Robert Heinlein - The Number of the Beast

Pop did so, my husband studied the specimens. "Normal variations." Zebadiah then signed "Jake" about a dozen times, looked at his work, took a fresh sheet, signed "Jake" once, passed it to Aunt Hilda. "Well, Sharpie?"

Aunt Hilda studied it. "It wouldn't occur to me to question it-on Jacob's stationary under a note that sounded like his phrasing. Where do we stand now?"

"Stuck in the mud. But we have added data. At least three are involved, two 'Black Hats' and Doctor Brain, who may or may not be a 'Black Hat.' He is, at minimum, a hired hand, an unwitting stooge, or a puppet they can move around like a chessman.

"While two plus 'Brainy' is minimum, it is not the most probable number. This scheme was not whipped up overnight. It involves arson, forgery, boobytrapping a car, wiretapping, theft, and secret communications between points widely separated, with coordinated criminal actions at each end-and it may involve doing in my cousin Zebulon. We can assume that the 'Black Hats' know that I am not the Zeb Carter who is the n-dimensional geometer; I'm written off as a bystander .who got himself killed.

"Which doesn't bother them. These playful darlings would swat a fly with a sledgehammer, or cure a cough with a guillotine. They are smart, organized, efficient, and vicious-and the only clue is an interest in six-dimensional nonEuclidean geometry.

"We don't have a glimmer as to 'who'-other than Doctor Brain, whose role is unclear. But, Jake, I think I know 'why'-and that will lead us to 'who."

"Why, Zebadiah?" I demanded.

"Princess, your father could have worked on endless other branches of mathematics and they would not have bothered him. But he happened-I don't mean chance; I don't believe in 'chance' in this sense-he worked on the one variety of the endless possible number of geometries-the only one that correctly describes how space-time is put together. Having found it, because he is a genius in both theory and practice, he saw that it was a means by which to build a simple craft-amazingly simple, the greatest invention since the wheel-a space-time craft that offers access to all universes to the full Number of the Beast. Plus undenumerable variations of each of those many universes.

"We have one advantage."

"I don't see any advantage! They're shooting at my Jacob!"

"One strong advantage, Sharpie. The 'Black Hats' know that Jake has worked out this mathematics. They don't know that he has built his spacetime tail-twister; they think he has just put symbols on paper. They tried to discredit his work and were successful. They tried to kill him and barely missed. They probably think Jake is dead-and it seems likely that they have killed Ed. But they don't know about Snug Harbor."

"Why do you say that, Zeb? Oh, I hope they do not!-but why do you feel sure?"

"Because these blokes aren't fooling. They blew up your car and burned your flat; what would they do here?-if they knew. An A-bomb?"

"Son, do you think that criminals can lay hands on atomic weapons?"

"Jake, these aren't criminals. A 'criminal' is a member of the subset of the larger set 'human beings.' These creatures are not human."

"Eh? Zeb, your reasoning escapes me."

"Deety. Run it through the computer. The one between your ears."

I did not answer; I just sat and thought. After several minutes of unpleasant thoughts I said, "Zebadiah, the 'Black Hats' don't know about the apparatus in our basement."

"Conclusive assumption," my husband agreed, "because we are still alive."

"They are determined to destroy a new work in mathematics... and to kill the brain that produced it."

"A probability approaching unity," Zebadiah again agreed.

"Because it can be used to travel among the universes."

"Conclusive corollary," my husband noted.

"For this purpose, human beings fall into three groups. Those not interested in mathematics more complex than that needed to handle money, those who know a bit about other mathematics, and a quite small third group who could understand the possibilities."

"Yes."

"But our race does not know anything of other universes so far as I know."

"They don't. Necessary assumption."

"But that third group would not try to stop an attempt to travel among the universes. They would wait with intellectual interest to see how it turned out. They might believe or disbelieve or suspend judgment. But they would not oppose; they would be delighted if my father succeeded. The joy of intellectual discovery-the mark of a true scientist."

I sighed and added, "I see no other grouping. Save for a few sick people, psychotic, these three subsets complete the set. Our opponents are not psychotic; they are intelligent, crafty, and organized."

"As we all know too well," Zebadiah echoed.

"Therefore our opponents are not human beings. They are alien intelligences

from elsewhere." I sighed again and shut up. Being an oracle is a no-good profession!

"Or elsewhen. Sharpie, can you kill?"

"Kill whom, Zebbie? Or what?"

"Can you kill to protect Jake?"

"You bet your frimpin' life I'll kill to protect Jacob!"

"I won't ask you, Princess; I know Dejah Thoris." Zebadiah went on, "That's the situation, ladies. We have the most valuable man on this planet to protect. We don't know from what. Jake, your bodyguard musters two Amazons, one small, one medium large, both probably knocked up, and one Cowardly Lion. I'd hire the Dorsai if I knew their P.O. Box. Or the Gray Lensman and all his pals. But we are all there are and we'll try! Avete, alieni, nos morituri vos spernimus! Let's break out that champagne."

"My Captain, do you think we should?" I asked. "I'm frightened."

"We should. I'm no good for more work today, and neither is Jake. Tomorrow we'll start installing the gadget in Gay Deceiver, do rewiring and reprogramming so that she will work for any of us. Meanwhile we need a couple of laughs and a night's sleep. What better time to drink life to the dregs than when we know that any hour may be our last?"

Aunt Hilda punched Zebadiah in the ribs. "Yer dern tootin', Buster! I'm going to get giggle happy and make a fool of myself and then take my man and put him to sleep with Old Mother Sharpie's Time-Tested Nostrum. Deety, I prescribe the same for you."

I suddenly felt better. "Check, Aunt Hilda! Captain John Carter always wins. 'Cowardly Lion' my foot! Who is Pop? The Little Wizard?"

"I think he is."

"Could be. Pop, will you open the bubbly? I always hurt my thumbs."

"Right away, Deety. I mean 'Dejah Thoris, royal consort of the Warlord."

"No need to be formal, Pop. This is going to be an informal party. Very! Pop! Do I have to keep my pants on?"

"Ask your husband. You're his problem now."

"Let us all preserve our iIlusion~-"

Hilda:

In my old age, sucking my gums in front of the fire and ]iving over my misdeeds, I'll remember the next few days as the happiest in my life. I'd had three honeymoons earlier, one with each of my term-contract husbands: two had been good, one had been okay and (eventually) very lucrative. But my honeymoon with Jacob was heavenly.

The whiff of danger sharpened the joy. Jacob seemed unworried, and Zebbie has hunches, like a horseplayer. Seeing that Zebbie was relaxed, Deety got over being .jumpy-and I never was, as I hope to end like a firecracker, not linger on, ugly. helpless, useless..

A spice of danger adds zest to life. Even during a honeymoon-especially during a honeymoon.

An odd honeymoon. We worked hard but our husbands seemed never too busy for pat fanny, squeeze tittv, and unhurried kisses. Not a group marriage but two twosomes that were one family, comfortable each with the others. I dropped most of my own sparkv-bitch ways, and Zebbie sometimes called me "Hilda" rather than "Sharpie."