I Will Fear No Evil by Robert A. Heinlein
(Eunice, you’re talking non—No, you’re not. I will do something about it. Tomorrow. But ‘benched right away’ is an exaggeration. I’m new at this while you’ve been through one pregnancy. But your aunt probably watched you like a hawk—) (She did. Elsie Dinsmore had a livelier time.) (—but I’ve sat through three, as a husband. ‘Benched’ is just a short time, at the end. And pregnancy doesn’t kill a woman’s interest. My angelic first wife, Agnes, would have tried it on the way to the hospital if I hadn’t had more sense about it than she had. Just the same, I’ll be good. I’ll be careful, rather.)
(Joan, I wasn’t trying to talk you out of it. I just didn’t want us knocked up by accident. Say through a playful romp with Judgie Wudgie. Or Alec. But if you want to, that’s fine. Marry Jake and get pregnant at once. Or get pregnant by him and then marry him; he might be more tractable.)
(Eunice, I’m not planning on getting married in any hurry if at all.) (So? I’ve heard you propose to Jake at least four times.)
(Yes, yes! If Jake agreed, I would; I wouldn’t let him down. But he won’t, if ever, until these legal finagles are cleared up. Which might take years. Do you remember how long it took to get the courts to okay the Sky Trails stock conversions? That was clear-cut compared with this and did not involve as much money. Eunice, I propose to Jake for his morale; I don’t care whether he makes an ‘honest woman’ of me or not, I just want him to take us to bed. Marriage doesn’t figure.)
(Twin, your naïveté surprises me. Didn’t you hear Winnie? Marriage isn’t planned, it just happens. No girl is more likely to wind up in a hotel room, married to a man she didn’t even know at sundown the night before, than a chick who isn’t going to get married ‘any time soon.’ Boss, you marry Jake. Marry him as soon as he will agree to it—for you were talking sense when you pointed out that no other man could both understand you and not be dazzled by your money. In the meantime, it’s smart to go contra.)
(All right. What are the girls using today?) (Oh, most of them use implants. Some use pills, both the daily ones and the monthly ones. But if you miss with either sort, you are on a very short fuse. I never liked monkeying with my body’s economy; I’m not convinced that anything that changes a woman’s femaleness that much is a good idea. Not superstition, Boss, I did some careful reading after the time I got caught. There are hazards to all chemical methods. My body worked fine the way it was; I didn’t want to tamper with a successful organization—I’m quoting you, only you were talking about business.) (I see your point, Eunice, even though we’re talking about monkey business. A body is far more complex than a corporation, and the one you turned over to me is a jewel; I don’t want to tamper with it, either. But what did you use? Self-restraint?)
(Never had any in stock, dearie. Oh, there are lots of other loving things you can do without getting pregnant—if you can shake off your early training and be twenty-first century—) (Look, infant, I knew about—and used—every one of those other things in high school. I keep telling you: You kids did not invent sex.) (You didn’t let me finish, Boss. Those are emergency measures. A girl who depends on them alone is going to add to the population explosion. Joan, I looked into it carefully, when I turned eighteen and was licensed…and settled on one of the oldest methods. A diaphragm. They are still available; any physician will fit them. I wore one six days every month, even at the office—because, as the doctor who fitted me pointed out, most diaphragm failures result from leaving them at home while you run out for a pound of sugar, be right back.)
(I suspect he’s right, Eunice.) (I’m sure of it, Joan. I never liked them—I never liked any contraception; I seemed to have a deep instinct that told me to get pregnant. Boss…the thing—the only thing—that I really mind about being dead…is that I always wanted to have a baby by you. And that’s silly, as you were already too old—or maybe almost too old—when I first met you. But I would have tried, if you had offered.)
(Darling, darling!)
(Oh, I’m happy with what I have. Om Mani Padme Hum. I’m not kicking about my karma. I’m not just content, I’m happy…to be half of Joan Eunice.)
(Eunice, would you still be willing to have a baby by me?)
(What? Boss, don’t joke about it. Don’t mock me.)
(I’m not joking, beloved.)
(But, Boss, the necessary part of you is gone. Pickled in alcohol, or something.)
(They use formalin, I think. Or deep freeze. I’m not talking about that old wreck we discarded. We can go down and get an implant.)
(Huh? I don’t understand.)
(Do you remember a tax-deductible called the Johanna Mueller Schmidt Memorial Eugenics Foundation?)
(Of course. I wrote a check for it every quarter.)
(Eunice, despite the purposes set out in its charter, the only real purpose does not appear in the fine print. When my son was killed I was already fairly old. But I was still virile—potent—and tests showed that I was fertile. So I got married—I think I told you—to have another son. Didn’t work. But I had my bet hedged and never told anyone. Sperm bank deposit. In the cryogenic vault of the Foundation is a little piece of Johann. Hundreds of millions of extremely little pieces, that is. Presumably they are not dead, just asleep. That’s what I meant by an implant. With a syringe. Or however they do it.
(Eunice? Are you still there?) (I’m crying, Boss. Can’t a girl cry happy? Yes!)
(Tomorrow morning, then. You can change your mind up till the last minute.)
(I’ll never change my mind. I hope you won’t.)
(Beloved.)
17
Next morning Joan found that Jake had left the house before she woke; there was a note on her tray:
“Dear Joan Eunice,
“I slept like a baby and feel ready to fight wildcats—thanks to you and Winnie. Please extend my thanks to her and say (to both of you) that I will most gratefully join your prayer meetings any time I am invited—especially if I’ve had a tiring day.
“I will not be back until late—treasure hunting, locating links of evidence. Alec is off to Washington for one link. If you need me, call my answering service or Judge McCampbell’s chambers.
“I’ve instructed Jefferson Billings to let you draw against your petty expenditures account—about four hundred thousand in it, I believe—on your old signature and new thumbprint. He’ll pay drafts and hold them and I’ll countersign until you make out a new signature & thumbprint card—he says he knew Eunice Branca by sight, no problem. If you wish, he will call on you with a new sig-print card—we assume that your signature is now somewhat changed.”
(Boss, I guess Jake doesn’t know that I sign your signature better than you do.) (I don’t think anyone knows, dearest. I don’t know how that would figure in court—for us, or against us?)
“If you need more pocket money, let me make you a personal loan rather than have it show in my conservator’s report. Your ‘Brother Mac’ is most helpful, but the financial end of this nonsense should appear ultraconservative until such time as he can, with full justification, relieve me as your conservator. Caesar’s wife, you know.
“Speaking of Caesar’s wife, I told you a chuckle about two of our friends. This morning I phoned one of them and the other answered and, after the usual query as to sight & security, they seemed unworried about what I saw or heard or might infer. I was flattered. Little imp, if you must misbehave, you can trust them—for they have your welfare at heart. Sorry I was stuffy yesterday.”
(I’m glad to learn that, Boss.) (Eunice, I can’t see that it’s our business what Alec and Mac do in their spare time. Jake shouldn’t gossip about them, even to us.) (No, no, Boss! Jake is telling you that he was being a cube yesterday—and he’s sorry—and now he’s granting you absolution in advance. We had best marry Jake—nevertheless I’ve fretted that Jake might be jealous. Possessive. His age, his background. Could be doom, twin—as you are a tart at heart and we both know it.)
(Oh, nonsense, Eunice! I would never rub Jake’
“Don’t count on me for dinner, as what I must do today is urgent—more urgent than something that seemed dreadfully urgent yesterday. And was. And will be, I hope.
“This was meant to be a love letter but I’ve had to mention other matters—and other people, so I must urge you to tear it up and flush it down the W.C. It is no accident that I am thumbprinting the seal and will hand it to Cunningham with a promise to have his head on a platter if it leaves his person before it reaches you. I’ve learned to like Cunningham; he’s and ‘honest thief.’
“My love to you, dearest, and the biggest kiss possible—so big that you can break off a piece and deliver it to Winnie when you thank her for me. She’s a charming girl, and I’m pleased that she’s mothering you so well.
“J.”
(Why, the horny old bastard. Joan, Jake has his eye on Winnie’s pretty tail while he’s patting ours.) (She’ll have to stand in line!) (Jealous, twin?) (No. But I repeat—I’m going to scalp him first. Darn it, Eunice, I had him all set yesterday—and it’s been a long struggle. Not the Whim-Wham-Thankee-Ma’ am you managed with him. And all it got me was a spanking. I do hope he comes home tonight.) (Three hurdles even if he does, twin.) (Three?) (Hubert…and Winnie…and that ‘implant.’ Boss darling? You’re not going to do me out of having your baby by letting Jake get at you first—are you?) (Of course not, little stupid. I was coping with intrigues without getting shot long before your grandmother was born. Mmm—I’ll need cash.)
(Jake told you how to get all the cash you want.) (Oh, sure—on my signature and his countersignature. Like a cat covering up on linoleum. Eunice my love, I’ll bet you never paid a bribe in your life.) (Well…not with money.) (Don’t tell me, let me guess. Hon, what we’re sitting on might be worth a million—but today I need used bills in medium denominations from no recorded source. Come along, little snoopy, and I’ll show you something that even my secretary—a sweetly deceitful girl named Eunice, remember her?—didn’t know about.)
(Do you mean that safe hidden in your bath, Boss?) (Huh? How the hell did you know about that?) (I’m snoopy.) (Do you know the combo?) (I ought to take the Fifth.) (Why bother? You’ll know it in two minutes. Or can you pick it out of my mind?) (Boss darling, you know by now that I don’t know anything in your memory until you think about it…and you don’t know anything in mine until I think about it. But—Well, if I had to open the safe, I think I would start with the numbers that mean your mother’s birthday.)
Joan sighed. (A girl doesn’t have any privacy these days. All right, let’s see if we’ve been robbed.)
She went into her bath, sealed the door, bolted it by hand, removed a stack of towels from a lower cabinet, fiddled with the ceiling of the cabinet; the back panel slid aside, disclosing a safe. (You think my mother’s birth date will open it?) (I’d switch on the sun lamps over the massage table first, then run the cold water in the hand basin.) (No privacy at all! Honey, did you really pay a bribe with your pretty tail once?) (Not exactly. I just improved the situation. Let’s see if we’ve been robbed.)
Joan opened the safe. Inside was money enough to interest a bank auditor. But the packets had not been packaged in a bank; they were not that neatly jogged and the total for each was hand-printed. (Plenty of moola, dear—and either nobody found this safe, or they never figured out the additional bolts. Either way, it settles one thing. We won’t put Jake’s sweet note down the hopper.) (Let him think we did, huh?) (If he asks.) (Then cry on him later and admit that we couldn’t bear to part with it.) (Eunice, you have a mind like a pretzel.) (That’s why it fits so well into yours, twin.) (Could be.)
Joan put the letter inside, took out two packets, put them into a purse in the dressing room end—closed the safe, shut off the sun lamps, shut off the water, spun the dial, slid the panel back, replaced the towels, closed the cabinet. Then she stepped to the bath’s intercom, pressed a touchplate. “Chief O’Neil.”
“Yes, Miss Smith?”
“I want my car, one driver, and both Shotguns in thirty minutes.”
There was a short silence. “Uh, Miss Smith, Mr. Salomon apparently forgot to mention that you would be leaving the house.”
“For excellent reason. He did not know it. Did he mention that I am no longer a ward of the Court? If not, have you learned it from some other source?”
“Miss, I haven’t learned it from an official source.”
“I see. Then you are learning it from me. Officially.”
“Yes, Miss.”
“You don’t sound happy, O’Neil. You could check by phoning Judge McCampbell.”
“Why, yes, of course.”
“Are you going to, O’Neil?”
“Perhaps I misunderstood, Miss. Weren’t you telling me to?”
“Are you recording?”
“Certainly, Miss. I always do, with orders.”
“I suggest that you play it back and answer your own question. I’ll hold. But first—how long have you been with me, O’Neil?”
“Seventeen years, Miss. The last nine as your Chief.”
“Seventeen years, two months, and some days. Not enough for maximum retirement but it has been long, faithful, and unquestioning service. You can retire this morning on full pay for life, if you wish, O’Neil; faithful service should be appreciated. Now please play back while I hold.” She waited.
“Be switched, Miss—I must need a hearing aid. You didn’t tell me to call the Judge. You just said I could.”
“That is correct. I pointed out that you could check on what I told you—officially—by making such a call. You still can.”
“Uh, Miss, I don’t see what you are driving at.”
“I’m sure you can figure it out. Do you wish to retire today? If so, send up Mentone; I want to interview him.”
“Miss, I’ve no wish to retire at all.”
“Really? You gave the impression that you were looking for another job. Perhaps with Mr. Salomon. If so, I do not want to stand in your way. Retirement at full pay is available to you, O’Neil.”
“Miss, I like it here.”
“I’m pleased to hear it. I hope you will stay for many years. O’Neil, have you ever discussed my comings and goings with anyone?”
“Only when you’ve told me to, Miss. In which case I always have your order on tape.”
“Fine. Wipe this tape and I’ll hold while you do so.”
Shortly he said, “Wiped, Miss Smith.”
“Good. Let’s start over. Chief O’Neil, this is Miss Johann Sebastian Bach Smith speaking. I want my car, one driver, and both Shotguns in thirty minutes.”
“They will be ready, Miss Smith.”
“Thank you. I’ll be shopping. Is there anything I can pick up for Mrs. O’Neil?”
“That’s most kind of you, Miss. I don’t think so. Shall I ask her?”
“If you do, it is only necessary to say that my car is going out. If she has a list, I’ll be happy to have Fred or Shorty take care of it. Off.”
(Boss, you scared the pee out of him. Was that nice?) (Running a feudal enclave in the midst of a nominal democracy isn’t easy, Eunice. When Johann said ‘Frog,’ everybody hopped—my security boss especially. O’Neil has got to know—they’ve all got to know—that Johann is still here…and that no one, not even darling Jake, reviews or vetoes what I say. Unless he marries us, in which case I’ll go female and let him decide everything.) (That’ll be the day!) (I might, dear one. Tell me, did you obey Joe?) (Well… I never bucked him. I suppose you could say I obeyed him. Except that I fibbed, or sometimes kept my mouth shut.) (I’d do just about the same. I think a perfect arrangement would be to do exactly what a man tells me to do…but wangle it
Joan felt, rather than heard, her chuckle. (Boss, that sounds like a recipe for a perfect marriage.)
(I find I like being female. But it’s different. Now what shall we wear?)
Joan settled on a bandeau, a knee skirt, an opaque cloak with hood and yashmak, plus low-heeled sandals, all in subdued colors. She was ready in less than thirty minutes.
(How’s our face, Eunice?) (Okay for a ‘shopping’ trip. No need to call Winnie; the little baggage probably hasn’t had much sleep.) (Nor do I want to call her; she might want to come along. Let’s go, sweet—we’re out to break a two-thousand-year record with no help from the Holy Ghost.) (Boss, that’s not a nice way to talk!) (Well, I’ll be frimped! Eunice, I thought you weren’t a Christian? Zen. Or Hinduist. Or some such.)
(I’m not any of those things, Boss. I simply know some useful spiritual disciplines. But it is rude to joke about anything someone else holds holy.) (Even in my mind? Are you telling me what I must not think? If I could reach you, I’d spank you.) (Oh, you can say anything to me, Boss—just don’t say such things out loud.) (I didn’t and don’t and never have. Quit nagging me.) (Sorry, Boss. Love you.) (Love you, little nag. Let’s go get knocked up.) (Yes!)
She took the front lift to the basement; O’Neil met her and saluted. “Car is ready, Miss—and both drivers and both Shotguns.”
“Why both drivers?”
“Well, Finchley should be on call. But Dabrowski is bucking my authority a touch. Claims he’s senior to Finchley. Do you wish to settle it?”