Robert Heinlein - To Sail Beyond The Sunset

‘The moving roads will dominate the rest of the twentieth century. Eventually they will die out, like the railroads - but not until next century.'

‘Maureen,' George said soberly, ‘this is awfully hard to believe.'

I said nothing.

‘I don't see how they could be made to work.'

‘As a starter, try multiplying a thousand miles by two hundred yards, to get square yards, then call it horsepower. Use a ten per cent efficiency factor. Save the surplus power in Shipstones when the Sun is high and bright; use that surplus to keep the roads rolling when the Sun doesn't shine.' (I could be glib about it; I had done the arithmetic many times in thirty-four years.)

‘I'm not an engineer.'

‘Then discuss it with your best engineer - Mr Ferguson? when you get home.'

‘You stand by this?'

‘It's my prophecy. It won't happen quickly - the first roadcity - Cleveland to Cincinatti - won't roll for several years. I'm telling you now so that Harriman Industries can get in on the ground floor.'

‘I'll talk to Ferguson.'

‘Good. And now let me be nice to you because you have been so very nice to me.'

I returned on Wednesday and stopped at the office of Argus Patrol before I went Nome. I spoke to Colonel Frisby, the president of the company. I'm back; you can take the special watch off my home. Do you have a report for me?'

‘Yes, Mrs Johnson. Your house is still there, no fires, no burglars, no intruders, nothing but a noisy party on Monday night, and one not quite so noisy last night - kids will be kids. Your daughter did not go to school yesterday - slept in, we think; the party Monday night ran quite late. But she's at school today and looks none the worse. Shall we put this on your bill or do you want to pay for this special service now?'

I paid it and went home, feeling relieved.

I let myself in and sniffed; the place needed airing.

And a thorough house cleaning. But those were minor matters.

Priscilla got Nome a little after four, looking apprehensive, but smiled when I did. I ignored the mess the house was in, took her out to dinner, and told her about my trip. Some off it.

On Friday I picked her up at school and we went to Jim Rumsey's office, by appointment. Priscilla wanted to know why?

‘Dr Rumsey wanted to see you again after a couple of months. It has been just two months.'

‘Do I have to be poked?'

‘Probably.'

‘I won't!'

‘Say that again. Say it loud enough to be heard in Dallas. Because, if you mean that, then I'll have to bring your father into it. He still has legal custody of you. Now say it'

She shut up.

About an hour later Jim called me into his private office. ‘First, the good news. She doesn't have crabs. Now the bad news. She does have syphilis and clap:

I used a heartwarming expletive.

Jim tut-tutted. ‘Ladies don't talk that way.'

‘I'm not a lady. I'm an old bag with an incorrigible daughter. Have you told her?'

‘I always tell the parent first'

‘All right, let's tell her.'

‘Slow down. Maureen, I recommend putting her into a hospital. Not just for gonorrhoea and syphilis, but for what her emotional condition will be after we tell her. She's cocky at the moment, almost arrogant. I don't know what she'll be ten minutes from now.'

‘I'm in your hands, Jim.'

‘Let me call Bell Memorial, see if I can get an immediate admission.'

A noise woke me up. I was still in that pitch-dark lorry, clutching Pixel to me. ‘Pixel, where are we?'

‘Kuhbleeert!' (How would I know?)

‘Hush!' Someone was unlocking the lorry.

‘Meeroow?'

‘I don't know. But don't shoot till you see the whites of their eyes.'

A side door rolled back. Someone was silhouetted against the open door. I blinked.

‘Maureen Long?'

‘I think so. Yes.'

‘I am sorry to have left you in the dark so long. But we had a visit from the Supreme Bishop's proctors and we have just finished bribing them. And now we must move; they don't stay bribed. Second-order dishonesty. May I offer you a hand?'

I accepted his hand - bony, dry, and cold - and he handed me down while I held Pixel in my left arm. He was a small man, in a dark siren suit, and the nearest thing to a living skeleton I have ever seen. He appeared to be yellowed parchment stretched over bones and little else. His skull was completely hairless.

‘Permit me to introduce myself,' he said. ‘I am Dr Frankenstein.'

‘Frankenstein,' I repeated. ‘Didn't we meet at Schwab's on Sunset Boulevard?'

He chuckled, a sound like dry leaves rustling. ‘You are jesting. Of course it is not my original name but one I use professionally. You will see. This way, if you please.'

We were in a windowless room, with a vaulted ceiling glowing with what seemed to be Douglas-Martin shadowless skyfoam. He led us to a lift. As the door closed with us inside Pixel tried to get away from me. I dung to him. ‘No, no, Pix! You've got to see where they take me.'

I spoke just to Pixel, almost in a whisper, but my escort answered, ‘Don't worry, Milady Long; you are now in the hands of friends.'

The lift stopped at a lower(?) level; we got out and we all got into a tube capsule. We zoomed fifty yards, five hundred, five thousand, who knows? - the capsule accelerated decelerated, stopped. We got out. Another lift took us up this time. Shortly we were in a luxurious lounge with about a dozen people in it and more coming in. Dr Frankenstein offered me a comfortable seat in a large circle of chairs, most of them occupied. I sat down.

This time Pixel would not be denied. He wriggled out of my arms, jumped down, explored the place and examined the people, tail up and poking the little pink nose into everything.

There was a wheelchair in the circle, occupied by an excessively fat man, who had one leg off at the knee, the other amputated higher up. He was wearing dark glasses. He felt like a diabetic to me, and I wondered how Galahad would approach the case. He spoke up:

‘Ladies and gentlemen, shall we get started? We have a new sister.' He pointed with his whole hand at me, like a movie usher. ‘Lady Macbeth. She is -‘

‘Just a moment,' I put in. ‘I am not Lady Macbeth. I am Maureen Johnson Long.'

He trained his head and dark glasses at me slowly, like a battleship's turret. ‘This is most irregular. Dr Frankenstein?

‘I am sorry, Mr Chairman. The contretemps with the proctors spoiled the schedule. Nothing has been explained to her.'

The fat man let out a long sibilant sigh. Incredible. Madam, we apologise. Let me introduce our circle. We are the dead men. All of us here are enjoying terminal illness. I say "enjoying" because we have found a way - hee, hee, hee, hee! - to relish every golden moment left to us... indeed to extend those moments because a happy man lives longer.

Each companion of the Committee for Aesthetic Deletions - at your service, Madam! - spends his remaining days in ensuring that scoundrels whose removal will improve the human breed predecease him. You were elected in absentia to our select circle not merely because you are a walking corpse yourself but as a tribute to the artistic crimes you committed in attaining that status.

‘With that synoptic explanation out of the way, permit me to introduce our noble companions:

‘Dr Fu Manchu.' (A burly Irishman or Scot. He bowed without getting up.)

‘Lucrezia Borgia.' (Whistler's mother, with tatting in her lap. She smiled at me and said, ‘Welcome, dear girl!' in a sweet soprano.)

‘Lucrezia is our most accomplished expunger. Despite inoperable cancer of the liver she has counted coup more than forty times. She usually -‘

‘Stop it, Hassan,' she said sweetly,' before you tempt me to put you on your proper track.'