Robert Heinlein - The Cat Who Walked Through Walls

"More power to you." Schultz added gently, "But suppose he does turn out to be simply stupid? Lacking the capacity to grow up?"

Gwen sighed. "Then I guess I would cry a bit and find him some protected place, where he could work at what he can do and be whatever he is, in dignity and in comfort. Reverend, I could not send him back down to the dirt and the hunger and the fear-and the rats. Living like that is worse than dying."

"Yes, it is. For dying is not to be feared-it is the final comfort. As we all leam, eventually. Very well, a sincere passport for Bill. I'll have to find a certain lady-see whether or not she can accept a rush assignment." He frowned. "It will be difficult to do this before the next shuttle. And I must have a photograph of him. Plague take it!-that means a trip to my studio. More lost time, more risk for you two."

Gwen reached into her purse, pulled out a Mini Helvetia- illegal without a license most places but probably not covered by Manager's regulations here. "Dr. Schultz, this doesn't make a picture big enough for a passport, I know-but could it be blown up for the purpose?"

"It certainly could be. Mmm, that's an impressive camera."

"I like it. I once worked for the-an agency that used such cameras. When I resigned, I found I had mislaid it... and had to pay for it." She grinned mischievously. "Later I found it- it had been in my purse all along... but 'way down in the bottom lost in the junk." She added, "I'll run get a picture of Bill."

I said hastily, "Use a neutral background."

"Think I was a-hint the door? 'Scuse, please. Back in a second."

She was back in a few minutes; the picture was coming up.

A minute later it was sharp; she passed it to Dr. Schultz. "Will that do?"

"Excellent! But what is that background? May I ask?" "A bar towel. Frankie and Juanita stretched it tight behind Bill's head."

"'Frankie and Juanita,'" I repeated. "Who are they?" "The head bartender and the manager. Nice people." "Gwen, I didn't know you were acquainted here. That could cause problems."

"I'm not acquainted here; I've never been here before, dear. I've been in the habit of patronizing The Chuck Wagon in Lazy Eight Spread at radius ninety-they have square dancing." Gwen looked up, squinting against the sunlight directly overhead-the habitat, in its stately spin, was just swinging through the arc that placed the Sun at zenith for Old MacDonald's Farm. She pointed high-well, sixty degrees up, it had to be. "There, you can see The Chuck Wagon; the dance floor is just above it, toward the Sun. Are they dancing? Can you see? There's a strut partly in the way."

"They're too far away for me to tell," I admitted. "They're dancing." Dr. Schultz said. 'Texas Star, I think. Yes, that's the pattern. Ah, youth, youth! I no longer dance but I have been a guest caller at The Chuck Wagon on occasion. Have I seen you there, Mrs. Ames? I think not."

"And I think 'Yes,'" Gwen answered. "But I was masked that day. I enjoyed your calling. Doctor. You have the real Pappy Shaw touch."

"Higher praise a caller cannot hope for. 'Masked-' Perchance you wore a candy-striped gown in green and white? A full circle skirt?"

"More than a full circle; it made waves whenever my partner twirled me-people complained that the sight made them seasick. You have an excellent memory, sir." "And you are an excellent dancer, ma'am." Somewhat irked, I interrupted. "Can we knock off this Old Home Week? There are still urgent things to do and I still have hopes that we can catch the twenty o'clock shuttle."

Schultz shook his head. 'Twenty o'clock? Impossible, sir." "Why is it impossible? That's over three hours from now. I'm edgy about the idea of waiting for a later shuttle; Franco might decide to send his goons after us."

"You've asked for a passport for Bill. Dr. Ames, even the sorriest imitation of a passport takes more time than that." He paused and looked less like Santa Claus and more like a tired and worried old man. "But your prime purpose is to get Bill out of this habitat and onto the Moon?"

"Yes."

"Suppose you took him there as your bond servant?"

"Huh? You can't take a slave into Luna Free State."

"Yes and no. You can take a slave to the Moon... but he is automatically free, then and forever, once he sets foot on Luna; that is one thing those convicts nailed down when they set themselves free. Dr. Ames, I can supply a bill of sale covering Bill's indentures in time for the evening shuttle, I feel confident. I have his picture, I have a supply of official stationery-authentic, by midnight requisition-and there is time to crease and age the document. Truly, this is much safer than trying to rush a passport."

"I defer to your professional judgment. How and when and where do I pick up the paper?"

"Mmm, not at my studio. Do you know a tiny bistro adjacent to the spaceport, one-tenth gee at radius three hundred? The Spaceman's Widow?"

I was about to say no, but that I would find it, when Gwen spoke up. "I know where it is. You have to go behind Macy's warehouse to reach it. No sign on it."

"That's right. Actually it's a private club, but I'll give you a card. You can relax there and get a bite to eat. No one will bother you. Its patrons tend to mind each his own business."

(Because that business is smuggling, or something equally shady-but I didn't say it.) "That suits me."

The Reverend Doctor got out a card, started to write on it- paused. "Names?"

"Mistress Hardesty," Gwen answered promptly.

"I agree," Dr. Schultz said soberly. "A proper precaution. Senator, what is your surname?"

"It can't be 'Cantor'; I might run into someone who knows what Senator Cantor looks like. Uh... Hardesty?"

"No, she's your secretary, not your wife. 'Johnson.' There have been more senators named 'Johnson' than any other name, so it arouses no suspicion-and it matches Bill's last name... which could be useful." He wrote on the card, handed it to me. "Your host's name is Tiger Kondo and he teaches all sorts of kill-quick in his spare time. You can depend on him."

"Thank you, sir." I glanced at the card, pocketed it. "Doctor, do you want more retainer now?"

He grinned jovially. "Now, now! I haven't yet determined how deeply I can bleed you. My motto is 'All the traffic will bear'-but never make the mark anemic."

"Reasonable. Till later, then. We had better not leave together."

"I agree. Nineteen o'clock is my best guess. Dear friends, it has been both a pleasure and a privilege. And let us not forget the true importance of this day. My felicitations, ma'am. My congratulations, sir. May your life together be long and peaceful and filled with love."

Gwen got on her tiptoes and kissed him for that, and they both had tears in their eyes. Well, so did I.

"The biscuits and the syrup never come out even."

LAZARUS LONG 1912-

Gwen took us straight to the Spaceman's Widow, tucked in behind Macy's storerooms just as she had said, in one of those odd little comers formed by the habitat's cylindrical shape- if you didn't know it was there, you probably would never find it. It was pleasantly quiet after the crowds we had encountered at the spaceport end of the axis.

Ordinarily this end was for passenger craft only, with freighters ganging up at the other end of the axis of spin. But positioning the new addition for bringing it up to spin had caused all traffic to be routed to the Moonward, or forward, end- "forward" because Golden Rule is long enough to have a slight tidal effect, and will have even more when the new addition is welded on. I don't mean that it has daily tides; it does not. But what it does have-

(I may be telling too much; it depends on how much you have had to do with habitats. You can skip this with no loss.)