I agreed that it was a “good morning” while noting to myself that it was a symbol without a referent save for social connotation (morning? In an irrelevancy?) but added sincerely, “Lazarus, this is the best waffle I ever tasted.”
“Then please tell Dora.”
“Dora, did you hear what I said to the Commodore?”
“I surely did, Professor Jake! Six more?”
I felt my waistline-firm and many centimeters trimmed off. “Six more is what I want—”
“Right away!”
“But half of one is all I dare eat. Deety, the next time we go to Oz, will you ask Glinda whether or not there is a magic for gluttons—me, I mean—to permit them to eat as much as they want while three fourths of it disappears?”
“I’m sure she could do it; I’m equally sure that she would not. She’s an ethical witch; you would not be able to convince her that your purpose was worthy.”
“You are depressingly logical, my dear.”
Lib said, “Professor, you have actually been to the Land of Oz? Really and truly?”
“Really and truly. Dora, is Gay on the line?”
“On deck, Jake”—Gay’s voice.
“Has anyone been in to see our portside annex?”
“How could they? Captain Hilda has not authorized it.”
“But—Hilda?”
“No, dear. Sorry to be blunt, Commodore and Doctor Lib, but I won’t authorize an open door because there are too many things that must not be touched. But I will be delighted to escort guests into Gay Deceiver almost anytime including right now; I’ve finished eating.”
“I accept!”
“Then come along, Elizabeth. Anyone else?”
Lazarus said, “Dora, shove my breakfast to the back of the stove; I’ll eat it later.”
“A jelly omelet? I’ll eat it myself.”
“Do that, Dorable. Captain, I’m ready.”
Laz-Lor showed up together, did not want to be left out. We ended up quite a crowd: eight humans, two computers.
Hilda stopped us at Gay’s starboard door. “Friends, again I must be blunt. As you cross the sill of that door, you are leaving Star Yacht Dora and entering an independent command, the Gay Deceiver, even though Dora totally surrounds Gay. Inside that door, I command, responsible to no one, unlimited in authority. Captain Lor, do you understand and agree with the legal theory?”
Captain Lorelei glanced at her sister, looked unhappy. “Captain Hilda, I do agree. Therefore I can’t come aboard. I can’t abandon my command.”
My wife looked terribly distressed. “Oh, I’m sorry!”
Lazarus Long interrupted. “Captain Hilda, I’m sorry another way. I don’t agree with your legal theory. I have had more than two thousand years more experience with law than my sister has…all sorts of law in all sorts of cultures. I’m not speaking of justice; I’ll leave that to philosophers. But I know what legal theories work with humans, and what ones have been attempted, then abandoned because they could not be made to work. This situation is not new; it has occurred thousands, millions, of times: a larger vessel with a smaller vessel nested in it. The solution is always the same, whether it concerns starships, fishing boats, aircraft carriers, whatever. The smaller vessel is a separate command outside the larger vessel, but when it is inside the carrier vessel, it is legally part of it.”
My darling did not answer. She was picking out me, Zeb, and Deety by eye as Lazarus talked. As he finished she said briskly, “GayDeceiverOpenStarboardDoor. Man the car, prepare for space.”
I’m proud of our family. Zeb zipped past me to the farthest seat—which left me room to dive for mine as Deety was picking up Hilda bodily, shoving her inside, crowding in after her, turning and pulling her feet clear of the doorframe—yelping, “GayCloseDoors!”
I was belting in but looking to the right, where the action was. Lazarus Long grabbed the door while calling out, “Hey, wait a moment!”
He realized his mistake in time to keep his fingers. I had argued with Zeb when I discovered, during refitting, that he had removed the interlocks that prevent that sort of accident. He answered my protest: “Jake, when I tell those doors to close, I want them to close. If, in closing, one chops off a man’s head, you can assume that I think he looks better that way.”
Lazarus saved his hand but was knocked off his feet by the door—and I saw a bit of why he had lived so long. Instead of trying to check his fall, he gathered himself into a ball and took it on one buttock.
“Report!”
“Copilot belted checking seal!”
“Chief Pilot belted all systems go. Door seal being rechecked.”
“Navigator belted, ready.”
“Starboard door seal okay!”
“GayBounce!”
We were in free fall. No stars—total darkness.
“Astrogator. Advise.”
“I don’t know, Captain. We’ll have to ask Gay whether or not she can backtrack. Any backtrack. Beulahland, or any spot in her perms. I’m lost.”
Suddenly the stars came out. “Dora, calling Gay Deceiver. Come in, Gay.”
“Don’t answer. Zebbie, advise again. What happened?”
“I’m guessing. They cancelled encapsulation rather than risk losing us. They must be awfully anxious.” Zeb added, “The only thing we have that you can’t buy at the corner drugstore is Jake’s space-time twister. How they knew of it and why they want it I do not know.”
“Dora, calling Gay. Gay, please talk to me. Aren’t you still my friend? I know our bosses had a silly fuss—but we didn’t. Aren’t you ever going to speak to me again? I love you, Gay. Please don’t be mean to me.”
“Captain Hilda, may I please say hello to Dora and tell her that I am not angry at her? She’s a sweet girl, she really is. Captain, she let me use her eyes.”
“Let me speak to her first.”
“Oh, thank you! Gay, answering Dora. Come in, Dora.”
“Gay! You had me so scared. Don’t go away again, please. The Commodore wants to apologize to your boss. Will she talk to him?”
“Captain?”
“No. I’ll speak to Dora’s Captain, however.”
A cartoon of Lorelei’s features displayed on our central screen. “Lor speaking, Captain Hilda. My brother is terribly sorry and wants to apologize. My sisters and I are dreadfully upset and want you please to come back. I don’t claim any command over your ship despite the silly things my brother said. Lib has a message for you, too. She says that, topologically, there is no difference between you being inside us or us being inside you. Either way, we each surround the other.”
“I don’t see it topologically, Captain; I see it pragmatically. But please thank Elizabeth for me. I have this message for Lazarus Long. A cat can be caught in almost any trap once; but that cat will not be caught in the same trap twice.”
“The message is delivered.”
“Then it is time to say good-bye. Captain Lorelei, I cannot honestly thank you as kidnapping is not hospitality even when it is luxurious. But I don’t think that you or your sister—sisters—meant it that way. I blame it on that deceitful, devious brother of yours. Please tell your sisters and Libby good-bye for us and say that I am sorry we had to leave.”
“Captain, wait! There is something I must do first.”
“Captain Lor, I must warn you I have you in my gunsights.”
“What? Oh! We are unarmed. Not anything like that. I’ll be back quickly. Perhaps you would like Dora to sing? But please don’t go away!” The face in the screen pulled away.
“What kind of songs do you like, folks? I know lots of songs. One-Ball Reilly; and the Green Hills and On Guard Christmas So’s Yours and Santa Carolita and Mademoiselle from Army Tears and the Pawnshot song and The Monkey Wrapped His Tail Around the Flagpole and Mary O’Meara and Soldier, Ask Not and just tell me what you like, and—here comes Sister. Captain Lor.”
“Captain Hilda, thanks from my heart for waiting. Can you record?�
��
“Gay, recording mode. Go ahead.”
“I have placed my brother under arrest and confined him to quarters. I, Captain Lorelei Lee Long, Master of Star Yacht Dora, affirm for use in any court that I have no authority over yacht Gay Deceiver and will never attempt to assert authority over Gay Deceiver no matter what circumstances and, furthermore, I now place myself, my crew, and my ship Dora under command of Captain Hilda Burroughs, henceforth commodore of both ships, this assignment of command irrevocable by me or my sisters, and revocable solely by Commodore Burroughs at her sole discretion. End of message. Hilda, won’t you come home? Laz is crying and I don’t know what to do. We need you. Buddy Boy never did tell you why. But we do! May I tell you?”
“Go ahead, Lor.”
“To save our mother’s life!”
(I said, softly, “I’ll be damned.”)
My wife hesitated, then said, “Is Elizabeth Long there?”
“Yes, yes! She’s been listening—she’s crying, too—and I would be but I’m Captain and can’t.”
The smudged faces changed. “Lib Long speaking, Commodore.”
“Libby, Captain Lorelei has told me something not only hard to believe but, if she is cloned from her brother as I have read, she may have his talent for lying. From what I know of you, I don’t think you ever learned how to lie.”
“Commodore, it is true that I never learned to lie convincingly. So I gave it up a long time ago.”
“Very well, Lib. Is Lazarus Long in fact confined and under arrest?”
“Yes, to both. His door won’t open and Dora has been instructed not to let him out until you permit it.”
“What’s this about saving her mother’s life? If they are clones from a man the age Lazarus is alleged to be, their mother must have died a couple of millennia back.”
“It’s as complex as my case, Commodore, but quite different. The twins have host-mothers. But Lor was speaking of the genetic mother of herself, her twin sister, and Lazarus Long. She was reported dead more than two thousand Old-Home-Terra years ago. But there is some hope that the records were confused and that it may be possible to save her. It can’t be done without your help and the help of the Gay Deceiver. I don’t think the chances are good, even so. But without your help—well, I would have to try to devise such a drive as Gay is reported to have—and I don’t think I can.”
“Wait a moment, Libby. Gay, cut transmission from cabin; keep circuit ready. Can you find your way unassisted back into your berth in Dora? Did you get it into your perms?”
“I did. I thought I might want to find Dora someday. Are you displeased with me? I know it wasn’t authorized. But I didn’t three-times it! I can wipe it.”
“Gay Deceiver. New program. New parking spot. Code word ‘Dora Long.’ I tell you three times.”
“Hilda, I hear you three times!”
“Gay Deceiver. ‘Dora Long.’ Execute!”
The stars went away and lighted alcoves were at our doors.
XLII
“You’re a figment of imagination.”
Zeb:
“Hear that, Laz? You’re a figment of imagination.”
“No, Lor. You are a figment; I’m a fig.” (What she said was “fica,” and Deety suppressed a giggle. I pinched her and told her in family tap code that she had a dirty mind—which she ignored, being proud of it rather than otherwise. It was a long time later that I learned that Laz had used a Galacta word—but the ancient pun still applied.)
Jake reiterated patiently, “Laz-Lor, the key point of Commodore Hilda’s theory is that we are all equally figments of imagination. ‘Reality’ thus becomes a null symbol.”
Deety shook her head emphatically. “Stick to geometry, Pop. Or stamp collecting. Leave symbology to symbologists—such as your favorite daughter. I’m real, I am! Smell me.”
“No doubt you could use a bath. So could we all; it’s been an adrenaline day. But that’s the other side of the coin, Deety. ‘Imaginary’ and ‘Real’ turn out to be identical. Consider this chow bench. On one level of abstraction it is mathematical equations. At the level just below that it is a swirling nothingness, with mass-energy a rare event. But on the gross level abstracted by my senses I can place this drink on it with utter confidence that it will not sink through this near vacuum.”
My father-in-law matched his words by placing his highball on the snack bench; it sank out of sight.
Jake looked tired. “Not my day. Dora, did you do that?”
“Yes and no, Professor.”
“What kind of answer is that?”
“You placed it on a take-away spot and that part of me was on automatic and took it away and sterilized it. I’m sorry, sir, and here’s your fresh drink.”
It was indeed a busy day. No one had been waiting at our parking berth, but three young women arrived at a dead run while Sharpie was swapping seats with Deety—our brand-new commodore planned to be first to step into her new ship. The starboard door opened; Sharpie stepped out, a dignified procession of one—
—and was hit from three sides by three young women, each managing to laugh and cry at the same time. But Sharpie enjoys everything and her aplomb has never been shaken. She kissed them, let them kiss her, petted them and told them to calm down, everything was all right. “Dears, I never intended to stay away; I simply refused to let the great Lazarus Long put one over on Sharpie. Where is he now?”
“Shut up in the flag cabin, Ma’am. Commodore.”
“Captain Lor, lock him up elsewhere; the flag cabin is mine.”
“Aye aye, Commodore.”
“How long will that take? Seconds, I mean; not hours.”
Lor spoke rapidly to Dora in a language I almost understood. I leaned to my right, spoke to my wife. “Spanish. Some sort.”
“Italian,” Deety answered.
“Will you settle for Latino? No!—I remember now: Galacta. We’ll have to learn it. But it sounds easy.”
Lor reported, “Flag cabin will be ready for you by the time you reach it, Commodore.”
“Very good. I expect to use it primarily as an administration office; flag remains in Gay Deceiver. That is appropriate, since Dora is unarmed whereas Gay Deceiver is an attack ship, an armed privateer—heavily armed, for her size.” Sharpie smiled. “A few days ago, in another universe, we destroyed an entire air army. We don’t have fancies such as artificial gravity; we belt down and fight in free fall. Gay Deceiver is stripped for speed and armament; Dora is just the opposite. The two complement each other beautifully.”
I wondered why Sharpie was blathering—but she always has reasons. I think she reads minds.
I’m certain that Laz-Lor do, with each other. They looked at each other, then:
“The flag of an armed privateer—”
“—is the Skull-and-Cross-Bones—”
“—is it not? Do we take prisoners—”
“—or cut their throats?”
“Which would you rather do? Captain Lor, please do all the talking; these whipsaw conversations are hard to follow. By the way, no more ‘midnight mutinies.’ Lor, you remain captain until further notice.”
Again they looked at each other.
“We like to swap off.”
“Calling it ‘mutiny’ is just a joke.”
“No one asked your preferences. My chief of staff and second-in-command of the flagship is the only one who does and must advise me. If you have opinions to offer, see him. Answer my question. Captain Lor.”
“We’ll do what you order. But our brother who was our father at the time taught us never to kill if we could possibly avoid it while teaching us all sorts of ways to kill and made us practice. When we were growing up we always wanted to be pirates. Then we grew up and decided that it could never be and tried to forget it.”
Sharpie said, “I think I’m making you tongue-tied by forcing you to filter it through one set of vocal cords. So cancel that order; you two are unique. We operate just the way Lazarus taught you; so
far we have killed only once—to repel an attack on us. That air army—We timed it, caught them with their flying machines on the ground, burned the machines, burned their fuel—and thereby stopped an invasion…without killing anyone. But we are always ready to kill. Lor, that’s why I warned you a few minutes ago. It would have broken Gay’s heart to have to destroy Dora. Skull-and-Cross-Bones? No way to fly one but, if you want to hang one in the lounge, I grant permission. Why did you decide not to become pirates?”
That same preliminary glance—
“Babies—”
“Laz has three, I have four—”
“—because Lor has one pair of twins—”
“—and we try to be pregnant at the same time—”
“—and time it to fit our plans—”
“—and Brother’s plans if you ever let him out of hack.”
“How old are you two? I’ve been thinking of you as about Deety’s age but you can’t be. Just one of you answer, please; it’s a simple question.”
They conferred mentally an unusually long time. At last Captain Lor said slowly, “It isn’t quite simple. We will get Dora and Athene to integrate it for us…if data are complete; they may not be. But answering in Old-Home-Terran years and meaning our own biological time, Laz thinks we are about forty-eight and I think we are a couple of years younger. It doesn’t matter because Ishtar will tell us when to rejuvenate, which won’t be soon, as we aren’t yet close to menopause.”
“Does it have to be at menopause?”
“Oh, no, just makes it easier and you never have to stop making babies. But Ishtar’s mother went years past menopause and had decided to die…and changed her mind and looks younger than we do and has had more babies than we have. This time around, I mean.”
“How often do men need it?” Sharpie asked. Jake looked up and said, “I won’t need it for another six weeks, Hilda. Maybe seven.”
“Shush, dear. Laz-Lor, be careful around my husband. When he’s in rut, it takes heavy chains to restrain him. So never mind that question; he doesn’t need to know and, for me, it was intellectual curiosity of a biologist. Perhaps it’s best to ask Doctor Ishtar.”
“Yes, Commodore, that would be best. We aren’t biologists; we’re ship handlers.”
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