Robert Heinlein - Time Enough For Love

When the Howard Clinic notified me that the Senior was awake (with a reminder that only one "night" had passed for him) I was not only awake but had completed necessary work and bucked the rest; I went at once to the Clinic. After they decontaminated me I found him dawdling over coffee, having just finished breakfast.

He glanced up and grinned. "Hi, Ira!"

"Good morning, Grandfather." I went to him ready to offer a respectful salutation such as he had permitted when I bade him goodnight the night "before"-but watching for signs that say Yes, or No, before the mouth speaks. Even among the Families there is wide variety in such customs-and Lazarus is, as always, a law unto himself. So I closed the last of the gap with great deliberation.

He answered me by drawing back so slightly that it would have been unnoticeable had I not been alert for it. He added a gentle warning: "Strangers present, Son."

I stopped at once. "At least I think they are strangers," he added. "I've been trying to get acquainted, but all we share is some pidgin speech plus a lot of handwaving. But it's nice to have people around instead of those zombies-we get along. Hey, dear! Come here, that's a good girl."

He motioned to one of his rejuvenation technicians-two on watch, as usual, and this morning, one was female, one was male. I was pleased to see that my order that females should "dress attractively" had been carried out. This woman was a blonde, graceful and not unattractive if one likes tallness in a female. (I don't dislike it, but there is something to be said for one small enough to fit on one's lap-not that I've had much time for that lately.)

She glided forward and waited, smiling. She was dressed in a something-women's styles don't stay the same long enough for me to keep track, and this was a period when every woman in New Rome seemed to be trying to dress differently from every other woman. Whatever it was, it was an iridescent blue that set off her eyes and fitted her closely where it covered her at all; the effect was pleasing.

"Ira, this is Ishtar-did I get your name right that time, dear?"

"Yes, Senior."

"And that young man over there is, believe it or not, 'Galahad.' Know any legends of Earth, Ira? If he knew its idiomatic meaning, he would change it-the perfect knight who never got any. But I've been trying to remember why Ishtar's face is so familiar. Dear, was I ever married to you? Ask her for me, Ira; she may not have understood."

"No, Senior. Not never. Is certain."

"She understood you," I said.

"Well, it could have been her grandmother-a lively wench, Ira. Tried to kill me, so I left her."

The Chief Master Technician spoke briefly in Galacta. I said, "Lazarus, she says that, while she has never had the honor of being married to you, contractually or informally, she is quite willing if you are."

"Well! A saucy one-it must have been her grandmother. Eight, nine hundred years back, more or less-I lose track of half centuries-and on this planet. Ask her if, uh, Arid Barstow is her grandmother."

The technician looked very pleased and broke into rapid Galacta. I listened and said, "She says that Ariel Barstow is her great-great-great-grandmother and she is joyed to hear you acknowledge the connection as that is the lineage by which she is descended from you...and that she would be supremely honored, both for herself and on behalf of her siblings and cousins, if you would converge the lineage again, with or without contract After your rejuvenation is completed, she adds-she is not trying to rush you. How about it, Lazarus? If she has used up her reproduction quota, I would be happy to grant her an exception so that she would not have to migrate."

"The hell she ain't trying to rush me. And so are you. But she put it politely, so let's give it a polite answer. Tell her that I'm honored and her name goes into the hat-but don't tell her I'm shipping out on Thursday. 'Don't call us, we'll call you' in other words-but make her happy about it; she's a nice kid."

I revised the message diplomatically; Ishtar beamed, curtsied, and backed away. Lazarus said, "Drag up a rock, Son, and sit a while." He lowered his voice and added, "Between ourselves, Ira, I'm pretty sure Ariel slipped one in on me. But with another of my descendants, so this kid is descended from me anyhow, though maybe not as directly. Not that it matters. What are you doing up so early? I said you could have two hours after breakfast to yourself."

"I'm an early riser, Lazarus. Is it true that you have decided on the full course? She seems to think so."

Lazarus looked pained. "It's probably the simplest answer-but how do I know I'll get my own balls back?"

"Gonads from your clone are your own, Lazarus; that's basic to the theory."

"Well...we'll see. Early rising is a vice, Ira; it'll stunt your growth and' shorten your days. Speaking of such-" Lazarus glanced up at the wall. "Thanks for having that switch reinstalled. I don't feel tempted by it this fine morning, but a man does like to have a choice. Galahad, coffee for the Chairman and fetch me that plastic envelope." Grandfather Lazarus supplemented his order with gestures, but I think the tech understood his words. Or was somewhat telepathic; rejuvenators are quite empathic-need to be. The man moved at once to comply.

He handed Lazarus an impervolope and poured coffee for me-which I did not want but will drink anything protocol requires. Lazarus went on, "Here's my new will, Ira. Read it and file it somewhere and tell your computer. I've already approved the way she worded it and read it back into her and told her to place it in her permanents with a 'bind' on it-it 'ud take a Philadelphia lawyer to diddle you out of your inheritance now-though no doubt one could."

He waved the male tech aside. "No more coffee, lad- thanks. Go sit down. You go sit, too, dear. Ishtar. Ira, what are these young people? Nurses? Orderlies? Servants? Or what? They hover over me like a hen with one chick. I've never cared for more service than I need. Just sociability. Human company."

I could not answer without inquiring. Not only is it unnecessary for me to know how the Rejuvenation Clinic is organized, but also it is private enterprise, not under the Trustees-and my intervention in the case of the Senior was much resented by its Director. So I interfered as little as possible-as long as my orders were carried out.

I spoke to the female tech, in Galacta: "What is your professional designation, ma'am? The Senior wants to know. He says that you have been behaving like a servant."

She answered quietly, "It is our pleasure to serve him in any way we can, sir"-then hesitated and went on: "I am Administrator Master Chief Rejuvenation Technician Ishtar Hardy, Deputy Director for Rejuvenation Procedures, and my assistant watch officer is Associate Technician Galahad Jones."

Having been rejuvenated twice and used to the idea all my life, it does not surprise me when cosmetic age does not match calendar age. But I admit to surprise at learning that this young woman was not just a technician but boss of her department- probably number three in the entire Clinic. Or possibly number two while the Director was away sulking in her tent- damn her duty-struck stiff neck. Or even Director Pro Tem with her deputy, or some department head, bucked into minding the store." "So?" I answered. "May I ask your calendar age, Madam Administrator?"

"Mr. Chairman Pro Tem may ask anything. I am only one hundred forty-seven years old-but I am qualified; this has been my only career since first maturity."

"I did not imply doubt of your qualifications, madam, but I am astonished to see you standing a watch rather than sitting at a desk. Although I confess I don't know how the Clinic is-organized."

She smiled slightly. "Sir, I could express a similar feeling at your own personal interest in this case...were it not that I think I understand it. I am here because I choose not to delegate the responsibility; he is the Senior. I have screened all watch officers assigned to him-the best we have to offer."