Robert Heinlein - The Number of the Beast

Having put too much lipstick on Deety, Sharpie removed some, then carried her makeup onto her breasts so that it disappeared under the dress. Which is pretty far because they saved material on that dress at the top in order to give it a full, floor-length skirt. You can't quite see her nipples-in the flesh I mean; they generally show through her clothes, always when she's happy- because Deety stands tall. Her mother had told her, "Deety, if a woman is tall, the answer is to look at least three centimeters taller than you are."

Deety always believed her mother; she stands tall, sits straight; she never leans or slouches; she can get away with that dress by half a centimeter. I'm not sure of the material but the color is the shade of green that goes best with strawberry hair. That dress, her height, long legs, broad shoulders, a waist two sizes too small setting off breasts two sizes too big-the combo could get her a job as a show girl.

When Sharpie finished gilding Deety I couldn't see that she had been made up at all....ut knew durn well that she did not look the way she had before. Sharpie picked her jewelry, too-sparingly, as Deety had all her pretties with her, her own and those that had belonged to her mother. Sharpie based it on an emerald-and-pearl neckpiece, plus a matching pin and ring.

As for Sharpie, twice my darling's age and half as big, restraint was not what she used. The central diamond of her necklace was smaller than the Star of Africa.

She wore other diamonds here and there.

Here is something I don't understand. Sharpie is underprivileged in mammary glands. I know she was not wearing cheaters as I returned to get my tie tied just as Deety was about to lower it onto her. No bra, no underwear. But when that dress was fastened, Sharpie had tits-little ones but big enough for her size. Stuffing built into the dress? Nope. I went out of my way to check.

Is that why some couturiers get such high prices?

Still... the Captain looks best in her skin.

So we uncovered these confections and gave the British colony, male, female, and the others, something to talk about for months.

I can't say the English ladies were pleased. Their men gravitated toward our darlings like iron filings toward a magnet. However, Betty, Lady Herbert, is sweet all through. She rushed toward us (a bow wave of juniors getting out of her way), stopped short, looked only at our ladies, and said with the delight of a child at Christmas: "Oh, how beautiful you are!" and clapped her hands.

Her voice projected against dead silence, then conversation resumed. Lady Herbert took them, an arm around each, and toured the hall (busting up a receiving line). Brigadier Hird-Jones rolled with the punch, gathered in Jake and me, made sure we met those who had not been at tea.

Shortly before dinner a colonel said to me, "Oh, I say, is it true that the tiny beauty is in command of your ship?"

"Quite true. Best commanding officer I've ever had."

"Haw. Astounding. Fascinating. The taller girl, the strawberry blonde- introduced simply as 'Mrs. Carter.' She's part of your ship's company. Yes?"

"Yes," I agreed. "Astrogator and second-in-command. Doctor D. T. Burroughs Carter, my wife."

"Well! My congratulations, sir."

"Thank you."

"I say, Carter, would it be rude of me to ask why the ladies have the senior posts while you and Doctor Burroughs appear to be junior? Or am I intruding?"

"Not at all, Colonel. We each do what we do best. Mrs. Burroughs is not only best as commander; she is also best cook. While we take turns at cooking, I'll happily volunteer as scullery maid if it will persuade the Captain to cook."

"Amazing. Could you use a colonel of lancers about to retire? I'm a wonderful scullery maid."

The dinner was excellent (Irish chef, transported for shooting his landlord) and Lady Herbert was delightful, even though she drank her dinner and her words became increasingly difficult to understand. But any answer would do as long as it was friendly. Jake displayed the charm he can when he bothers and kept her laughing.

One thing marred it. Lady Herbert started to slump and nursing sisters appeared and took her away. What is protocol for this?

I checked Hilda and the Governor; they didn't seem to see it. I glanced at Hird-Jones; the Brigadier did not seem to see it-but Squeaky sees everything. Ergo: no member of the colony could "see" it.

Someone else gathered the ladies while the gentlemen remained for port and cigars. While we were standing as the ladies left, Hird-Jones leaned close:

"Your captain has asked me to tell you that the Governor invites you to join them later in his study."

I tasted the port, lit the cigar (I don't smoke-fake it when polite) when the Brigadier caught my eye and said, "Now." Bertie had left, leaving a stooge, a wit who had them all laughing-that colonel of lancers.

When Jake and I came in, Deety and Hilda were there, with a large man,

tall as I am and heavier-Major General Moresby, chief of staff. Bertie stood while waving us to chairs. "Thanks for coming, gentlemen. We are settling tomorrow's schedule and your captain prefers to have you present."

The Governor reached behind him, moved out a globe of Mars. "Captain, I think I have marked the places we visited yesterday."

"Deety, please check it," Sharpie directed.

My darling looked it over. "The Russian settlements extended almost one hundred fifty kilometers farther east than this borderline shows-ninety-one English miles, seventy-nine nautical miles-call it two and a half degrees."

"Impossible!" (The bulky Major General-)

Deety shrugged. "Might be a few miles more; all we took were spot checks."

Jake said, "General Moresby, you had better believe it."

Bertie stepped in with: "Is that the only discrepancy, Doctor Deety?"

"One more. But there is something I want to ask about. May I borrow a marking pen? Grease pencil?"

Bertie found one; she placed three bingoes in an equilateral triangle, well detached from both zones. "What are these, sir? This one is a village, the other two are large farms. But we did not determine nationality."

Bertie looked at her marks. "Not ours. Moresby, how long ago did we reconnoitre that area?"

"There are no Russians there! She's doing it by memory. She's mistaken."

I said, "Moresby, I'll bet my wife's marks are accurate within two kilometers. How high do you want to go? What is a pound worth here in gold?"

Bertie said, "Please, gentlemen-wagers another time. What was the other error, Astrogator Deety?"

"Our touchdown point. Where we tangled with the Russians. Your memory is off by many degrees. Should be here."

"Moresby?"

"Governor, that is impossible. Either they did not land there or they had trouble with Russians somewhere else."

Deety shrugged. "Governor, I have no interest in arguing. Our time of arrival at 'Touchdown' just after dawn day before yesterday was fourteen-ohsix in the afternoon Windsor City local time. Six past two pip emma. You saw the remains of that ornithopter today. What did shadows and height of the sun tell you as to local time there, and what does that tell you about longitude from here ?" She added, "With one degree of longitude being four minutes of local time difference, you can treat one minute of arc as equal to one kilometer and measure it on this globe. The errors will be smaller than your own error in estimate of local time."

"Astrogator, I'm not good at this sort of problem. But it was about eightthirty in the morning where we saw the burned ornithopter."

"That's right, Governor. We'll lay that out as kilometers and see how close it comes to my mark."

Moresby objected, "But that globe is scaled in miles!"

Deety looked back at Bertie with a half smile, an expression that said wordlessly: (He's your boy, Bertie. Not mine.)