Time Enough for Love (45 page)

“Goodness! You can afford to have Captain Briggs hold a starship in orbit? Just to let me make up my mind?”

“I shouldn’t have rushed you. But it’s not exactly a case of affording it, Dora—although it doesn’t cost much to stay in orbit. Uh… I’ve kept my own counsel so long that I’m out of the habit of being a married man, with a wife I can trust with secrets; I must stop it. I own sixty percent of the ‘Andy J.’ Dora; Zack Briggs is my junior partner. And my son. Your stepson, you could say.”

She did not answer at once. Presently he said, “What’s the trouble, Dora? Did I shock you?”

“No, Woodrow. I’m just having to get used to new ideas. Of course you’ve been married before, you’re a Howard. I’d never thought about it, that’s all. A son—sons. And daughters, too, no doubt.”

“Yes, surely. But what I was getting at is that I’ve done some bad planning—through my own selfishness. I was rushing you when there is no need for it. If we stay on New Beginnings, I want ‘Ernest Gibbons’ to disappear—leave in the ‘Andy J.,’ that is, as he is getting too old: I can’t keep it up much longer. So young ‘Bill Smith,’ who is much nearer your age, takes his place…which looks better and no one here will ever suspect that I’m a Howard.

“I’ve worked this shenanigan many times; I know how to make it stand up. But I was trying to get rid of ‘Ernest Gibbons’ as fast as possible because he’s your old foster uncle who is about three times your age and wouldn’t dream of patting your pretty bottom, nor would you encourage him to. As everybody knows. But I
want
to pat your pretty bottom, Dorable.”

“And I want you to pat it.” She reined up; they were getting close to where houses were near together. “And more. Woodrow, you’re saying that we can’t live together right away because of what the neighbors might think. But who taught me never to care what the neighbors think? You did.”

“True. Although sometimes it’s expedient to make the neighbors think what you want them to think in order to influence what they do and say—and this might be such a time. But I also tried to teach you to be patient, dear one.”

“Woodrow, I will do exactly what you tell me to. But I’m not really patient about this. I want my husband in my bed!”

“And I want to be there.”

“Then what does it matter if people assume that I choose to tell my Uncle Gibbie good-bye in bed? Or that I then go away with a new settler almost at once? Woodrow, you didn’t say a word about it at the time—but you knew that I was not virgin, I’m certain. Don’t you think there must be others who know it, too? Probably the whole town. I’ve never worried about it. Why should I worry what they think now?”

“Dora.”

“Yes, Woodrow?”

“I’ll be in your bed every night, that’s settled.”

“Thank you, Woodrow.”

“The pleasure is mine, madam. Or half of it, at least; you seem to enjoy it, too—”

“Oh, I do! And you know it. Or should.”

“So stipulated, let’s pass to other matters—except to say that had I found you virgin—big as you are, old as you are—it would have worried me a little, and I might have felt that Helen had not been quite the wholesome influence that I thought she was. That she was indeed, bless her heart! The matter of pretending to be dear old ‘Uncle Gibbie’ who would never touch little Dora was purely for your face; since it does not worry you, let’s drop it. What I started to say is that you can take as long as you like in deciding whether to pioneer here or go to Secundus. Dora, Secundus has more than inside plumbing; it has a Rejuvenation Clinic.”

“Oh! You need to be near one, Woodrow?”

“No, no! For
you
, dear.”

She was very slow in answering. “That would not make me a Howard.”

“Well, no. But it helps. Rejuvenation therapies don’t make Howards last forever, either. Some people are helped quite a lot by them; some are not. Maybe someday we’ll know more—but now, on the average, rejuvenation techniques seem to about double whatever a person could expect normally, whether he’s a Howard…or not a Howard. Uh, do you know
anything
about how long your grandparents lived?”

“How could I, Woodrow? I just barely remember that I once had parents. I don’t even know the names of my grandparents.”

“We can find out. The ship carries records of every migrant who takes passage in her. I’ll tell Zack—Captain Briggs—to look up your parents’ records. Then—in time, for it will take time—I can have your family traced on Earth. Then—”

“No, Woodrow.”

“Why not, dear?”

“I don’t need to know, I don’t want to know. Long ago, three or four years at least, shortly after I figured out that you were a Howard, I also figured out that Howards don’t really live any longer than we ordinaries do.”

“So?”

“Yes. We all have the past and the present and the future. The past is just memory, and I can’t remember when I began, I can’t remember when I
wasn’t
. Can you?”

“No.”

“So we’re even on that. I suppose your memories are richer; you are older than I am. But it’s
past.
The future? It hasn’t happened yet, and nobody knows. You may outlive me…or I may outlive you. Or we might happen to be killed at the same time. We can’t know and
I
don’t want to know. What we both have is
now
…and we have that together and it makes me utterly happy. Let’s get these mules put away for the night and enjoy some
now
.”

“Suits.” He grinned at her. “E.F., or F.F.?”

“Both!”

“That’s my Dora! Anything worth doing is worth overdoing.”

“And doing again. But just a moment, dear. You told me that Captain Briggs is your son, and consequently my stepson. I suppose he is, but I really can’t think of him as such. But—and you needn’t answer this; we agreed not to quiz each other about our pasts—”

“Go ahead and ask. If it suits me, I’ll answer.”

“Well… I can’t help being curious about Captain Briggs’ mother. Your former wife.”

“Phyllis? Phyllis Briggs-Sperling is her full name. What do you want to knew about her, dear? Very nice girl. Further Deponent Sayeth Not. No invidious comparisons.”

“I guess I’m being snoopy.”

“Perhaps you are. Not that I mind, and it can’t hurt Phyllis. Dear, that was a couple of centuries ago; forget it.”

“Oh. She’s dead?”

“Not that I know of. Zack would know; he’s been to Secundus recently. I think he would have told me. But I haven’t stayed in touch with her since she divorced me.”

“
Divorced
you? A woman of poor taste!”

“Dora, Dora! Phyllis is
not
a woman of poor taste; she is a very nice girl. I had dinner with her and her husband the last time I was on Secundus. Zack and I did, I mean—and she and her husband had gone to the trouble of rounding up my other children by her, those who were on planet, and some of my other relatives and made it a family party for me. Thoughtful of her. By the way, she’s a schoolmarm, too.”

“She is?”

“Yup. Libby Professor of Mathematics, Howard University, New Rome, Secundus. If we go there, we can look her up and you can decide for yourself what sort of person she is.”

Dora did not answer. She kneed Betty and started on down the street; Beulah pulled abreast without being told. Buck said, “Shupper…
dime!
” quite emphatically, and trotted on ahead.

“Lazarus—”

“Careful with that name, dear.”

“No one can hear me. Lazarus, unless you insist… I don’t want to live on Secundus.”

VARIATIONS ON A THEME

The Tale of the Adopted Daughter (Continued)

Separation lay far behind. For three weeks the little train—two wagons in tandem, twelve mules hauling, four running free—had crawled toward Rampart Range. It had been more than two weeks since they had last seen a house. They were on the high prairies now, and for several days the gap of Hopeless Pass had been in sight.

Besides sixteen mules, the little party included a German shepherd bitch and a younger dog, two female cats and a tom, a fresh milch goat with two kids and a young buck, two cocks and six hens of the hardy Mrs. Awkins variety, a freshly bred sow, and Dora and Woodrow Smith.

The sow had tested pregnant at New Pittsburgh before Smith paid for her, test conducted by Smith himself—and Mrs. Smith had tested pregnant, too, while still at Top Dollar and before Smith cleared Starship
Andy J
. to leave orbit, for (Smith had
not
found it necessary to tell his wife this) if Dora had
not
tested pregnant, the ship would have waited while they tried again—then if she had still tested negative, he would have changed plans and taken her to Secundus, there to find out why and, if possible, to correct it.

In Smith’s opinion as a professional pioneer, it was not only pointless but disastrously foolhardy to attempt single-couple pioneering out of reach of other people with an infertile woman—or a couple infertile with each other, he corrected in his mind, as his own fertility had not been put to the ultimate test for fifty-odd years. While he was about it, he had looked up physical records of Dora’s parents in Krausmeyer’s ill-kept files, found nothing to worry him—and it had indeed worried him, as he would not have been able to cope even with anything as simple as an Rh-factor incompatibility a long way from nowhere.

But within the limited medical resources of colony and ship, the board showed all green, and it seemed likely to him that Dora had become pregnant about twenty minutes after their informal muleback wedding.

The thought had passed through his mind that Dora might have been pregnant even sooner—but the thought was merely an amusing whimsy that bothered him not at all. Smith felt certain that he had had the Cuckoo in his nest more than once over the centuries; he had been especially careful to be a loving father to such children and had kept his mouth shut. He believed in letting women lie all they needed to, and never taxing them with it. But he believed also that Dora was incapable of this sort of lie. If Dora had been pregnant and aware of it, she might have asked to be allowed to say good-bye to him on her back—but she would have asked for exactly that. Not for a child.

No matter—If the darling had made a mistake earlier and did not know it, he felt sure that she would nevertheless have a superior baby. She was clearly superior stock herself—he wished he had known the Brandons; they must have been ichiban—and their daughter was, as Helen had once said, “choosy.” Dora would not bed with an oaf even for fun, because, being what she was, she would not find it fun. Smith was sure that it would take rape to put an inferior child into Dora—and the rapist might sing soprano the rest of his days; her Uncle Gibbie had taught her some dirty tricks.

The pregnant sow was Smith’s “calendar.” If they failed to reach a spot suitable for homesteading by the time that sow littered, then they turned back that very day—no hesitation, no regrets—as that would leave them just half of Dora’s pregnancy to get them back to Separation and other people.

The sow rode in the back end of the second wagon, with a sling to keep her from falling down. The dogs trotted under the wagons or ranged aside, warning of lopers or other hazards. The cats did as they pleased, as cats do, walking or riding as suited them. The nanny and billy goats stayed close to the wheel pair; the two kids were large enough to skitter along most of the time but were privileged to ride when they tired—a loud
Me-e-e-eh
from the mother goat would cause Smith to swing down and hand the tired baby up to Dora. The chickens complained in a double cage over the sow’s pen. The mules running free had no duties other than to keep eyes out for lopers, save that Buck was at all times grand marshal of the parade, picking the footing, bossing the other mules, carrying out Smith’s orders. Mules at liberty rotated as draft animals; only Buck was never in harness. Betty and Beulah had had their feelings hurt at being required to accept harness; they were gentry of the saddle, and they knew it. But Buck had had harsh words with them and harsher nips and kicks; they had shut up and hauled.

No real driving was required; only two reins were used, one to each of the lead pair and running from them back through rings on the collars of the following mules to the seat of the leading wagon, there usually loosely secured rather than held. Although the males were all stallions, these mules did what Buck ordered. Smith had stopped at Separation and lost most of a day to trade a strong brute with good shoulders for a younger, lighter stud because the bigger mule had not been willing to accept Buck’s dominance. Buck was ready to fight it out, but Smith did not let the old mule risk it; he needed Buck’s brain and judgment, and would not risk Buck’s spirit being broken by losing to a younger stallion—or take a chance that Buck might be injured.

In real trouble more reins would not help. If the mules panicked and ran—unlikely but possible—two humans could not hold them, even with a double handful of reins. Smith was ready at any instant to pick off his lead pair, then hope that not too many mules would break legs stumbling over the corpses and pray that the wagons would not overturn.

Smith wanted to reach their destination with all his livestock; he hoped to get there with about 80 percent including a breeding pair of each sort—but if they arrived with enough draft animals to pull the wagons (including at least one breeding pair) plus a pair of goats, he could consider it a conditional victory and they would make their stand, to live or to die.

How many mules were “enough” was a variable. Near the end of the trip it could be as low as four—then go back and get the second wagon. But if the number of mules dropped below twelve before they conquered Hopeless Pass—turn back.

Turn back at once. Abandon one or both wagons, jettison what they could not salvage, slaughter any animals that could not make it without help, travel light with any extra mules trailing along, unwitting walking larders.

If Woodrow Wilson Smith limped back into Separation on foot, his wife riding—miscarried but still alive—it still would not be defeat. He had his hands, he had his brain, he had the strongest of human incentives: a wife to care for and cherish. In a few years they might try Hopeless Pass again—and not make the mistakes he had made the first time.