The Number of the Beast

by Robert A. Heinlein

  “Uh… Mars?”

  “Yes but not your Mars or mine. Different universe and one of the most exciting. Barsoom. Mobyas is Court Mathematician to the Warlord and took special interest in this job because of the way self-anointed ‘critics’ have treated E.R.B. Did I say that Mobyas is a topologist?”

  “No.”

  “Possibly the best. E.R.B.’s universe is no harder to reach than any other and Mars is in its usual orbit. But that does not mean that you will find Jolly Green Giants and gorgeous red princesses dressed only in jewels. Unless invited, you are likely to find a Potemkin Village illusion tailored to your subconscious. Jubal, the interior of the Critics Lounge is somewhat like a Klein bottle, so I hear—I’ve never been in it. Its singularity is not apparent—as you will see from Teena’s displays—as it was decorated by a very great artist. Escher.”

  “Aha!”

  “Yes, he and Mobyas are old friends—two immortals of similar tastes; they have worked together many times. I promised critics free entrance; I made no mention of exit. I promised them typewriters and tape recorders; I did not promise typewriter ribbons or recorder tapes. I promised them their own private bar, no charges. Wouldn’t be fair to charge as the bar has no liquor in it. There is a lavish dining room but no kitchen.”

  “Lafe, wouldn’t it have been kinder to have liquidated them?”

  “Who said I wanted to be kind to them? They won’t starve; their commissary is by the Kilkenny Cats method. It should please them; they are used to human flesh and enjoy drinking blood—some I suspect of eating their young. But, Jubal, there is an easy way out…for any critic who is even half as smart as he thinks he is.”

  “Go on.”

  “He has to be able to read! He has to be able to read his own language, understand it, not distort the meaning. If he can read, he can walk out at once.” Lazarus shrugged. “But so few critics ever learn to read. Here’s the Big Top.”

  Harshaw looked far to the right, far to the left. “How big is it?”

  “I’ve been afraid to ask,” Lazarus admitted.

  “That sign is bigger than most circus tops.” Jubal stopped to read it:

  THE FIRST CENTENNIAL CONVENTION

  of the

  INTERUNIVERSAL SOCIETY

  for

  ESCHATOLOGICAL PANTHEISTIC MULTIPLE-EGO SOLIPSISM

  “Beautiful, Lafe! How did you think it up?”

  “I didn’t, it just grew. And I don’t understand it.”

  “Never mind, mine host. There will be ten thousand here eager to explain it to you. Scatological Panhedonistic Multiplied Solecisms.”

  “What? Jubal, that’s not what it says.”

  “If you don’t understand it, how do you know?”

  “Because I understood what you said. But the words don’t fit.”

  “We’ll rearrange them. Scatological Panhedonism Multiple Solecisms. ‘Convinced to—’ Like I say—‘Different than—’”

  “Don’t talk dirty; we are about to have a drink.”

  Lazarus bypassed the queue; they walked through a hole that suddenly dilated in the canvas, then puckered tight behind them. They found themselves facing a long table; seated at it was a man working on a roster. He did not look up, simply saying, “Stand out of my light. Tickets first, no exceptions. Then name tags. Then see a clerk to pick your universe. The complaint desk is outside. Tickets—you’re holding up the line.”

  “Snob.”

  The man looked up, jumped up. “Executive Director Long! I am honored!”

  “And you’re slow. You need at least two others taking tickets.”

  The official shook his head sadly. “If you knew how hard it is to hire help these days. Not for you, of course; for us common people. Director General Hilda has the labor market so cornered that—Executive Director, can’t we make a deal?”

  “Pipe down, give us our tags. How does this Universe I.D. thing work?” Lazarus turned to his guest. “It’s an ID. for your home world, Jubal; we don’t put numbers on people. Snob, take a hard look at Doctor Jubal Harshaw. Whenever you see him, it’s the Red Carpet. Pronto!”

  “Yes, sir! Here are your tags and now your universes.”

  “Jubal, you don’t have to wear that but don’t throw it away; someone might misuse it. But it does save introductions and sticks to anything from skin to chain mail.”

  “Now gentlemen observe above me the brightly lighted true color representation of the visible spectrum from infradig to ultraviolent with each slight shading being a precise wave length further assisted by simulated Fraunhofer lines representing principal inhabited planets of the explored universes while this booklet you hold in your hand is a key to identifying your wave length for example if you are French in origin you would turn alphabetically to France where the principal key dates are the conquest of Gaul 58-50 BC the conversion of Clovis 496 AD Battle of Tours 732 but as you are not French we will consider turning points in North American History 1000 1492 1535 1607 1619 1620 1664 1754 1765 1783 1789 1803 1820 1846 1882 1912 1946 1965 any of these dates and many others can switch you into a different analog-Earth a most useful method is comparison of Presidents if you happen to come from a history that includes the so-called American Revolution, Director Long will you illustrate it by naming American Presidents of your first century?”

  “Woodrow Wilson—I was named for him—Harding, Coolidge, Hoover, Roosevelt, Truman, Eisenhower, Kennedy, Kennedy, Kennedy, Kennedy, Kennedy, Kennedy—”

  “Which brings us to 1984, right? And tells me that you experienced the Nehemiah Scudder Interregnum and possibly the Second so-called American Revolution. Dr. Harshaw, did your world experience the Interregnum?”

  “It experienced something worse, a world government.”

  “To me all worlds are equally bad. But it tells me where your two worlds split: 1962—and here are your colors by which you can identify others of your own world if such be your wish. A delegate came through earlier in which the split was in 1535 and San Francisco was named New Petersburg. Nov’Petrograd I should say but—”

  “Snob. The Red Carpet.”

  “Right away! Doctor Harshaw—my card. Anything, anytime.”

  The Red Carpet rolled up, then carried them at a steady 10 km/hr down the enormous tent. Jubal looked at the card:

  SIEGE SINISTER SERVICES SYNDICATE

  “The Villains Nine Rig Ruin”

  Reputations Ruined—Competitors Bankrupted—Dragons Wormed—Basements Flooded—Wells Dried Up—Georges Exterminated—Contracts Executed Promptly, bargain rates on mothers-in-law—Juries Subborned—Stocks, Bonds, & Gallows—Saturday Night Specials—Houses Haunted (skilled Poltergeist at small extra charge)—Midnight Catering to Ghouls, Vampires, & Werewolves—Incubi & Succubi for rent by the night or by the week—7-year itch powder

  P.S. We Also Poison Dogs

  “Lafe, these people you hired?”

  “Let me see that.” Lazarus was reading the list of services when Snob came running, jumped on the Red Carpet, reached over Lazarus’ shoulder for the card while saying breathlessly:

  “Wrong card! Here—have this one. That first card is a piece of sabotage by the firm we bought out, including good will—but it turned out there was no good will. We sued, they retaliated—among other ways by mixing their old business cards with our own new supply…thereby infecting them all. Law of Contiguity, you know. Now if I can just have that infected one, I’ll burn it—”

  Lazarus held it out of his reach while accepting the proffered replacement. “I’ll keep the old one—interesting souvenir.”

  “Director Long—please!”

  “Off the Carpet, Bub. Back to your job. Git!” This injunction was accompanied by crowding that caused Snob to step one foot off the Carpet…which resulted in an impromptu pas à seul that left him fifty meters behind before he recovered his balance. Meanwhile Jubal and Lazarus read the replacement:

  ANYTHING UNLIMITED

  Torne, Hernia, Lien, & Snob

 
Six Sixty-Six Smiling Slaves Supply Supreme Service

  Reputations Restored—Teeth & Wells Drilled—Water Filters—Love Philtres—Chastity Gödel Lox Pict—Virginity Renewed—Scithers Sharpened—Old Saws Filed Categorically—Silver Bullets—Fresh Garlic—Fresh Strawberries—Strawberry Marks for Missing Heirs

  P.S. We Also Walk Dogs

  “Lafe, I don’t find this card much more reassuring than the first one.”

  “Don’t worry about it. There is less here than meets the eye.”

  “Where have I seen that face before? This Snob—who is he?”

  “Jubal, no one seems to know what ship he came down in. I’m looking into it for Zeb—you’ve met Zebadiah?”

  “Briefly.”

  “Zeb thinks he’s seen him somewhere not under that phony name—and Zeb and I aren’t even from the same time axis, much less the same analog series. Never mind; here’s our hostess.” Lazarus stepped off the Carpet, approached from behind a little old woman seated at a bar-lounge table, leaned over her, kissed her. “Hazel, age cannot wither you or custom stale. You are lovelier every decade.”

  She goosed him. “Pig grunts. I’m dyeing my hair now and you know it. Who’s your fat friend? Hi, Jubal! Tak for siest. Drag up a chair.” She put two fingers to her lips, whistled, breaking glasses. “Waiter!”

  “I note that you’re heeled,” said Lazarus, as both men joined the table.

  “When did I fail to pack a gun? I’m a Free Citizen. Does everybody know everybody? If not, get your tags in sight; damn’f I’ll stop for introductions. While I was waiting for you, I was joined by friends—some old, some new.”

  “Some I know—hi, Jake; hi, everybody. I mentioned your gun with approval, Hazel; Here There Be Tygers. But I note also that you are staying in a hilton; after one drink—well, two—three at the outside—I’m going to be mortally offended. Your suite awaits you and you know it. Why?”

  “Two reasons. Well, three. I never like to be beholden—”

  “Why, damn your beautiful bloodshot eyes!”

  “—but I’m perfectly willing to sponge off you. That’s why I bought the first round; the party never gets smaller. This round is yours. Where’s that misbegotten waiter?”

  “Here, Madam.”

  “The same all around and don’t call me ‘Madam.’ Jubal, your usual? Lafe?”

  “I know what the gentlemen take. Thank you, Madam.” The waiter disappeared.

  “Uppity.” Hazel made a fast draw. “Should have made him dance.” She twirled and reholstered. “Hilda, where have I seen that sneaky face before?”

  “Jacob and I were discussing that. He reminds me of a fake forest ranger—but that was in a far country and besides the beast is dead.”

  “Could be a family resemblance. But, Hillbilly, I mean today. Got it! The ticket taker. Identical twins, maybe.” Hazel went on, “Other identical twins are my first two reasons, Lazarus. My grandsons. I won’t shoot holes in your mirrors or carve my initials in Tamara’s furniture, but I make no guarantees about Cas and Pol. In a hilton they put the damage on the tab; I pay it and make my grandsons wish they had never been born. But you would not let me pay. And we’re going to be here quite a piece; my daughter-in-law Doctor Edith has decided that she needs a couple of years under Doctor Ishtar. Has anyone seen a pair of twin boys—man-size but boys—redheaded—not the color of mine; mine’s out of a bottle—the color mine used to be?”

  “Hazel, here twins and red hair are as common as magicians in Atlantis; Gilgamesh must have stayed overnight.”

  “I saw them talking to Caleb Catlum,” said Maureen.

  “Well, he should be a match for them—but don’t bet on it. Lazarus, is Atlantis represented?”

  “From thirteen universes. They are having a jurisdictional dispute. Suits me—if any get sore and leave, they won’t get a refund.”

  “Your grandsons may have been with Caleb but I know where—no, with whom—I know with whom they are now,” put in Professor Burroughs. “Laz and Lor.”

  “Oho! Hazel, I’ll tell Athene to settle your bill and move your luggage. We have an antidote for Cas and Pol.”

  “Optimist. Deal ’em, waiter, and give him the chit. What antidote?” The waiter started to hand the check to Lazarus before he looked at him—stopped abruptly, and left, still with the tab.

  “Would Cas and Pol be interested in becoming pirates?”

  “Lazarus, they are pirates. I was hoping they would tone down as they grew up…but now they’re eighteen, Terran reckoning, and each one is two yards of deceit and chicanery. The ‘J.D.’ after my name means that I studied law at a school that handed out that degree in place of ‘LL.B.’—but my rapscallions are ‘J.D.’s’ too. But not lawyers. Well…‘space lawyers.’”

  “Hazel, you won your first J.D. long before you studied law. No?”

  “‘The accused stood mute and the court ordered a plea of nux vomica entered in the record.’”

  “My twins are more than twice as old as your boys but it doesn’t show; they look a year or two younger…and they are permanent juvenile delinquents. They want to take a fling at piracy…which I deplore, having sampled the trade. Your boys—do they respect good machinery? Can they take care of it? Make nonshipyard repairs?”

  “Lazarus, they can repair anything that ticks or doesn’t tick. Worried me a mite, as they were a little slow in noticing girls. But they outgrew that symptom without outgrowing machinery.”

  “You might tell them that my clone-sisters own a spaceship faster and more powerful than any of your home period and analog, one that could be outfitted as a privateer. It might result in all four dying happily. But I do not interfere in other people’s lives.”

  Hilda put her palms together, closed her eyes, and said, “Dear Lord, do not strike him dead; he didn’t mean it. Yours truly, Hilda Burroughs Long.” Lazarus ignored her.

  “Nor do I, Lazarus. Other than occasionally, with a horse whip. Forgot to mention—They aren’t gelded.”

  “Hazel, Laz-Lor are vaccinated and would have to come back here to see Ishtar to get it reversed. As for rasslin’ matches, any male who tried to rape one of my clones would be gelded. Informally. At once. No instruments. No anesthesia. I trained ’em myself. Forget it. Apparently they’ve already met; they’ll settle their own affairs, if any, their own way. Leave Cas and Pol in that hilton if you wish—by the way, I own it—but you’re coming home or I’ll tell Tamara.”

  “Bully. I don’t bully worth a hoot, Lazarus.”

  “I’m out of it. Tamara never bullies. She merely gets her own way. What was this third reason?”

  “Well…don’t tell on me. Ishtar is a fine girl but I have no wish to stay where she could corner me and try to sell me rejuvenation.”

  Lazarus looked horrified. “Who has been feeding you nonsense?”

  “Well? It’s a commercial enterprise, is it not?”

  “Certainly. Tanstaafl. All the traffic will bear. But we aren’t ghouls; we’ll accept a lien against a client’s future earnings with no security and only the going rate of interest…then let him take as long as he likes to figure out that it doesn’t pay to cheat us. But, Hazel, Ishtar never solicits; the clinic doesn’t even have a flack. But if you asked her, you would go to the top of the list as my friend. However, she will supply painless suicide just as readily. You can have that later today. No charge. Compliments of the House.”

  “Lafe, I don’t see how your wives put up with you.”

  “They don’t; they make me toe the line. Something they learned from the Stone Gang, I believe.”

  “Well, I’m not trying to suicide. I’m less than two hundred Terran years old with a Luna background to stretch it. This is the first time I’ve been on a heavy planet since the last time I saw you; I’ll last a while. But, Lazarus, I have no wish to be a young girl.”

  “Hazel—”

  “Huh? Jubal, keep out of this. Say, did you ever see anything of that young man again? Did he resurrect the way s
ome claim he did?”

  “Not to my knowledge. Although I saw something a while ago that made me wonder. Hazel, I’m going to take rejuvenation…and hang onto my present appearance. Red nose and all.”

  Hazel turned abruptly to face Lazarus. “Is this true? Can this be done?”

  Maureen answered. “Hazel, I work at the clinic at the bedpan level…with the expectation of becoming a junior rejuvenation technician in upteen years. I see what goes on. A client states in writing what apparent age she prefers. That’s skin deep, easy to do, easy to maintain. But, unless it is an unusual contract, we turn out a biologically mature young adult. Call it eighteen standard years.”

  “Page Ponce de Leon! You mean I can still be me…but get rid of the morning aches and the arthritic twinges and the forty-leven other things that are the real trouble with living too long?”

  “Exactly.”

  “Uh…what about what I’m sitting on? Haven’t used it much lately. Or wanted to.”

  Lazarus fielded this. “You’ll want to. Unless you contract for an abnormal endocrine balance. But, Hazel, there are many men who prefer to deal with an old, established, reliable firm. Ask Tamara.”

  “Uh…be switched if I’m not feeling embarrassed, an emotion I haven’t felt in more years than I’ll admit. You can pick any apparent age, you say? Could I be, uh, late middle age? My hair its right color but streaked with gray? A sag under my chin instead of this wattle? Teats a man might grab and enjoy it? That ‘old, established firm’—but not decrepit?”

  “Certainly,” said Lazarus.

  “Hazel, I can take you to the clinic now,” Maureen offered. “Always someone in the business office. Discuss types of contract. Decide what you want and when. Even get your prelim physical today and set date of admission.”

  “Uh…yes, I’m interested. But not till later today; I’ve got friends entered in the preliminary rounds of the Society for Creative Anachronism.”

  “Besides,” Jubal put in, “they need time to check your credit rating, see what they can stick you for. By now Lafe has given Athene some signal to start x-raying your purse.”

  “He has not,” Hilda denied. “I did. Hazel, we don’t solicit business; we let the client sell it to herself. Maureen picks up one percent on this deal. Not Lazarus.”