Robert Heinlein - The Number of the Beast

"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 OldHome-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.

"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 sythbol."

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 nothlngness, 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."