Robert Heinlein - The Number of the Beast

To Pull a Hat Out of a Rabbit-

Smith:

I had had trouble convincing my sisters that I must be "arrested" and "confined." I had made an idiotic mistake and now must be "punished." Lor had even less enthusiasm for placing herself and our ship under the command of a stranger.

Once they accepted it, I could depend on them. We did not let Lib in on the caper; she has no talent for creative lying. Far better that she believe whatever she said.

Laz and Lor were outwitting their elders by the time they were six, a process I encouraged by walloping them whenever I caught them. They learned. They also have my talent for looking stupid, plus one I have but seldom can use:

They can turn tears on and off like a faucet. (I have not found many cultures in which this advantages a male.)

Once this was settled, I arrested myself by helping Dora's waldoes move my most personal gear next door. Then I lay down and listened through Dora to what was going on in the flag cabin.

And discovered that I had outsmarted myself. I have never tried to teach Dora to lie; a dishonest computer is a menace: one that is a pilot would be a lethal disaster, sooner or later. Sooner.

But I hadn't figured on this narrow little broad asking for my papers so quickly. Nor did I guess that Dora had told her that my cabin could be scanned only by my order.

When I heard the situation start to deteriorate, I got up quickly and put on

one of my Scottish outfits. Advantages: I look bigger, taller, more imposing. The costume calls for two weapons worn publicly. These I never use. But the costume is so draped and full that one may hide weapons for a half squad- then never show them save in extremis.

So I was ready when Lor came busting in, almost incoherent. "Brother, is she mad! Watch yourself!"

"I will, Lor. You've done a swell job." I kissed her. "Now march me in under arrest."

So we did. I halted ten paces from Mrs. Burroughs and saluted. She said to Lor, "You may leave"-waited until Lor had left, then said, "Instruct your computer not to see or listen in this space."

"Aye aye, Ma'am. Dora."

"Yes, Boss?"

"Back to normal for my cabin. No see 'urn, no hear 'em until I tell you to."

"Chinchy!"

"Dora!"

"Aye aye, Boss. Mean!"

"She's a bit childish but she's a good cook. And a fine pilot."

"And you're a bit childish. Prisoners do not salute, prisoners do not wear arms. Captain Carter, confiscate his weapons. Keep them as souvenirs or destroy them."

Long years as a slave taught me to put up with anything without a squawk. That doesn't make it pleasant.

"Smith."

I didn't answer. She added, "I mean you, Woodie!"

"Yes, Ma'am?"

"Lean over, grab your ankles. Captain, frisk him."

Carter knew how, I soon no longer had tools for a half squad-but felt better when he ended having missed one. He was in uniform-of-the-day, but he was big, in training, and carried himself in a way that made me think of Black Belts.

"Those are yours, too, Zebbie, although you might share them. Deety mentioned something about not having a throwing knife. How's the balance on those?"

She was not speaking to me but I had to try to gain control of the psychological gage. "One and a half turns at eight meters, Ma'am. I make them myself. But it's too heavy a knife for a lady. I would happily make one to fit Doctor Deety's hand and strength."

"I imagine that Doctor Deety is stronger than you are, Woodie. I think you've gone a bit soft. Someday we'll check it. Take off your clothes."

With my weapons gone, other than the one, I welcomed the order. Clothes are no asset in unarmed brawl; the other man can use yours against you. And I was sweating; Dora keeps the ship right for skin. I peeled quickly.

"Shove them down that," she said, pointing.

"Uh, Ma'am, that's a destruction oubliette."

"I know. Next time you won't try to impress me by sartorial elegance.

Furthermore it was intentional insolence. Pronto!"

I shoved them down pronto. "Grab your ankles again, Woodie. Captain Carter, need we give him an enema to make sure he hasn't hidden one more weapon? I don't care to check by touch without a rubber glove, and I won't ask you to."

"Madam, I give you my word-"

"-which is worth nothing. Let it go, Zebbie. Join the class and keep an eye on our interests."

The big man looked me over. "I don't like to leave you alone with him, Commodore."

"Thank you, Zebbie. I'm safe. I was safe when he was armed but he was being insolent so I spanked him. Run along; he doesn't dare touch me." She added, "Or do you have a premonition?"

"No. But I get them just barely in time."

"I couldn't ask for more. But I feel a prophecy. Woodie is going to be a lamb about everything. Now go, dear."

He left, giving me a look that promised death if I harmed her. I wanted to tell him that I had never found it necessary to harm a woman in more centuries than his wife had years.

"Well, Lazarus, how do we work this out?"

"Work out what, Ma'am? You have the upper hand."

"Oh, piffle! You have the upper hand; you know it. As long as the ship's computer obeys you, rather than me, my 'authority' is a fraud. I escaped once by a fluke; you won't let it happen twice. But I stuck my head back into the trap because I think we have something to trade, to our mutual profit."

"I hope so, Ma'am. Please go on."

"You want your mother rescued. I plan to do it if it can be done. For which you will toe the mark. We need a holding company. I will own fifty-one percent of the voting stock. Not of the profits; there will be plenty for all. But 1 control."

"Madam, you're way ahead of me. I don't know what you have in mind."

"Money. Money and power. Whew! I just got downwind; you sweated into that heavy costume. Go in there, take a tub bath, hot and soapy. I'll sprawl on the chaise longue and we'll talk business. Are you really trying to rescue your mother, or are you simply looking to cut yourself in on Jacob's invention? We can make a deal, either way-but I must know. Don't hold out on me; I tend to get annoyed. Then someone else pays. You, in this case."

She took my hand and led me into the 'fresher while I answered her key question and thought about the rest. No more lies; she had caught me in one thrown together hastily and too complex; my grandfather would have been ashamed of it. So-nothing but the truth. But how much truth and what truth?

"Rescuing my mother is priority one, sine qua non. Business aspects are secondary."

"You were going to say that business aspects didn't matter to you-and I would have stuffed it down your throat."

I stalled while I adjusted the bath's controls. "Ma'am, I always think about business angles. But I would go broke and start over to make this rescue."

"Will you sign such a contract? We rescue your mother; you sign over all your wealth to me? No cheating, no holdout?"

"Is that what it takes?"

"No. It would not be equitable and that would compel you to cheat. Any contract must profit both of us. But rescuing your mother appeals to me-to all my family; I'm the least sentimental of us-and we would tackle it if there were not a fiat dollar in sight. Pour le sport. That nice warm feeling-whether it's a kitten, a baby bird, or an old woman. But there is money in this... and sport... and opportunities beyond imagination. That sound of water splashing:

does that interfere with Dora's hearing?"

"No, she filters it out."

"Is she listening?"

I instantly answered, "Yes." I've lived a long time in part by being a cat not caught in the same trap twice-as she had underlined. I placed in my permanent memory, nine times nine, never to lie to this woman again. Evade, avoid, keep silent, be elsewhere. But don't lie to her. A born Grand Inquisitor. Telepathic? Must ask Laz-Lor.