”

  “It’s a deal. Please tell Teena to ask mathematicians working on Operation Galactic Overlord to meet me ASAP in my quarters in Dora. Please tell all others involved with Overlord that they are advised to come to Dora, eat and sleep aboard. I don’t know when we will leave. It could be a week but it could be anytime and there might not be even ten minutes warning. War conditions. Red alert.”

  “Dora has it; she’s relaying. What about Boondock?”

  “What do you mean ‘What about Boondock?’”

  “Do you want the city evacuated?”

  “Gay, I didn’t know you cared.” Lazarus sounded surprised.

  “Me? Care what happens to groundcrawlers?” the car snorted. “I’m simply relaying for Ira.”

  “Oh. For a moment there I thought you were developing human sympathies.”

  “God forbid!”

  “I’m relieved. Your simple self-centered selfishness has been a haven of stability in an ever-shifting world.”

  “Never mind the compliments; you still owe me three chapters.”

  “Certainly, Gay; I promised. Please tell Ira that, so far as I know, Boondock is as safe as anywhere in this world…which ain’t saying much…whereas, in my opinion, any attempt to evacuate this ant hill would result in great loss of life, still greater loss of property. But it might be worthwhile to risk it just to crank up their lazy metabolisms—Boondock today strikes me as fat, dumb, and careless. Ask him to acknowledge.”

  “Ira says, ‘Up yours.’”

  “Roger, and the same to you; wilco, they make a damn fine stew. Colonel Campbell, I’m sorry about this. Would you care to come with me? It might interest you to see how we mount an emergency time manipulation. Hazel, is that okay? Or am I crowding in on your pidgin again?”

  “It’s all right, Lazarus, as it is no longer my pidgin. It’s yours and that of the other Companions.”

  “You’re a hard woman, Sadie.”

  “What can you expect, Lazarus? Luna is a harsh teacher. I learned my lessons at her knee. May I come along?”

  “You’re expected; you are still part of Overlord. Are you not?”

  We walked about fifty meters across the lawn to where was parked the biggest, fanciest flying saucer any UFO cultist ever claimed to have seen. I learned that this was “Dora,” meaning both the ship and the computer that ran the ship. I learned too that the Dora was the Senior’s private yacht, that it was Hilda’s flagship, and that it was a pirate ship commanded by Lorelei Lee and/or Lapis Lazuli and crewed by Castor and Pollux, who were either their husbands or their slaves or both.

  “They’re both,” Hazel told me later. “And Dora is all three. Laz and Lor won sixty-year indentures from Cas and Pol in a game of red dog shortly after they married them. Laz and Lor are telepathic with each other, and they cheat. My grandsons are smart as whips and as conceited as Harvard grads, and they always try to cheat. I tried to break them of this nasty habit when they were still too young to chase girls, by using a marked deck. Didn’t work; they spotted my readers. But their downfall ar
ose from the fact that Laz and Lor are smarter than they are and even more deceitful.”

  Hazel shook her head ruefully. “It’s a wicked world. You would think that a youngster I had trained would be instantly suspicious when dealt three aces and the odd king in a hand of red dog…but Cas was greedy. He not only tapped the pot when he could not cover it, he pledged his indentures to fill the gap.

  “Then, not a day later, Pol fell for an even more transparent piece of larceny; he was sure he knew what card was next to be dealt because he recognized a small coffee stain. Turned out that the ten as well as the eight had that same small stain. Pol held the nine but he was not in a strong moral position. Ah, well, it is probably better for the lads to have to do all the scut work in the ship plus shampoos and pedicures for their wives than it would be for the boys to sell Laz and Lor in the slave marts of Iskander, as I misdoubt they would have done had their own thieving efforts succeeded.”

  The Dora is even bigger inside than out; she has as many staterooms as may be needed. It was once a luxurious but fairly conventional hyperphotonic spaceship. But it (the ship, not Dora the computer) was refitted with a Burroughs irrelevant drive (the magic means by which Gay Deceiver flits around the stars in nothing flat). A corollary of the Burroughs equations that teleport Gay can be applied to shape space warps. So Dora’s passenger and cargo spaces were revamped; this lets Dora keep endless spare compartments collapsed in on themselves until she needs them.

  (This is not the same deal under which Gay has tucked away in her portside skin two nineteenth-century bathrooms. Or is it? Well, I don’t think it is. Must inquire. Or should I let sleeping logs butter their own bed? Better, maybe.)

  A gang port relaxed in the side of the yacht; a ramp slid down, and I followed Lazarus up to the ship with my darling on my arm. As he stepped over the side, music sounded: “It Ain’t Necessarily So” from George Gershwin’s immortal Porgy and Bess. A long-dead “Sportin’ Life” sang about the impossibility of a man as old as Methuselah ever persuading a woman to bed with him.

  “Dora!”

  A young girl’s sweet voice answered, “I’m taking a bath. Call me later.”

  “Dora, shut off that silly song!”

  “I must consult the captain of the day, sir.”

  “Consult and be damned! But stop that noise.”

  Another voice replaced the ship’s voice: “Captain Lor speaking, Buddy Boy. Do you have a problem?”

  “Yes. Shut off that noise!”

  “Buddy, if you mean the classical music now playing as a salute to your arrival, I must say that your taste is as barbaric as ever. In any case I am constrained from switching it off because this new protocol was established by Commodore Hilda. I cannot change it without her permission.”

  “I’m henpecked.” Lazarus fumed. “Can’t enter my own ship without being insulted. I swear to Allah that, once I’ve cleaned up Overlord, I’m going to buy a Burroughs Bachelor Buggy, equip it with a Minsky Cerebrator, and go for a long vacation with no women aboard.”

  “Lazarus, why do you say such dreadful things?” The voice came from behind us; I had no trouble identifying it as Hilda’s warm contralto.

  Lazarus looked around. “Oh, there you are! Hilda, will you please put a stop to this dadblasted racket?”

  “Lazarus, you can do it yourself—”

  “I’ve tried. They delight in frustrating me. All three of them. You, too.”

  “—simply by walking three paces beyond the door. If there is another musical salute that you would prefer, please name it. Dora and I are trying to find just the right tune for each of our family, plus a song of welcome for any guest.”

  “Ridiculous.”

  “Dora enjoys doing it. So do I. It’s a gracious practice, like eating with forks rather than fingers.”

  “‘Fingers were made before forks.’”

  “And flatworms before humans. That does not make flat-worms better than people. Move along, Woodie, and give Gershwin a rest.”

  He grunted and did so; the Gershwin stopped. Hazel and I followed him—and again music sounded, a pipe-and-drum band blaring out a march I had not heard since that black day when I lost my foot…and my command…and my honor: “The Campbells Are Coming—”

  It startled me almost out of my wits, and gave me the mighty shot of adrenaline that ancient boast before battle always does. I was so overcome that I had to force myself to keep my features straight, while praying that no one would speak to me until I had my voice back under control.

  Hazel squeezed my arm but the darling kept quiet; I think she can read my emotions—she always knows my needs. I stomped straight ahead, spine straight, barely steadying myself with my cane, and not seeing the interior of the ship. Then the pipes shut down and I could breathe again.

  Behind us was Hilda. I think she had hung back to keep the musical salutes separated. Hers was a light and airy tune I could not place; it seemed to be played on silver bells, or possibly a celesta. Hazel told me the name of it: “Jezebel”—but I could not place it.

  Lazarus’s quarters were so lavish that I wondered how fancy the flag cabin of “Commodore” Hilda might be. Hazel settled down in his lounge as if she belonged there. But I did not stay; a bulkhead blinked, and Lazarus ushered me on through. Beyond lay a boardroom suitable for a systemwide corporation: a giant conference table, each place at it furnished with padded armchair, scratch pad, stylus, froster of water, terminal with printer, screen, keyboard, microphone, and hushfield—and I must add that I saw little of this bountiful junk in use; Dora made it unnecessary, being perfect secretary to all of us while also offering and serving refreshments.

  (I could never get over the feeling that there was a live girl named Dora somewhere out of sight. But no mortal girl could have kept all the eggs in the air that Dora did.)

  “Sit down anywhere,” Lazarus said. “There is no rank here. And don’t hesitate to ask questions and offer opinions. If you make a fool of yourself, no one will mind and you won’t be the first to do so in this room. Have you met Lib?”

  “Not formally.” It was the other strawberry blonde, the not-Deety one.

  “Then do. Dr. Elizabeth Andrew Jackson Libby Long… Colonel Richard Colin Ames Campbell.”

  “I am honored. Dr. Long.”

  She kissed me. I had anticipated that, having learned in less than two days here that the only way to avoid friendly kisses was by backing away…but that it was better to relax and enjoy it. And I did. Dr. Elizabeth Long is a pleasant sight and she was not wearing much and she smelled and tasted good…and she stood close to me three seconds longer than necessary, patted my cheek, and said, “Hazel has good taste. I’m glad she brought you into the family.”

  I blushed like a yeoman. Everyone ignored it. I think. Lazarus went on, “Lib is my wife and also my partner starting back in the twenty-first century Gregorian. We’ve had some wild times together. She was a man back then and a retired commander, Terran Military Forces. But then and now, male or female, the greatest mathematician who ever lived.”

  Elizabeth turned and caressed his arm. “Nonsense, Lazarus. Jake is a greater mathematician than I and a more creative geometer than I could ever hope to be; he can visualize more dimensions and not get lost. I—”

  Hilda’s Jacob Burroughs had followed us in. “Nonsense, Lib. False modesty makes me sick.”

  “Then be sick, darling, but not on the rug. Jacob, neither your opinion, nor mine—nor that of Lazarus—is relevant; we are what we are, each of us—and I understand there is work to be done. Lazarus, what happened?”

  “Wait for Deety and the boys, so we don’t have to discuss it twice. Where’s Jane Libby?”

  “Here, Uncle Woodie.” Just entering was a naked girl who resembled—Look, I’m going to stop talking about family resemblances, hair red or otherwise, and the presence or absence of clothing. On Tertius, through climate and custom, clothing was optional, usually worn in public, sometimes worn at home. In the Lazarus Long house
hold the males were more likely to wear something than the females but there was no rule that I could ever figure out.

  Red hair was common in Tertius, still more common in the Long family—a “prize ram” effect (as stockmen say) from Lazarus…but not alone from Lazarus; there were two other sources in that family, unrelated to Lazarus and unrelated to each other: Elizabeth Andrew Jackson Libby Long and Dejah Thoris (Deety) Burroughs Carter Long—and still another source that I was not then aware of.

  People who favor the Gilgamesh theory have noted how redheads tend to clump, e.g., Rome, Lebanon, south Ireland, Scotland…and, even more markedly, in history, from Jesus to Jefferson, from Barbarossa to Henry Eighth.

  The sources of resemblances in the Long family were hard to sort out, other than with the help of Dr. Ishtar, the family geneticist—Ishtar herself looked not at all like her daughter Lapis Lazuli…not surprising once you learned that she was no genetic relation to her own daughter…whose genetic mother was Maureen.

  Some of the above I learned later; all of it I mention now in order to dismiss it.

  That panel of mathematicians consisted of Libby Long, Jake Burroughs, Jane Libby Burroughs Long, Deety Burroughs Carter Long, Minerva Long Weatheral Long, Pythagoras Libby Carter Long and Archimedes Carter Libby Long—Pete and Archie—one borne by Deety and the other birthed by Libby and these two women sole parents to both young men—Deety being the genetic mother of each and Elizabeth the genetic father…and I refuse to sort that one out at this point; let it be an exercise for the student. I would rather offer you one more; Maxwell Burroughs-Burroughs Long—then conclude by saying that all these weird combinations were supervised by the family geneticist for maximum reinforcement of mathematical genius and no reinforcement of harmful recessives.

  Watching these geniuses at work had some of the soporific excitement of watching a chess match but not quite. Lazarus first had Gay Deceiver testify, bringing her voice through Dora’s circuits. They listened to Gay, examined her projected tapes, light and sound, called in Zebadiah, took his testimony, called Hilda in, asked for her best estimate of Zebadiah’s anticipation of the bomb.