Friday

IX

Presently free fall went away and we entered the incredibly thrilling sensations of hypersonic glide. The computer was doing a good job of smoothing out the violence, but you could still feel the vibration in your teeth-and I could feel it elsewhere after my busy night.

We dropped through transonic rather abruptly, then spent a long time in subsonic, with the scream building up. Then we touched and the retros cut in... and shortly we stopped. And I took a deep breath. Much as I like the SBs, I can't relax from touchdown to full stop.

We had lifted at North Island at noon Thursday, so we arrived forty minutes later at Winnipeg the day before (Wednesday) in the early evening, 1940 hours. (Don't blame me; go look at a map-one with time zones marked.)

Again I waited and was last passenger out. Our captain again picked up my bag but this time escorted me with the casualness of an old friend-and I felt enormously warmed by it. He took me through a side door, then went with me through Customs, Health, and Immigration, offering his own jumpbag first.

The CHI officer did not touch it. "Hi, Captain. What are you smuggling this time?"

"The usual. Illicit diamonds. Trade secrets. Weapons specs. Contraband drugs."

"That's all? It's a waste of chalk." He scrawled something on Ian's bag. "Is she with you?"

"Never saw her before in my life."

"Me Injun squaw," I asserted. "White boss promise me much firewater. White boss don't keep promise."

"I could have told you. Going to be here long?"

"I live in the Imperium. Transient, possibly overnight. I came through here on my way to New Zealand last month. Here's my passport."

He glanced at it, stamped it, scrawled on my bag without opening it. "If you decide to stay a little longer, I'll buy you firewater. But don't trust Captain Tormey." We went on through.

Just beyond the barrier Ian dropped both our bags, picked up a woman by her elbows-proving his excellent condition; she was only ten centimeters junior to him-and kissed her enthusiastically. He put her down. "Jan, this is Marj."

(When Ian had this sultry job at home, why did he bother with my meager assets? Because I was there and she wasn't, no doubt. But now she is. Dear lady, got a good book I can read?)

Janet kissed me and I felt better. Then she held me with both hands at arm's length. "I don't see it. Did you leave it in the ship?"

"Leave what? This jumpbag is all I carried-my luggage is in transit bond."

"No, dear, your halo. Betty led me to expect a halo."

I considered this. "Are you sure she said halo?"

"Well... she said you were an angel. Perhaps I jumped to a conclusion."

"Perhaps. I don't think I was wearing a halo last night; I hardly ever wear one when traveling."

Captain Ian said, "That's right. Last night all she had on was a load, a big one. Sweetheart, I hate to tell you this but Betty was a bad influence. Deplorable."

"Oh, heavens! Perhaps we had best go straight to prayer meeting. Shall we, Marjorie? Tea and a biscuit here, and skip dinner? The whole congregation will pray for you."

"Whatever you say, Janet." (Did I have to agree to this? I didn't know the etiquette for a "prayer meeting. ")

Captain Tormey said, "Janet, perhaps we had better take her

home and pray for her there. I'm not sure Marj is used to public confessions of sins."

"Marjorie, would you rather do that?"

"I think I would. Yes."

"Then we will. Ian, will you hail Georges?"

Georges turned out to be Georges Perreault. That is all I learned about him just then, save that he was driving a pair of Morgan blacks hitched to a Honda surrey suitable for the very wealthy. How much is an SB captain paid? Friday, it's none of your business. But it was certainly a handsome rig. So was Georges, for that matter. Handsome, I mean. He was tall, dark-haired, dressed in dark suit and kepi, and looked a very proper coachman. But Janet did not introduce him as a servant and he bent over my hand and kissed it. Does a coachman kiss hands? I keep running into human practices not covered by my training.

Ian sat in front by Georges; Janet took me behind with her and opened a large down rug. "I thought you might not have a wrap with you, coming from Auckland," she explained. "So snuggle under." I did not protest that I never get cold; it was very thoughtful and I snuggled under with her. Georges wheeled us out onto the highway, clucked to the horses, and they broke into a brisk trot. Ian took a horn from a rack on the dashboard and sounded a blast on it-there didn't seem to be any reason for it; I think he just liked to make a loud noise.

We did not go into the city of Winnipeg. Their home was southwest of a small town, Stonewall, north of the city and closer to the port. By the time we got there it was dark but I could see one thing:

It was a country estate designed to hold off anything short of professional military attack. There were three gates in series, with gates one and two forming a holding pen. I didn't spot Eyes or remoted weapons but I was sure they were there-the estate was marked out by the red-and-white beacons that warn float craft not to try it.

I got only the barest glimpse of whatever matched the three gates-too dark. A wall and two fences I saw, but I could not see how they were armed and/or booby-trapped and hesitated to ask. But no sensible person spends that much on household protection

and then relies totally on passive defense. I wanted to ask about their power arrangements, too, recalling how at the farm Boss had lost the main Shipstone (cut by "Uncle Jim") and thereby lost his defenses-but again it was not something a guest could ask.

I wondered even more what would have happened if we had been jumped before they got inside the gates of their castle. Again, with the brisk trade in illegal weapons that wind up in the hands of the putatively disarmed, it was the sort of question one did not ask. I walk around unarmed, usually, but I don't assume that others do so-most people have neither my enhancements nor my special training.

(I would rather rely on my "unarmed" state than depend on hardware that can be taken from you at any checkpoint, or that you can lose, or that can run out of ammo, or jam, or be power-down when it matters. I don't look armed, and that gives me an edge. But other people, other problems-I'm a special case.)

We rode up a sweeping drive and under an overhang and stopped-and again Ian sounded a foul blast on that silly horn-but this time there seemed to be some point to it; the front doors opened. Ian said, "Take her inside, dear; I'm going to help Georges with the team."

"I don't need help."

"Pipe down." Ian got out and handed us down, gave my jumpbag to his wife-and Georges pulled away. Ian simply followed on foot. Janet led me inside-and I gasped.

I was looking through the foyer at an illuminated fountain, a programmed one; it changed in shapes and colors as I stood there. There was gentle background music, which (possibly) controlled the fountain.

"Janet... who's your architect?"

"Like it?"

"Of course!"

"Then I'll admit it. I'm the architect, Ian is the gadgeteer, Georges controlled the interiors. He is several sorts of an artist and another wing is his studio. And I might as well tell you right now that Betty told me to hide your clothes until Georges paints at least one nude of you."

"Betty said that? But I've never been a model and I must get back to my job."

"It's up to us to change your mind. Unless- Are you shy about it? Betty did not think you would be. Georges might settle for the draped figure. At first."

"No, I'm not shy. Uh, maybe a bit shy about posing; the idea is new to me. Look, can we let it wait? Right now I'm more interested in plumbing than in posing; I haven't been near any since I left Betty's flat-I should have stopped at the port."

"Sorry, dear; I should not have kept you standing here talking about Georges' painting. My mother taught me years ago that the very first thing to do for a guest is to show her where the bathroom is."

"My mother taught me the exact same thing," I fibbed.

"This way." A hallway opened to the left from the fountain; she led me down it and into a room. "Your room," she announced, dropping my bag on the bed, "and the bath is through here. You share it with me, as my room is the mirror image of this room, on the other side."

There was plenty to share-three stalls, each with WC, bidet, and hand tray; a shower big enough for a caucus, with controls I was going to have to ask about; a massage and suntan table; a plunge-or was it a hot tub?-that clearly was planned for loafing in company; twin dressing tables with basins; a terminal; a refrigerator; a bookcase with one shelf for cassettes.

"No leopard?" I said.

"You expected one?"

"Every time I've seen this room in the sensies the heroine had a pet leopard with her."

"Oh. Will you settle for a kitten?"

"Certainly. Are you and Ian cat people?"

"I wouldn't attempt to keep house without one. In fact just now I can offer you a real bargain in kittens."

"I wish I could take one. I can't."

"Discuss it later. Help yourself to the plumbing. Want a shower before dinner? I intend to grab one; I spent too much time currying Black Beauty and Demon before going to the port, and ran out of

time. Did you notice that I whiffed of stable?"

And that is how, by easy stages, I found myself ten or twelve minutes later having my back washed by Georges while Ian washed my front while my hostess washed herself and laughed and offered advice that was ignored. If I were to elaborate, you would see that each step was perfectly logical and that these gentle sybarites did nothing to rush me. Nor was there even the mildest attempt to seduce me, not even a hint that I had already raped (symbolic rape, at least) my host the night before.

Then I shared with them a sybaritic feast in their living room (drawing room, great hall, whatever) in front of a fire that was actually one of Ian's gadgets. I was dressed in one of Janet's negligees- Janet's notion of a dinner-gown negligee would have got her arrested in Christchurch.

But it did not cause a pass from either man. When we reached coffee and brandy, me somewhat blurry from drinks before dinner and wine during dinner, by request I removed that borrowed negligee and Georges posed me five or six ways, took stereos and holos of me in each, while discussing me as if I were a side of beef. I continued to insist that I had to leave tomorrow morning but my protests became feeble and pro forma-Georges paid no attention to them whatever. He said I had "good masses"-maybe this is a compliment; it certainly is not a pass.

But he got some awfully good pictures of me, especially one of me lying sort of flang dang on a low couch with five kittens crawling over my breasts and legs and belly. I asked for that one and it turned out that Georges had the equipment to copy it.

Then Georges took some of Janet and me together, and again I asked for a copy of one of them because we made a beautiful contrast and Georges had a knack for making us look better than we did. But presently I started to yawn and Janet told Georges to stop. I apologized, saying that there was no excuse for me to be sleepy since it was still early evening by the zone where I had started the day.

Janet said pishantosh, that being sleepy had nothing to do with clocks and time zones-gentlemen, we are going to bed. She led me away.

We stopped in that beautiful bath and she put her arms around me. "Marjie, do you want company, or do you want to sleep alone? I know from Betty that you had a busy night last night; possibly you prefer a quiet night alone. Or possibly not. Name it."

I told her honestly that I did not sleep alone by choice.

"Me, too," she agreed, "and it's nice to hear you say so, instead of fiddling around about it and pretending the way some slitches do. Whom do you want in your bed?"

You sweet darling, surely you are entitled to your own husband the night he gets home. "Maybe that should be turned around. Who wants to sleep with me?"

"Why, all of us, I feel certain. Or any two. Or any one. You name it."

I blinked and wondered how much I had had to drink. "Four in one bed?"

"Do you like that?"

"I've never tried it. It sounds jolly but the bed would be awfully crowded, I think."

"Oh. You haven't been in my room. A big bed. Because both my husbands often choose to sleep with me... and there is still plenty of room to invite a guest to join us."

Yes, I had been drinking-two nights in a row and far more than I was used to. "Two husbands? I didn't know that British Canada had adopted the Australian Plan."

"British Canada has not; British Canadians have. Or many thousands of us. The gates are locked and it's nobody's business. Do you want to try the big bed? If you get sleepy, you can crawl off to your own room-a major reason I planned this suite the way I did. Well, dear?"

"Ub... yes. But I may be self-conscious about it."

"You'll get over it. Let's-"

She was interrupted by a jangly bell at the terminal.

Janet said, "Oh, damn, damn! That almost certainly means that they want Ian at the port-even though he's just back from a high lift." She stepped to the terminal, switched it on.

"-cause for alarm. Our border with the Chicago Imperium has been sealed off and refugees are being rounded up. The attack by

Québec is more serious but may be an error by a local commander; there has been no declaration of war. State of emergency is now in effect, so stay off the streets, keep calm, and listen on this wavelength for official news and instructions."

Red Thursday had started.