Man of Two Worlds by Frank Herbert
Lutt glared back at him silently.
L.H. nodded as though coming to a private decision. “So you got my message about Morey. What you doing about it?”
“Looking out for myself.”
“What’d you do to rile him so?”
“I got him to invest in my projects. Where’d you send him?”
“Sent him to Uranus. Some new hydrogen mining claims. He’s doing it on commission. Be back soon. But you can rest easy, son. I broke the Morey-Woon connection and let the Legion take care of Woon’s hit men on Venus. Now! I want you and Morey in my office together when he returns.” He shifted his attention back to Nishi. “Who were your folks?”
She stared at his prosthetic eyes as she told him.
“Legion. That’s a problem. Phoenicia will raise hell.”
“Because Hansons only marry quality?” Lutt asked, his voice deceptively soft.
L.H. responded with a barking laugh that broke into a fit of coughing.
Trying to suck me in with sympathy again, Lutt thought.
When the coughing spell passed, L.H. said, “Didn’t I teach you how to treat women? Maybe you’re not as much like me as I thought. Morey, now. . .” He left it there.
Piqued, Lutt asked, “You ever take him to the House of Delights?”
“Naw. I left his sex education to his mother. I think she showed him a book.”
Once more, L.H. turned his attention to Nishi. He reached into a pocket and removed a gold pin emblazoned with the Hanson crest. “I gave this to Lutt’s mother when he was born. When she read that Venus whorehouse story, she threw it at me and dented it Was going to get it fixed but now I think not.” He thrust it into Lutt’s hand. “Here! If you marry this lady, give it to her when she produces a son.”
Lutt accepted the pin, wondering what game the old man was playing now.
Nishi, her face red, flared, “I will produce nothing for this family unless I have the marriage contract!”
“A contract, now!” L.H. seemed delighted. “You looking for the pot of gold, honey?”
“It is the way of my family! And they were all heroes of the Legion!”
“Thinka that now!” L.H. swung his prosthetic eyes toward Lutt. “You have anything to say about this, boy?”
“Nishi saved my life on Venus. I owe her something.”
“Then pay her off and get rid of her!”
Lutt thrust the Hanson pin into his pocket. “No, we’re going to be married.”
“You are the most obtuse, knuckle-headed Hanson ever born! This is a gold digger after our money! Saved your life? She was saving it for herself!”
“She didn’t know who I was when she saved me!”
“So she’s a do-gooder! We don’t need any of those in our family!”
The old man’s obstinate attitude only made Lutt more angry. “You’re not going to change my mind! We’re going to be married!”
L.H. swung his eyes toward Nishi. “So you want a contract? Tell you what. You negotiate your contract with Phoenicia.”
***
Casualties were heavy, but names are being withheld pending notification of the next of kin. Witnesses say the explosion took out the entire northwest corner of the ZP base. Presumably, the blast and subsequent fire also destroyed the mysterious alien spaceship reportedly being studied there. ZP sources would neither confirm nor deny this but National Security censorship has been sought to suppress these accounts and the NSC has refused to rule on this “blanket of silence,” reportedly acting on the President’s orders.
—From an Enquirer story
“Something’s going on in this burg and it’s sure as hell more than meets the eye,” Subiyama said.
She sat at a portable vidcom in the office by her Seattle hotel bedroom, leaning forward to look directly into the eyes of the man on the screen.
“We sent you up there to stay on top of this story,” the man said. “How soon can you file a follow-up on the explosion?”
“Don’t press me, Jake! We’re onto some hot leads and you’ll get ’em soon as we confirm.”
“We? You hiring help up there without asking for—”
“Lew’s helping me.”
“That Zone Patrol swabby you’re shacked up with?”
“Shacked up, hell! We’re married.”
“This story’s too big for amateur—”
“Don’t you get your bowels in an uproar, Jake! Lew’s the one got us the inside account of what’s going on at that base. He is one damn fine leg man. You forgetting he was in the ZP?”
“We need more now! They’re beating the shit out of us!”
She sat back and tugged at her lower lip, then: “Okay. I was going to hold this until Lew gets back with more, but you’re going to have to credit ‘unidentified sources.’ Got that?”
“Shall I turn you over to rewrite?”
“No! You handle it and don’t put my byline on it. I don’t want Hanson Guards looking for my hide.”
“What’ve you got?”
“Lew says there’s a story at the base that Lutt Hanson, Jr., was involved in a crash with this alien spaceship. The ZP rescued him and held him incommunicado while they grilled him. When they released him, they exacted a promise he would not reveal anything about the alien ship.”
“Wow!”
“I’m not through. Hanson’s ship, the one that collided with the alien, was an experimental thing that’s supposed to be faster than a roadrunner with a burning match up its ass. His copilot in the crash reportedly was killed. We’re still trying to confirm that and get the guy’s name.”
“Heysoos Creesto!”
“There’s more. They’re now saying at the base that the blast occurred when investigators touched off a self-destruct system in the alien ship.”
“You were sitting on this?”
“That last was going to be my new lead.”
“Any luck on an interview with Junior?”
“Don’t hold your breath waiting for it. He’s gone to ground at that Hanson compound with all the guards and fences and dogs. He isn’t even talking to his own paper.”
“You holding back anything else?”
“A little but it’s too hot to use without confirmation. Lew’s doin’ okay, isn’t he, Jake? For an amateur, I mean?”
“Give me a peek at what you’re holding.”
“No! You might use it. You got your story. Go with it.”
“What about the woman he took out of that Legion bordello?”
“There’s a report she’s with him at the compound but don’t you dare use that.”
“What was she called? The Virgin Chanteuse?”
“I’m warning you not to use it. You check with Legal. This doll can draw on the Legion war chest to sue us or worse. Up on Venus you hear stories about how the Legion takes care of people it doesn’t like. Very, very bad news.” “When you expecting word from your Zeep leg man?” “My husband should be here in about an hour. Now, you get off my back or I’ll find a news service that appreciates me.”
***
We never promised you fair!
We never promised you fun!
We only promised you blood
While gettin’ the job done!
—ZP marching chant
Phoenicia Hanson marched into Lutt’s living room like a conquering general about to survey captives. She noted Nishi seated on a wicker couch with Lutt standing behind her and waved a hand at Lutt.
“Leave us.”
“Mother; I—”
“You’ve done enough to disgrace our family. Now, I will handle this. Have you seen a doctor?”
“What?” The non sequitur startled him.
“I am quite aware your aberrated behavior is due to your accident and your delusion about having another personality in your body. Simple schizophrenia brought on by unfortunate trauma. Have you seen a doctor?”
“Yeah,” he lied. “I’ve been thoroughly scanned.”
“And what did the doctor say?”
/>
“Nothing wrong with me.”
“We will get other doctors. Now! Leave me with this . . .” She looked down at Nishi as though discovering something slimy under a rock, “ . . . this person.”
“This person is my fiancée, Mother. She is—”-
“We will discuss that later.”
Nishi got to her feet, face pale, mouth drawn into a tight line. “Yes, Lutt darling, leave us. Your mother and I have things to discuss.”
Lutt looked at his mother, at Nishi, and again at his mother. Nishi, he recalled, was a self-avowed expert at learning what people really wanted. She must know Phoenicia wanted the family rid of this intruder from Venus. But were there other things his mother wanted more? Interesting to find out.
“Okay,” he said. “You two fight it out. I have to see Sam and inspect the progress on my new ship.” He kissed Nishi’s cheek. “See you later, sweetheart.” It amused him to note the hostile glitter in his mother’s eyes at this demonstration of affection.
When the door closed behind Lutt, Nishi smiled sweetly and said, “Please sit down.” She gestured to a chair, lady of the manor being gracious to a guest.
“What I have to say, I can say standing up.”
“Very well.”
“How much?”
“I don’t understand.”
“How much money do you want? What, as my husband often says, is the payoff?”
“We are here to discuss a marriage settlement, a contract to protect me in a marriage to your son.”
“You’ll marry Lutt over my dead body!”
“I surely hope not. That might distress Lutt.”
“You don’t really care about his distress!”
“I care about Lutt very much. I will be a good wife to him. I am exactly the kind of wife he needs.”
“You?”
“Really, Madame Hanson, you do not understand my situation at all.”
“You lived in a . . . in a . . .” Phoenicia could not bring herself to say the word.
“Oh, yes. But I am virga intacta, a virgin who can prove her virginity.”
“That’s your story!”
“And I have other stories. While I was an employee of D’Assas Anon, I heard many stories. I’m sure you would find some of them interesting.”
“The only thing about you that interests me is what it will cost to be rid of you!”
“But these are stories about Lutt and your husband. The girls in such an establishment will talk, you know? Some of them get around and they bring their stories with them.”
Phoenicia’s face paled. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying, were I to approach a publisher of your more lurid books, I would have an interesting story to tell, one full of many verifiable accounts about Lutt and your husband.”
Phoenicia groped behind her for a chair and slumped into it. She looked up at Nishi as though suddenly discovering a poisonous snake.
“What you really want most, Madame,” Nishi said, “is your good name and the admiration of your friends. As Lutt’s wife—”
“Never,” Phoenicia gasped.
“As I was saying, Madame, I will guarantee your good name and the admiration of your friends. They will think me a heroine to have maintained my honor under such difficult conditions.”
“What. . . what could you . . .”
“I will find the sob sister, someone like this woman, Subiyama, who writes such interesting stories about your son’s accident and these events of the Zone Patrol and the Legion.”
“Subiyama? My husband says she’s a bloodsucking leech!”
“Even a leech may be valuable. And I will unfold such a beautiful story for her—how I sang for my living instead of earning my keep on my back.”
Phoenicia shuddered.
Nishi sank onto the wicker couch, bringing her eyes level with Phoenicia’s. “We will have a medical person confirm that I am virga intacta. Most daring of us, don’t you think?”
“Surely you are not serious?”
“Quite serious, Madame. It will be a marvelous story—how I rescued Lutt from the battle where the rockets were exploding and how I nursed him back to health while he hovered between life and death.”
“You didn’t.”
“But I did. And legionnaires will speak of my heroism and my devotion. They called me ‘the Virgin Chanteuse,’ you know.”
“They did?”
“And I will tell how Lutt and I fell in love there in the infirmary.”
“But what about those awful pictures from the . . . from the . . .” Phoenicia still could not say the word.
“Think of the dangers I braved to reveal the terrible life those women live. Think of how that will add to my heroism, that I managed to escape such a life with my honor intact.”
“You . . . you really can prove this?”
“You may choose the doctors to examine me, Madame.”
“I . . . I wish you would not call me that.”
“Call you what?”
“Madame.”
“Then what should I call you?”
“Mrs. Hanson will do for now.”
“But I, too, will be Mrs. Hanson.”
Phoenicia stared at her, then: “Provided your story is true, you may call me Phoenicia. But please do not do so in public until I have confirmed your story.”
“Very well, Phoenicia. And now we must discuss my marriage contract.”
“But what more . . .”
“Your son has led a most profligate life. I’m sure you know this. He loves me but what guarantees do I have that he will not return to his old ways once we are married?”
Phoenicia put a hand over her eyes, then lowered it to look confidentially at Nishi. “The Hanson men are such a trial.”
“I’m sure we will be a great help to each other, you and I,” Nishi said. “But, of course, I must have an independent income commensurate with my new station.”
Phoenicia sighed. “Yes. That’s what I got.”
“You did?”
“My father insisted.”
“Ahhh, what a wise man.”
“He had L.H. investigated but would not reveal what he discovered.”
“Some things are better left unsaid.”
“You are so right, my dear. But you have no father, do you?”
“I am an orphan. My father and brothers died on Venus. It was they who made me swear on my mother’s name that I would maintain my honor.”
“Ohhh, you poor dear. Don’t fail to tell this when you reveal how you saved Lutt’s life.”
“Trust me . . . Phoenicia. With you to coach me, how can I fail?”
***
We have Earthers to thank for insights into this phenomenon they call unconscious behavior. Before Wemply’s creation, such a concept was never applied to Dreens. Now, we are forced to admit the possibility that some of our actions are designed for ends we have not foreseen.
—Habiba’s journal
“Mugly has just informed me that the new erasure ship is completed and ready for use,” Jongleur said. He spoke formally, forcing the words, aware that Habiba saw his distress.
A great shudder trembled through Habiba. She was a dim figure in the gray gloaming atop her Cone of Control saddle. Once, this had been her favorite time of day, when shadows lengthened and she could relax and admire the Dreenor landscape. But now, everything was gray and diffuse under the shield.
“Does Mugly still volunteer to take the ship himself?”
“He does.”
“Has there been any word from Prosik?”
“He was last reported on Venus but there is nothing new. We must presume he perished on that awful planet.”
“Another brave soul lost to us.”
“And what of the brave souls who are captives of the Zone Patrol?” Jongleur asked. “What of our operatives on Earth?”
“What would you have me do about them?”.
“At the very least, we must warn those who ar
e still free to leave.”
“How would we do this?”
“Surely, Habiba, you must have some plan for them.”
“I depend on my aides for such matters!”
Jongleur thought he heard something near hysteria in Habiba’s voice and drew back one pace, almost falling off the spiral ramp where he sat during Thoughtcon.
“Habiba, I did not know . . . I mean, I thought you . . .”
“Must I think of everything?”
“I would require time to consider various alternatives,” Jongleur said.
“Time! Time! That’s all anyone talks about anymore!”
“Please, Habiba! I beg you. This has been so upsetting to me. And now I worry about our poor captives and about our operatives. Are they to be sacrificed?”
“Ahhhh, Jongleur, forgive me. Of course you are right. We must do something about our fellow Dreens on Earth. They did not volunteer to be sacrificed. They deserve more from us.”
“There must be something we can do,” Jongleur said. “Should I ask for volunteers to go warn them and for others to try to free the captives?”
“Every time we’ve done this, we’ve lost more people,” Habiba moaned. “Those terrible Earthers!”
“Perhaps we have not chosen the right disguise for those we send,” Jongleur said. “Perhaps . . .”He fell silent and fanned the air with one ear flap while thinking.
“You have thought of something,” Habiba said.
“I truly don’t know, Habiba.”
“Out with it, Jongleur! What has occurred to you?”
“Well. . . while scanning the available data about Venus I found accounts of that curious military group known as the Foreign Legion.”
“Yes, yes. I know. They do many violent things.”
“And they are much feared, Habiba.”
She spoke dispassionately: “That’s the natural evolution of how Earth was idmaged.”
“Even the Zone Patrol fears them. They tell their people on Venus they cannot win in a conflict with the Legion.”
“I fail to see the significance of this.”
“Habiba, this Lutt Hanson, Jr., has aroused the ire of the Legion by removing a female from their midst. Perhaps we should send a force in legionnaire guise to deal with this matter.”
L.H. nodded as though coming to a private decision. “So you got my message about Morey. What you doing about it?”
“Looking out for myself.”
“What’d you do to rile him so?”
“I got him to invest in my projects. Where’d you send him?”
“Sent him to Uranus. Some new hydrogen mining claims. He’s doing it on commission. Be back soon. But you can rest easy, son. I broke the Morey-Woon connection and let the Legion take care of Woon’s hit men on Venus. Now! I want you and Morey in my office together when he returns.” He shifted his attention back to Nishi. “Who were your folks?”
She stared at his prosthetic eyes as she told him.
“Legion. That’s a problem. Phoenicia will raise hell.”
“Because Hansons only marry quality?” Lutt asked, his voice deceptively soft.
L.H. responded with a barking laugh that broke into a fit of coughing.
Trying to suck me in with sympathy again, Lutt thought.
When the coughing spell passed, L.H. said, “Didn’t I teach you how to treat women? Maybe you’re not as much like me as I thought. Morey, now. . .” He left it there.
Piqued, Lutt asked, “You ever take him to the House of Delights?”
“Naw. I left his sex education to his mother. I think she showed him a book.”
Once more, L.H. turned his attention to Nishi. He reached into a pocket and removed a gold pin emblazoned with the Hanson crest. “I gave this to Lutt’s mother when he was born. When she read that Venus whorehouse story, she threw it at me and dented it Was going to get it fixed but now I think not.” He thrust it into Lutt’s hand. “Here! If you marry this lady, give it to her when she produces a son.”
Lutt accepted the pin, wondering what game the old man was playing now.
Nishi, her face red, flared, “I will produce nothing for this family unless I have the marriage contract!”
“A contract, now!” L.H. seemed delighted. “You looking for the pot of gold, honey?”
“It is the way of my family! And they were all heroes of the Legion!”
“Thinka that now!” L.H. swung his prosthetic eyes toward Lutt. “You have anything to say about this, boy?”
“Nishi saved my life on Venus. I owe her something.”
“Then pay her off and get rid of her!”
Lutt thrust the Hanson pin into his pocket. “No, we’re going to be married.”
“You are the most obtuse, knuckle-headed Hanson ever born! This is a gold digger after our money! Saved your life? She was saving it for herself!”
“She didn’t know who I was when she saved me!”
“So she’s a do-gooder! We don’t need any of those in our family!”
The old man’s obstinate attitude only made Lutt more angry. “You’re not going to change my mind! We’re going to be married!”
L.H. swung his eyes toward Nishi. “So you want a contract? Tell you what. You negotiate your contract with Phoenicia.”
***
Casualties were heavy, but names are being withheld pending notification of the next of kin. Witnesses say the explosion took out the entire northwest corner of the ZP base. Presumably, the blast and subsequent fire also destroyed the mysterious alien spaceship reportedly being studied there. ZP sources would neither confirm nor deny this but National Security censorship has been sought to suppress these accounts and the NSC has refused to rule on this “blanket of silence,” reportedly acting on the President’s orders.
—From an Enquirer story
“Something’s going on in this burg and it’s sure as hell more than meets the eye,” Subiyama said.
She sat at a portable vidcom in the office by her Seattle hotel bedroom, leaning forward to look directly into the eyes of the man on the screen.
“We sent you up there to stay on top of this story,” the man said. “How soon can you file a follow-up on the explosion?”
“Don’t press me, Jake! We’re onto some hot leads and you’ll get ’em soon as we confirm.”
“We? You hiring help up there without asking for—”
“Lew’s helping me.”
“That Zone Patrol swabby you’re shacked up with?”
“Shacked up, hell! We’re married.”
“This story’s too big for amateur—”
“Don’t you get your bowels in an uproar, Jake! Lew’s the one got us the inside account of what’s going on at that base. He is one damn fine leg man. You forgetting he was in the ZP?”
“We need more now! They’re beating the shit out of us!”
She sat back and tugged at her lower lip, then: “Okay. I was going to hold this until Lew gets back with more, but you’re going to have to credit ‘unidentified sources.’ Got that?”
“Shall I turn you over to rewrite?”
“No! You handle it and don’t put my byline on it. I don’t want Hanson Guards looking for my hide.”
“What’ve you got?”
“Lew says there’s a story at the base that Lutt Hanson, Jr., was involved in a crash with this alien spaceship. The ZP rescued him and held him incommunicado while they grilled him. When they released him, they exacted a promise he would not reveal anything about the alien ship.”
“Wow!”
“I’m not through. Hanson’s ship, the one that collided with the alien, was an experimental thing that’s supposed to be faster than a roadrunner with a burning match up its ass. His copilot in the crash reportedly was killed. We’re still trying to confirm that and get the guy’s name.”
“Heysoos Creesto!”
“There’s more. They’re now saying at the base that the blast occurred when investigators touched off a self-destruct system in the alien ship.”
“You were sitting on this?”
“That last was going to be my new lead.”
“Any luck on an interview with Junior?”
“Don’t hold your breath waiting for it. He’s gone to ground at that Hanson compound with all the guards and fences and dogs. He isn’t even talking to his own paper.”
“You holding back anything else?”
“A little but it’s too hot to use without confirmation. Lew’s doin’ okay, isn’t he, Jake? For an amateur, I mean?”
“Give me a peek at what you’re holding.”
“No! You might use it. You got your story. Go with it.”
“What about the woman he took out of that Legion bordello?”
“There’s a report she’s with him at the compound but don’t you dare use that.”
“What was she called? The Virgin Chanteuse?”
“I’m warning you not to use it. You check with Legal. This doll can draw on the Legion war chest to sue us or worse. Up on Venus you hear stories about how the Legion takes care of people it doesn’t like. Very, very bad news.” “When you expecting word from your Zeep leg man?” “My husband should be here in about an hour. Now, you get off my back or I’ll find a news service that appreciates me.”
***
We never promised you fair!
We never promised you fun!
We only promised you blood
While gettin’ the job done!
—ZP marching chant
Phoenicia Hanson marched into Lutt’s living room like a conquering general about to survey captives. She noted Nishi seated on a wicker couch with Lutt standing behind her and waved a hand at Lutt.
“Leave us.”
“Mother; I—”
“You’ve done enough to disgrace our family. Now, I will handle this. Have you seen a doctor?”
“What?” The non sequitur startled him.
“I am quite aware your aberrated behavior is due to your accident and your delusion about having another personality in your body. Simple schizophrenia brought on by unfortunate trauma. Have you seen a doctor?”
“Yeah,” he lied. “I’ve been thoroughly scanned.”
“And what did the doctor say?”
“Nothing wrong with me.”
“We will get other doctors. Now! Leave me with this . . .” She looked down at Nishi as though discovering something slimy under a rock, “ . . . this person.”
“This person is my fiancée, Mother. She is—”-
“We will discuss that later.”
Nishi got to her feet, face pale, mouth drawn into a tight line. “Yes, Lutt darling, leave us. Your mother and I have things to discuss.”
Lutt looked at his mother, at Nishi, and again at his mother. Nishi, he recalled, was a self-avowed expert at learning what people really wanted. She must know Phoenicia wanted the family rid of this intruder from Venus. But were there other things his mother wanted more? Interesting to find out.
“Okay,” he said. “You two fight it out. I have to see Sam and inspect the progress on my new ship.” He kissed Nishi’s cheek. “See you later, sweetheart.” It amused him to note the hostile glitter in his mother’s eyes at this demonstration of affection.
When the door closed behind Lutt, Nishi smiled sweetly and said, “Please sit down.” She gestured to a chair, lady of the manor being gracious to a guest.
“What I have to say, I can say standing up.”
“Very well.”
“How much?”
“I don’t understand.”
“How much money do you want? What, as my husband often says, is the payoff?”
“We are here to discuss a marriage settlement, a contract to protect me in a marriage to your son.”
“You’ll marry Lutt over my dead body!”
“I surely hope not. That might distress Lutt.”
“You don’t really care about his distress!”
“I care about Lutt very much. I will be a good wife to him. I am exactly the kind of wife he needs.”
“You?”
“Really, Madame Hanson, you do not understand my situation at all.”
“You lived in a . . . in a . . .” Phoenicia could not bring herself to say the word.
“Oh, yes. But I am virga intacta, a virgin who can prove her virginity.”
“That’s your story!”
“And I have other stories. While I was an employee of D’Assas Anon, I heard many stories. I’m sure you would find some of them interesting.”
“The only thing about you that interests me is what it will cost to be rid of you!”
“But these are stories about Lutt and your husband. The girls in such an establishment will talk, you know? Some of them get around and they bring their stories with them.”
Phoenicia’s face paled. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying, were I to approach a publisher of your more lurid books, I would have an interesting story to tell, one full of many verifiable accounts about Lutt and your husband.”
Phoenicia groped behind her for a chair and slumped into it. She looked up at Nishi as though suddenly discovering a poisonous snake.
“What you really want most, Madame,” Nishi said, “is your good name and the admiration of your friends. As Lutt’s wife—”
“Never,” Phoenicia gasped.
“As I was saying, Madame, I will guarantee your good name and the admiration of your friends. They will think me a heroine to have maintained my honor under such difficult conditions.”
“What. . . what could you . . .”
“I will find the sob sister, someone like this woman, Subiyama, who writes such interesting stories about your son’s accident and these events of the Zone Patrol and the Legion.”
“Subiyama? My husband says she’s a bloodsucking leech!”
“Even a leech may be valuable. And I will unfold such a beautiful story for her—how I sang for my living instead of earning my keep on my back.”
Phoenicia shuddered.
Nishi sank onto the wicker couch, bringing her eyes level with Phoenicia’s. “We will have a medical person confirm that I am virga intacta. Most daring of us, don’t you think?”
“Surely you are not serious?”
“Quite serious, Madame. It will be a marvelous story—how I rescued Lutt from the battle where the rockets were exploding and how I nursed him back to health while he hovered between life and death.”
“You didn’t.”
“But I did. And legionnaires will speak of my heroism and my devotion. They called me ‘the Virgin Chanteuse,’ you know.”
“They did?”
“And I will tell how Lutt and I fell in love there in the infirmary.”
“But what about those awful pictures from the . . . from the . . .” Phoenicia still could not say the word.
“Think of the dangers I braved to reveal the terrible life those women live. Think of how that will add to my heroism, that I managed to escape such a life with my honor intact.”
“You . . . you really can prove this?”
“You may choose the doctors to examine me, Madame.”
“I . . . I wish you would not call me that.”
“Call you what?”
“Madame.”
“Then what should I call you?”
“Mrs. Hanson will do for now.”
“But I, too, will be Mrs. Hanson.”
Phoenicia stared at her, then: “Provided your story is true, you may call me Phoenicia. But please do not do so in public until I have confirmed your story.”
“Very well, Phoenicia. And now we must discuss my marriage contract.”
“But what more . . .”
“Your son has led a most profligate life. I’m sure you know this. He loves me but what guarantees do I have that he will not return to his old ways once we are married?”
Phoenicia put a hand over her eyes, then lowered it to look confidentially at Nishi. “The Hanson men are such a trial.”
“I’m sure we will be a great help to each other, you and I,” Nishi said. “But, of course, I must have an independent income commensurate with my new station.”
Phoenicia sighed. “Yes. That’s what I got.”
“You did?”
“My father insisted.”
“Ahhh, what a wise man.”
“He had L.H. investigated but would not reveal what he discovered.”
“Some things are better left unsaid.”
“You are so right, my dear. But you have no father, do you?”
“I am an orphan. My father and brothers died on Venus. It was they who made me swear on my mother’s name that I would maintain my honor.”
“Ohhh, you poor dear. Don’t fail to tell this when you reveal how you saved Lutt’s life.”
“Trust me . . . Phoenicia. With you to coach me, how can I fail?”
***
We have Earthers to thank for insights into this phenomenon they call unconscious behavior. Before Wemply’s creation, such a concept was never applied to Dreens. Now, we are forced to admit the possibility that some of our actions are designed for ends we have not foreseen.
—Habiba’s journal
“Mugly has just informed me that the new erasure ship is completed and ready for use,” Jongleur said. He spoke formally, forcing the words, aware that Habiba saw his distress.
A great shudder trembled through Habiba. She was a dim figure in the gray gloaming atop her Cone of Control saddle. Once, this had been her favorite time of day, when shadows lengthened and she could relax and admire the Dreenor landscape. But now, everything was gray and diffuse under the shield.
“Does Mugly still volunteer to take the ship himself?”
“He does.”
“Has there been any word from Prosik?”
“He was last reported on Venus but there is nothing new. We must presume he perished on that awful planet.”
“Another brave soul lost to us.”
“And what of the brave souls who are captives of the Zone Patrol?” Jongleur asked. “What of our operatives on Earth?”
“What would you have me do about them?”.
“At the very least, we must warn those who ar
“How would we do this?”
“Surely, Habiba, you must have some plan for them.”
“I depend on my aides for such matters!”
Jongleur thought he heard something near hysteria in Habiba’s voice and drew back one pace, almost falling off the spiral ramp where he sat during Thoughtcon.
“Habiba, I did not know . . . I mean, I thought you . . .”
“Must I think of everything?”
“I would require time to consider various alternatives,” Jongleur said.
“Time! Time! That’s all anyone talks about anymore!”
“Please, Habiba! I beg you. This has been so upsetting to me. And now I worry about our poor captives and about our operatives. Are they to be sacrificed?”
“Ahhhh, Jongleur, forgive me. Of course you are right. We must do something about our fellow Dreens on Earth. They did not volunteer to be sacrificed. They deserve more from us.”
“There must be something we can do,” Jongleur said. “Should I ask for volunteers to go warn them and for others to try to free the captives?”
“Every time we’ve done this, we’ve lost more people,” Habiba moaned. “Those terrible Earthers!”
“Perhaps we have not chosen the right disguise for those we send,” Jongleur said. “Perhaps . . .”He fell silent and fanned the air with one ear flap while thinking.
“You have thought of something,” Habiba said.
“I truly don’t know, Habiba.”
“Out with it, Jongleur! What has occurred to you?”
“Well. . . while scanning the available data about Venus I found accounts of that curious military group known as the Foreign Legion.”
“Yes, yes. I know. They do many violent things.”
“And they are much feared, Habiba.”
She spoke dispassionately: “That’s the natural evolution of how Earth was idmaged.”
“Even the Zone Patrol fears them. They tell their people on Venus they cannot win in a conflict with the Legion.”
“I fail to see the significance of this.”
“Habiba, this Lutt Hanson, Jr., has aroused the ire of the Legion by removing a female from their midst. Perhaps we should send a force in legionnaire guise to deal with this matter.”