The Cat Who Walks Through Walls (41 page)

We left right after dinner in that four-place spaceplane—Hazel and I, a small giant named Zeb, Hilda the tiny beauty, Lazarus, Dr. Jacob Burroughs, Dr. Jubal Harshaw, still another redhead—well, strawberry blonde—named Deety, and still another one who was not her twin but should have been, a sweet girl named Elizabeth and called Libby. I looked at these last two and whispered to Hazel, “More of Lazarus’s descendants? Or more of yours?”

“No. I don’t think so. About Lazarus, I mean. I know they aren’t mine; I’m not quite that casual. One is from another universe and the other is more than a thousand years older than I am. Blame it on Gilgamesh. Uh…at dinner did you notice a little girl, another carrot top, paddling in the fountain?”

“Yes. A cutie pie.”

“She—” We started to load, all nine of us, into that four-place spaceplane. Hazel said, “Ask me later,” and climbed in. I started to follow. That small giant took my arm firmly, which stopped me, as he outmassed me by about forty kilos. “We haven’t met. I’m Zeb Carter.”

“I’m Richard Ames Campbell, Zeb. Happy to meet you.”

“And this is my mom, Hilda Mae.” He indicated the china doll.

I did not have time to consider the improbability of his assertion. Hilda answered, “I’m his stepmother-in-law, part-time wife, and sometime mistress, Richard; Zebbie is always not quite in focus. But he’s sweet. And you belong to Hazel, so that gives you the keys to the city.” She reached up, put her hands on my shoulders, stood on tiptoes, and kissed me. Her kiss was quick but warm and not quite dry; it left me most thoughtful. “If you want anything, just ask for it. Zebbie will fetch it.”

It seemed that there were five in that family (or sub-family; they were all part of the Long household or family, but I did not have it figured out): Zeb and his wife Deety, she being that first strawberry blonde whom I had met briefly, and her father, Jake Burroughs, whose wife was Hilda, but who was not mother of Deety—and the fifth was Gay. Zeb had said, “And Gay, of course. You know who I mean.”

I asked Zeb, “Who is Gay?”

“Not me. Or just as a hobby. Our car is Gay.”

A sultry contralto said, “I’m Gay. Hi, Richard, you were in me once but I don’t think you remember it.”

I decided that the Lethe field had some really bad side effects. If I had at some time been in a woman (she expressed it that way, not I) with a voice of that utterly seductive quality but I could not remember it…well, it was time to throw myself on the mercy of the court; I was obsolete.

“Excuse me. I don’t see her. The lady named Gay.”

“She’s no lady, she’s a trollop.”

“Zebbie, you’ll regret that. He means I am not a woman, Richard; I’m this car you are about to climb into—and have been in before, but you were wounded and sick so I’m not hurt that you don’t remember me—”

“Oh, but I do!”

“You do? That’s nice. Anyhow I’m Gay Deceiver, and welcome aboard.”

I climbed in and started to crawl through the cargo door back of the seats. Hilda snagged me. “Don’t go back there. Your wife is back there with two men. Give the girl a chance.”

“And with Lib,” Deety added. “Don’t tease him. Aunt Sharpie. Sit down, Richard.” I sat down between them—a privilege, except that I wanted to see that space-warped bathroom. If there was one. If it was not a Lethe dream.

Hilda settled against me like a cat and said, “You have received a bad first impression of Lazarus, Richard; I don’t want it to stay that way.”

I admitted that on a scale of ten he scored a minus three with me.

“I hope it doesn’t stay that way. Deety?”

“Day in and day out Lazarus averages closer to a nine, Richard. You’ll see.”

“Richard,” Hilda went on, “despite what you heard me say, I don’t think badly of Lazarus. I have borne one child by him…and I go that far only with men I respect. But Lazarus does have his little ways; it is necessary to spank him from time to time. Nevertheless I love him.”

“Me, too,” agreed Deety. “I have a little girl by Lazarus and that means I love and respect him or it would not have happened. Correct, Zebadiah?”

“How would I know? ‘Love, oh careless love!’ Boss Lady, are we going somewhere? Gay wants to know.”

“Report readiness.”

“Starboard door sealed, irrelevant gear ready.”

“Portside door sealed, seat belts fastened, all systems normal.”

“Time Corps Headquarters via Alpha and Beta. At will, Chief Pilot.”

“Aye aye. Captain. Gay Deceiver, Checkpoint Alpha. Execute.”

“Yassuh, Massuh.” The bright sunlight and green lawn beside the Long House bunked away to blackness and stars. We were weightless.

“Checkpoint Alpha, probably,” Zeb said. “Gay, do you see THQ?”

“Checkpoint Alpha on the nose,” the car answered. “Time Corps HQ dead ahead. Zeb, you need glasses.”

“Checkpoint Beta, execute.” The sky blinked again.

This time I could spot it. Not a planet but a habitat, perhaps ten klicks away, perhaps a thousand—in space, with a strange object, I had no way to guess.

Zeb said, “Time Corps Headquarters, ex—
Gay Scram!
”

A nova bomb burst in front of us.

Schrödinger’s Cat

“God’s bones!” the car moaned. “That one burned my tail feathers! Hilda, let’s go home.
Please!
” The nova bomb was now a long way off but it still burned with intense white light, looking like Sol from out around Pluto.

“Captain?” Zeb inquired.

“Affirmative,” Hilda answered calmly. But she was clinging to me and trembling.

“GayMaureenExecute!” We were back on the grounds of the Romanesque mansion of Lazarus Long and his tribe.

“Chief Pilot, please beep Oz annex and tell them to disembark; we won’t be going anywhere soon. Richard, if you will slide out to the right as soon as Jake is out of your way, that will let our passengers climb out.”

I did so as quickly as Dr. Burroughs cleared the way. I heard Lazarus Long’s voice rumbling behind me. “Hilda! Why have you ordered us out of the car? Why aren’t we at Headquarters?” His tone reminded me of a drill sergeant I had had as a boot, ten thousand years ago.

“Forgot my knitting, Woodie, had to go back for it.”

“Knock it off. Why haven’t we started? Why are we disembarking?”

“Watch your blood pressure, Lazarus. Gay just proved that she was not being a Nervous Nellie when she asked me to break our usual trip to THQ into three jumps. Had I used our old routine, we would all glow in the dark.”

“My skin itches,” Gay said fretfully. “I’ll bet I would make a Geiger stick rattle like hail on a tin roof.”

“Zebbie will check you later, dear,” Hilda said soothingly, then went on to Lazarus: “I don’t think Gay was hurt; I think none of us was. Because Zeb had one of his bad-news flashes and bounced us out of there almost ahead of the photons. But I am sorry to report, sir, that Headquarters isn’t there anymore. May it rest in peace.”

Lazarus persisted, “Hilda, is this one of your jokes?”

“Captain Long, when you talk that way, I expect you to address me as ‘Commodore.’”

“Sorry. What happened?”

Zeb said, “Lazarus, let them finish unloading and I’ll take you back and show you. Just you and me.”

“Yes indeed, just you two,” the car put in. “But not me! I won’t go! I didn’t sign up for combat duty. I won’t let you close my doors; that means you can’t seal up, and then you can’t move me. I’m on strike.”

“Mutiny,” said Lazarus. “Melt her down for scrap.”

The car screamed, then it said excitedly, “Zeb, did you hear that? Did you hear what he said? Hilda, did you hear him? Lazarus, I don’t belong to you and never did! Tell him, Hilda! You lay one finger on me and I’ll go critical and blow your hand off. And take all of Boondock County with me.”

“Mathematically impossible,” Long remarked.

“Lazarus,” said Hilda, “you shouldn’t be so quick to say ‘impossible’ when speaking of Gay. In any case, don’t you mink you’ve been in the doghouse enough for one day? You get Gay sore at you and she’ll tell Dora, who’ll tell Teena, who’ll tell Minerva, who will tell Ishtar and Maureen and Tamara, and then you’ll be lucky to get anything to eat and you won’t be allowed to sleep or go anywhere.”

“I’m henpecked. Gay, I apologize. If I read you two chapters from
Tik-Tok
tonight, will you forgive me?”

“Three.”

“It’s a deal. Please tell Teena to ask mathematicians working on Operation Galactic Overlord to meet me ASAP in my quarters in Dora. Please tell all others involved with Overlord that they are advised to come to Dora, eat and sleep aboard. I don’t know when we will leave. It could be a week but it could be anytime and there might not be even ten minutes warning. War conditions. Red alert.”

“Dora has it; she’s relaying. What about Boondock?”

“What do you mean ‘What about Boondock?’”

“Do you want the city evacuated?”

“Gay, I didn’t know you cared.” Lazarus sounded surprised.

“Me? Care what happens to groundcrawlers?” the car snorted. “I’m simply relaying for Ira.”

“Oh. For a moment there I thought you were developing human sympathies.”

“God forbid!”

“I’m relieved. Your simple self-centered selfishness has been a haven of stability in an ever-shifting world.”

“Never mind the compliments; you still owe me three chapters.”

“Certainly, Gay; I promised. Please tell Ira that, so far as I know, Boondock is as safe as anywhere in this world…which ain’t saying much…whereas, in my opinion, any attempt to evacuate this ant hill would result in great loss of life, still greater loss of property. But it might be worthwhile to risk it just to crank up their lazy metabolisms—Boondock today strikes me as fat, dumb, and careless. Ask him to acknowledge.”

“Ira says, ‘Up yours.’”

“Roger, and the same to you; wilco, they make a damn fine stew. Colonel Campbell, I’m sorry about this. Would you care to come with me? It might interest you to see how we mount an emergency time manipulation. Hazel, is that okay? Or am I crowding in on your pidgin again?”

“It’s all right, Lazarus, as it is no longer my pidgin. It’s yours and that of the other Companions.”

“You’re a hard woman, Sadie.”

“What can you expect, Lazarus? Luna is a harsh teacher. I learned my lessons at her knee. May I come along?”

“You’re expected; you are still part of Overlord. Are you not?”

We walked about fifty meters across the lawn to where was parked the biggest, fanciest flying saucer any UFO cultist ever claimed to have seen. I learned that this was “Dora,” meaning both the ship and the computer that ran the ship. I learned too that the Dora was the Senior’s private yacht, that it was Hilda’s flagship, and that it was a pirate ship commanded by Lorelei Lee and/or Lapis Lazuli and crewed by Castor and Pollux, who were either their husbands or their slaves or both.

“They’re both,” Hazel told me later. “And Dora is all three. Laz and Lor won sixty-year indentures from Cas and Pol in a game of red dog shortly after they married them. Laz and Lor are telepathic with each other, and they cheat. My grandsons are smart as whips and as conceited as Harvard grads, and they always try to cheat. I tried to break them of this nasty habit when they were still too young to chase girls, by using a marked deck. Didn’t work; they spotted my readers. But their downfall arose from the fact that Laz and Lor are smarter than they are and even more deceitful.”

Hazel shook her head ruefully. “It’s a wicked world. You would think that a youngster I had trained would be instantly suspicious when dealt three aces and the odd king in a hand of red dog…but Cas was greedy. He not only tapped the pot when he could not cover it, he pledged his indentures to fill the gap.

“Then, not a day later, Pol fell for an even more transparent piece of larceny; he was sure he knew what card was next to be dealt because he recognized a small coffee stain. Turned out that the ten as well as the eight had that same small stain. Pol held the nine but he was not in a strong moral position. Ah, well, it is probably better for the lads to have to do all the scut work in the ship plus shampoos and pedicures for their wives than it would be for the boys to sell Laz and Lor in the slave marts of Iskander, as I misdoubt they would have done had their own thieving efforts succeeded.”

The Dora is even bigger inside than out; she has as many staterooms as may be needed. It was once a luxurious but fairly conventional hyperphotonic spaceship. But it (the ship, not Dora the computer) was refitted with a Burroughs irrelevant drive (the magic means by which Gay Deceiver flits around the stars in nothing flat). A corollary of the Burroughs equations that teleport Gay can be applied to shape space warps. So Dora’s passenger and cargo spaces were revamped; this lets Dora keep endless spare compartments collapsed in on themselves until she needs them.

(This is not the same deal under which Gay has tucked away in her portside skin two nineteenth-century bathrooms. Or is it? Well, I don’t think it is. Must inquire. Or should I let sleeping logs butter their own bed? Better, maybe.)

A gang port relaxed in the side of the yacht; a ramp slid down, and I followed Lazarus up to the ship with my darling on my arm. As he stepped over the side, music sounded: “It Ain’t Necessarily So” from George Gershwin’s immortal
Porgy and Bess
. A long-dead “Sportin’ Life” sang about the impossibility of a man as old as Methuselah ever persuading a woman to bed with him.

“Dora!”

A young girl’s sweet voice answered, “I’m taking a bath. Call me later.”

“Dora, shut off that silly song!”

“I must consult the captain of the day, sir.”

“Consult and be damned! But stop that noise.”

Another voice replaced the ship’s voice: “Captain Lor speaking, Buddy Boy. Do you have a problem?”

“Yes. Shut off that noise!”

“Buddy, if you mean the classical music now playing as a salute to your arrival, I must say that your taste is as barbaric as ever. In any case I am constrained from switching it off because this new protocol was established by Commodore Hilda. I cannot change it without her permission.”

“I’m henpecked.” Lazarus fumed. “Can’t enter my own ship without being insulted. I swear to Allah that, once I’ve cleaned up Overlord, I’m going to buy a Burroughs Bachelor Buggy, equip it with a Minsky Cerebrator, and go for a long vacation with no women aboard.”