“Galahad,” I said earnestly, “stop stuffing your face a mo­ment, dear. You can’t scare me with baby pee. I was getting up in the night to soothe crying babies a hundred years before you were born. I intend to colonize, I intend to marry again, I intend to raise kids. I had planned to go back to Secundus to clean up loose ends, then come back with the second wave. But I may say the hell with that and stay…as some of the Senior’s remarks last night were aimed at me. At least I took them personally—about having the guts to abandon every­thing and go. Secundus is a smoking volcano; that old vixen could set off a bloodbath. One that could include me, simply because I’m a major bureaucrat.”

  I took a deep breath and plunged in: “What I don’t under­stand is why I seem to be invited to join the Senior’s house­hold. Why?”

  Galahad answered, “It’s not your pretty face.”

  “I know that. Oh, I hardly ever scare dogs with it, but it’s just a face.”

  “It’s not too bad. A cosmetic surgeon could do wonders. I’m the second-best cosmetic surgeon on this planet—there being two. The practice would be good for me and, as you pointed out, you’ve nothing to lose.”

  “Damn it, dear, don’t farce me. Answer my question.”

  “The twins like you.”

  “So? I find them delightful. But the opinion of inexperi­enced adolescents could not have weighed heavily.”

  “Justin, don’t let their clowning fool you; they are adult in everything but height—and they are our Ancestor’s identical twins. They have his talent for looking inside a person and spotting a bad one. Lazarus lets them run loose because he trusts them to shoot to kill…and not to shoot if they don’t intend to kill.”

  I gulped inside. “Are you saying that those little guns they carry are not toys?”

  My old friend Obadiah looked as if I had said something obscene. “Why, Justin! Lazarus wouldn’t let a woman go out of this house unarmed.”

  “Why? This colony seems peaceful. What have I missed?”

  “Not much, I think. Lazarus’ advance party made sure that this subcontinent was reasonably clear of large predators. But we brought along the two-legged sort, and despite screening, Lazarus doesn’t assume that they are angels. He wasn’t looking for angels; they don’t make the best pioneers. Uh, yesterday Minerva was wearing a little skirt. Did you wonder about it? In view of the heat?”

  “Not especially.”

  “She wears her gun strapped to her thigh. Nevertheless, Lazarus won’t let her go out alone; the twins are her usual bodyguard. As a flesh-and-blood she’s only three years old; she doesn’t shoot as well as the twins do, and she’s more trusting than they are. How’s your marksmanship?”

  “Just fair. I started taking lessons when I made up my mind to migrate. But I haven’t had time to practice.”

  “Better find time. Not that Lazarus will ride you about it; he feels responsible for our women, not for men. But if you ask for help—I did, and so did Ira—he’ll coach you in everything from bare hands to improvised weapons…with two thou­sand years of dirty tricks thrown in. Up to you, old darling— but here’s what it did for me. As you know I used to be a campus narky—a scholar poring over old records—I never carried arms. Then I took rejuvenation and became a re­juvenator myself and was even less inclined to go armed. But for fourteen years I’ve had regular coaching from the all-time champion in how to stay alive. The result? I stand straight and proud. Haven’t had to kill anyone yet.” Galahad suddenly grinned. “But the day is young.”

  I answered soberly, “Galahad, that’s one reason I agreed to run a silly errand for Madam Arabelle: to find out things like that. Very well, I take your advice seriously. But you haven’t answered my question.”

  “Well…I knew you from long back, and so did Ira. And so did Minerva, though you have trouble believing it. Hama­dryad had met you but did not get to know you until last night. Ishtar knew you only from your chart but is one of your strongest supporters. But the deciding factor is this: Tamara wants you in our family.”

  “‘Tamara!’”

  “You sound astonished.”

  “I am.”

  “I don’t see why. She arranged for someone to relieve her in order to be here last night. She loves you, Justin; don’t you know it?”

  “Uh—” My brain was fuddled. “Yes, I know it. But Tamara loves everyone.”

  “No, just those who need her love, and she always knows who they are. Incredible empathy, she’s going to be a great rejuvenator. In this family Tamara can have anything she wants…and she happens to want you—to stay with us, live with us, join us.”

  “I’ll be…damned.” (Tamara?)

  “Unlikely. If I believed in damnation, I wouldn’t believe that anyone picked by Tamara Sperling could be in danger of it.” Galahad smiled, a happy expression than was more his charm than was his extraordinary beauty. I tried to remember if he had been that beautiful a hundred years back. I am not indifferent to male beauty, but my sensuality is not perfectly balanced; in the presence of a homely female and a beautiful male, I tend to look at the female. So I’ll never be an esthete; I lack judgment in matters of beauty. I apologize in advance to any female who finds my primitive attitude offensive.

  But I’ll share bed with Galahad in preference to a self-centered female beauty; he’s warm and gentle and good com­pany, with a roguish playfulness not unlike that of the twins. The thought ran through my-mind that I would like to meet his sister—or mother or daughter—a female version of him in character and personality, as well, as in appearance.

  Tamara! The above was froth at the top of my mind because I was unable to face at once the implications of Galahad’s announcement.

  He went on: “Close your mouth, dear; I was as startled as you are. But, even if we hadn’t been friends years back, on Tamara’s motion I would have voted for you sight unseen— so that I could study you; Tamara never makes a mistake. But were you so mind-ill that you needed that much from her? Or so superhuman that she wanted that much from you? But you are neither, or I failed to see it. You aren’t ill, I think, other than a touch of wild-goose fever. You may be superman, but none of us found it out last night. If you are a superstud, you restrained yourself. Hamadryad did say at breakfast that a woman is happy in your arms. But she did not imply that you are the Galaxy’s greatest lover.

  “Being one of Minerva’s parents is in your favor, none of them has any serious shortcomings; Ishtar made sure of that—Ishtar knows more about you than you do yourself; she can read a gene chart the way other people read print—and Min­erva herself is proof that no mistakes were made. I mean, look at Minerva: sweet as the morning breeze and as beautiful as Hamadryad in her own fashion, and with an intelligence level so high you wouldn’t believe it—yet so modest she’s almost humble.

  “But still, it’s Tamara. Your fate was settled before you reached this house. Slow ride home, wasn’t it?”

  “Well…one doesn’t expect speed from a nullboat. Though I was surprised to find one in a young colony. I expected mule-drawn wagons.”

  “Lots of those, too. But Lazarus says that this time he traveled with ‘seven elephants’—we fetched a mammoth amount of equipment. That’s an overpowered nullboat, rebuilt to Lazarus’ specifications, and could have fetched you here in a fifth the time it did. But Ira let Lazarus know that he wanted time to make some calls. So Lazarus probably told whichever twin was in charge—or signaled her somehow; he is almost telepathic with them—to give you a long, slow ride. Which you got, and I bet that Laz and Lor never changed expression.”

  “They didn’t.”

  “Was sure of it. They are not children—you should see them handle a spaceship. Anyhow, Ira talked to Ishtar, then to Tamara; then we held a family conference and settled your fate. Lazarus confirmed it while you played with the twins— who were given a chance to veto it later. But they ratified it at once. They not only like you, but Aunt Tammy’s wishes are law.”

  I was still bemused. “Apparently much went on that I didn’t suspect.”

  “You weren’t supposed to. A better cook would have stayed to get your breakfast, had I not been deputized to tell you— old friends and all that—and to answer questions.”

  “I’m confused about that conference. I thought Tamara got home just before dinner.”

  “She did. Oh— Athene, are you listening, dear?”

  “Uncle Cuddly, you know I don’t listen to private conversa­tions.”

  “The hell you don’t. It’ll be all right, Justin; Teena keeps secrets. Tell him how to call someone, Teena.”

  “Tell me to whom you wish to speak, Justin; I have radio links to every farm. Or anywhere. And I can always reach Ira and Lazarus.”

  “Thank you, Teena. Now if you must listen, pretend not to. The conference was here, Justin; Teena fetched in Tamara’s voice and Ira’s. Could have fetched voices from the nullboat— but you were the subject. By the way, Teena is one reason this family isn’t farming; instead we supply services that colonies usually don’t have so soon. Oh, you can farm if you want to; we’ve claimed quite a bit of land. Or there are other ways to make a living. All right, I’ve done my best. Want to quiz me?”

  “Galahad, I think I understand everything but why Tamara wants me in your family.”

  “You’ll have to ask her. I told you I was checking for your halo. Can’t see it.”

  “I don’t wear it in hot weather. Obadiah, don’t farce around; this is terribly important to me. Why do you keep saying that Tamara’s wishes settled it?”

  “You know her, man.”

  “I know how important her wishes are to me. But I’ve been in love with her for many years.” I told him things I had long kept to myself. “So that’s the way it went. A great hetaera never proposes a contract and usually won’t listen if a man is bold enough to propose one himself. But I— well, I made a nuisance of myself. Tamara finally convinced me that she married only to have children and did not intend to have more. I feel sure that money was not a factor—”

  “It wouldn’t be. Oh, I don’t mean that Tamara is silly that way; I’ve heard her say that since money is the universal symbol for value received, one should accept it proudly. But Tamara wouldn’t marry for money; she wouldn’t feel that— Or perhaps she would; I think I’ll ask her. Mm…interesting. Our Tamara is a complex person. Sorry, dear; I interrupted.”

  “I say money was not the controlling factor, as she had suitors with ten to a hundred times my modest wealth, yet she married none of them. So I shut up and was content to have part of Tamara—spend nights with her when I was per­mitted to, share her company in happiness circles at other times, pay her as much as I could—as much as she would accept, I mean; she often set her fee by refusing part of a gift—she did with me; I don’t know what she did with wealthy clients.

  “Years and years of that, then she announced that she was retiring—and I was stunned. I had taken rejuvenation during this time but hadn’t noticed that she was any older. But she wa~ firm about it and left New Rome.

  “Galahad, it left me impotent. Oh, not incapable, but what had been ecstasy turned out to be mere exercise not worth the trouble. Has this ever happened to you?”

  “No. Perhaps I should say, ‘Not yet,’ since I’m still working on my second century.”

  “Then you don’t know what I mean.”

  “Only vicariously. But may I quote something Lazarus once said? He was speaking to Ira, but privacy was not placed on it; you’ll come across it in his raw memoirs.

  ‘Ira,’ he said, ‘there were many years when I hardly bothered with women—not only unmarried but celibate. After all, how much variety can there be in the slippery fric­tion of mucous membranes?

  “‘Then I realized that there was infinite variety in women as people…and that sex was the most direct route to knowing a woman…a route they like, one that we like, and often the only route that can break down barriers and permit close acquaintance.

  “‘And in discovering this, I gained renewed interest in the friendly frolic itself, happy as a lad with his first bare tit warm in his hand. Happier—as never again was I merely a piston to her cylinder; each woman was a unique indi­vidual worth knowing, and, if we took time enough, we might find we loved each other. But at least we offered each other pleasure and a haven from cares; we weren’t simply masturbating, with the other just a sex doll.’

  “That’s close to what Lazarus said, Justin. You went through something like that?”

  “Yes. Somewhat. A long period when sex wasn’t worth the trouble. But I got over it…with a woman as fine in her own way as Tamara is, although I didn’t fall in love with her nor she with me. She taught me something I had forgotten, that sex can be friendly and worthwhile without the intense love I felt for Tamara. You see, a friend of mine, wife of another friend and they were both close to me—as a special gift she introduced me to another hetaera, a great beauty, and arranged for me a holiday with her—paid for by my friends; they could afford it, she is wealthy. This beautiful hetaera—Magdalene—”

  Galahad looked delighted. “Maggie!”

  “Why, yes, she did use that pillow name. ‘Magdalene’ was, her vocational name. But when she learned that I keep the Archives, she told me her registered name.”

  “Rebecca Sperling-Jones.”

  “Then you do know her.”

  “All my life, Justin darling; I nursed at those beautiful breasts. She’s my mother, dear—what a delightful coinci­dence!”

  I was delighted, too, but more interested in something else.. “So that’s where you get your beauty.”

  “Yes, but also from my genetic father. Becky—Maggie— tells me I look more like him.”

  “Really? If you permit, I’ll look up your lineage when I get back to Secundus.” An archivist should not consult the Archives from personal curiosity; I was presuming on friend­ship to suggest it.

  “Dear, you’re not going back to Secundus. But you can get it from Athene clear back to the first push in the bush after Ira Howard’s death. But let’s talk about Mama. She’s a jolly one, isn’t she? As well as a beauty.”

  “Both. I told you how much she did for me. Your mother assumed that this holiday was going to be fun—fun for both of us—and it was indeed!—and I forgot about being uninterested in sex. I’m not speaking of technique; I suspect that any high-priced hetaera in New Rome is as skilled as any famous courtesan in history. I mean her attitude. Maggie is fun to be around, in bed or out. Laugh wrinkles but no frown wrinkles.”

  Galahad nodded agreement as he wiped egg from his platter. “Yes, that’s Mama. She gave me a most happy childhood, Justin, so much so that I was grumpy at being shoved out when my eighteenth rolled around. But she was sweet about it. After my adulthood party she reminded me that she was moving out, too, and going back to her pro­fession. Her contract with Papa, my foster father, was a term contract, over when I became a legal adult…so if I wanted to see. Maggie again—and I wanted to!—it would be cash at the counterpane, no family discount. Since I was a poor-but-honest research assistant, paid only two or three times what I was worth, I couldn’t have afforded thirty seconds with her, much less a night; Mama’s fees were always sky-high.”

  Galahad looked thoughtfully happy. “Goodness, that seems long ago—more than a century and a half, Justin. I didn’t realize that Becky—Maggie—Mama—that Magdalene was being both wise and kind. I was grown up only legally and physically, and if she hadn’t cut the cord, I would have hung around, an overgrown infant cluttering her life and interfering with her vocation. So I did grow up, and when I married, my first wife named our first daughter ‘Magdalene’ and asked Maggie to be godmother…then I could hardly believe that this beautiful creature had borne me and I had no special urge to play Oedipus to her regal beauty; I was too much in love with my wife. Yes, Maggie is a fine girl—although she spoiled me as a kid. Was that holiday the only time you had her?”

  “No. But not often. As you say, she was expensive. She offered me a fifty-percent discount—“

  “Well! You did impress her.”

  “—as she knew I wasn’t wealthy. But even at that, I couldn’t afford her company often. But she got me over my emotional hump, and I’m grateful to her. A fine woman, Galahad; you have reason to be proud of her.”

  “I think so. But, Justin dear, your mention of that dis­count makes me certain that she remembers you just as fondly—”

  “Oh, I hardly think so. Years back, Galahad.”

  “Don’t trip in your modesty, dear; Maggie grabbed every crown the traffic would bear. But the ‘delightful coincidence’ is more than just the fact that you’ve had my mother—after all, high as her fees were, New Rome has many wealthy men attractive enough that Maggie would accept them. The ‘delightful’ aspect is that this very minute she is about forty kilometers south of here.”

  “No!”

  “Si, si, si! Ask Athene to call her. You can be talking with her in thirty seconds.”

  “Uh . . I still don’t think she would remember me.”

  “I do. But there’s no rush. If you are surprised, think how surprised I was. I had nothing to do with the migrants’ roster; I was arse-deep in getting together what Ishtar had ordered for the clinics. Justin, I didn’t know Maggie had married again. So we’re here a couple of weeks, the headquarters party, with a temporary setup and still eating and sleeping in the ‘Dora,’ when the first transport grounds—then we’re busy getting people and supplies out in a sequence worked out by Lazarus and bossed by Ira.

  “My assignment, once I had my shack up—by hand; Athene had no outside extensionals then—”

  “Poor Uncle Cuddly!”

  “Who doesn’t listen to private conversations?”

 

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