Robert Heinlein - The Number of the Beast

"Jake, you'll be a worse damn' fool if you do."

"What? Zeb, you can't mean that."

"I do mean it. You apologized once today. Hypocrisy, as Sharpie realizes. Jake, your only chance of staying married is to shut up and soldier; your word is no longer worth a fiat dollar. But if you behave yourself for four or five years, she might forget it. Correction: forgive it. She'll never forget it. Establish a long record of good behavior and she might allow you some minor faults. But don't ever hint that she is not as competent as any man. Sure, she'd be picked last for a tug-o'-war team, and she has to stand on a stool to reach a high shelf-does that affect her brain? Hell's bells, if size mattered, I would be the supergenius around here-not you. Or perhaps you think being able to grow a beard confers wisdom? Jake, leave bad enough alone! Mess with it, you'll make it worse."

Time for a diversion: Pop must not be given a chance to answer. If Pop started defending himself, he would wind up self-righteous. The ability of the male mind to rationalize its deeds-and misdeeds-cannot be measured.

(And some female minds. But we females have more wild animal in us; mostly we don't feel any need to justify ourselves. We just do it, whatever it is, because we want to. Is there ever any other reason?)

"Gentlemen," I added, close on Zebadiah's last remark before Pop could attempt rebuttal, "speaking of beards, you each have a three-day growth. If we are about to ask sanctuary, shouldn't we be neat? I'm going to comb my hair and dig the dirt out from under my nails, and-Glory be!-I've got one spandy-clean jump suit. In light green, Zebadiah; matches your pilot suits. Got a clean one, dear?"

"I believe so."

"I know so; I packed it when Aunt Hilda and I rearranged inventory. Pop, your light green jump suit is clean. That one you are wearing has wrinkles in the wrinkles and a big soup spot. We three will look as if we were in uniform. Aunt Hilda won't but the captain-and-owner of a yacht doesn't dress like her crew."

"Owner'?" said Pop.

"Owner," Zebadiah said firmly. "We pooled our resources. Sharpie is captain; she'll stand as owner for all of us. Simpler."

"She cautioned us not to tell lies, Zeb." (Pop sounded normal-his usual argumentative self.)

"No lie. But if she finds it necessary to lie for us, we back her up. Come on, Jake, let's put on our squeakin' shoes; the Captain might decide to land any orbit. How long are these orbits, Deety?"

"One hundred minutes, plus a bit. But Gay could ground us from the far side in five minutes if the Captain asked for it."

"So let's get shipshape and Bristol style. Deety, will you keep an eye on the board while Jake and I shave?"

Pop said, "I'm sorry but I can't shave until the Captain joins us. My gear is aft."

"Jake, use mine. Glove compartment. Remington okay?" My husband added, "You first; I want to read the news."

"The 'news'?"

"Smart Girl has been sampling all frequencies, AM and FM, twice a second. If there is pattern, she copies."

"But Deet- The Astrogator switched off the autopilot's ears."

"Jake, you just flunked Physics One-Oh-One. Deety told S.G. to shut off audio. I had in mind the electromagnetic spectrum. You've heard of it?"

Pop chuckled. "Touché! That makes us even for the one you pulled while we were calibrating."

(I heaved a sigh of relief. I had not been trying to save Pop's marriage- that's his problem. Even my own marriage was secondary; I was trying to save the team, and so was Zebadiah. We were two marriages and that is important- but most important we were a survival team and either we worked together smoothly or none would live through it.)

While Pop shaved and Zebadiah read the news, I cleaned my nails. If I clean them before each meal and again at bedtime, they are dirty only in between- dirt likes me. Mama Jane told me that centuries ago, while ouching my hair for school-not a criticism; a statement of fact.

The men swapped headset for shaver and I combed my hair and pinned it into place-no longer an "ouch" job as I keep it short, ringlets rather than curls. Men like it long-but caring for long hair is a career in itself, and I've been pushed for time since I was twelve.

Zebadiah stopped to feel his chin-so I deduced as the buzzing stopped. I asked, "What did Smart Girl have to say?"

"Not much. Le'me finish this. BBC Third Program mostly."

"From London?" He had resumed shaving and couldn't hear me.

Zebadiah finished shaving and passed his shaver to Pop, who stowed it, then took off the headset and handed it back. Zebadiah racked and secured it. I was about to ask for it, when I heard Aunt Hilda's sweet voice:

"Hello, everyone! What did I miss?"

"Halley's Comet."

"Halley's- Zebbie, you're a tease. Jacob- Oh! You shaved! How very nice! Hold still, my darling; you're going to be kissed, ready or not."

A kiss in free fall is interesting to watch when one participant is safetybelted and the other half is floating free. Hilda held Pop's cheeks, he had her head in his hands, and Aunt Hilda drifted like a flag in a breeze. She was dressed but barefooted; I was intrigued when she curled her toes, hard. Was Pop that good?-my cubical father, so I had thought until recently. Did Jane teach him? Or- Shut up, Deety, you're a voyeuse with a nasty curiosity.

They broke and Hilda floated between the pilot seats, a hand on each, and looked at the board. My husband said-to her, not to me-"Don't I get a kiss? It was my razor."

Aunt Hilda hesitated. Pop said, "Kiss him, beloved, or he'll sulk." So she did. It occurs to me that Aunt Hilda may have taught Zebadiah and that Mama Jane and Aunt Hilda may have been trained by the same coach before Pop came along-if so, who was my Unknown Benefactor?

"Not a whole lot," Zebadiah was saying. "Mostly tapes from BBC. Five minutes of news from Windsor City-which may be the city we bingoed-as exciting as local news from any town you've never been in. Chatter in Russian. The Smart Girl saved that for you."

"I'll listen to it. But I must learn something. I was tempery a while ago, but a nap fixed me up and now I am filled with sweetness and light. I must have a report from each of you. We all have had cumulative fatigue. It is now bedtime at Termite Terrace but about lunchtime in Windsor City if that is its name. We can go back to our stream or we can tackle the British. I am not taking a vote; I shall decide and I have a way to take care of anyone who is tired. But I insist on honest data. Deety?"

"Captain Auntie, sleep is never my problem."

"Zebbie?"

"I was a zombie. Until you recharged me. Now I'm rarin' to go!"

She mussed his hair. "Zebbie, quit teasing."

"Captain, on an earlier occasion I told you the facts: My alert time exceeds twenty-four hours. Forty-eight if I must. If that kiss did not stimulate you as much as it did me, let's try it again and find out what went wrong."

Aunt Hilda turned away abruptly. "Jacob dear, how do you feel? With the time difference this may be equivalent to staying up all night, possibly under great tension,"

"Hilda my love, were we to return to our streamside, I would not sleep, knowing that this contact was coming. A night without sleep does not strain me."

"Pop's not exaggerating, Captain Auntie. I get my night-owl capacity from Pop."

"Very well. But I have a method of taking care of anyone who may have exaggerated. I can leave one person aboard as guard."

"Captain, this wagon does not need a guard."

"Chief Pilot, I was offering sleep-under pretext of guarding. Car locked and sleep where Ijust napped-outsiders would not know. Anyone? Speak up."

(I wouldn't have missed it for a Persian kitten! Did Hilda expect anyone to stay behind? I don't think so.)

"Very well. No firearms. Gentlemen, please hide your pistols and belts with the guns, aft. Zebbie, is there a way to lock that door in addition to dogging it?"