the square root of sex

“Hello?”

“Hello, Mr. Pollener?” The voice on the other end had a badly stuffed nose.

“Yes. Mr. X?”

“No names, please. Just state your business.” It came out “Dus date chue bizdezz.” The nose was very badly stuffed indeed.

“That’s a bad cold you have there,” Frank remarked.

“Idz dot a code. Hay fever. Allergy. Had lasagdya for didder. Allergig to Italian food. All by wife knows how do coog. Always briggs od ad addack.”

“That’s too bad.” Frank went on to explain about the raid on the Venus Observatory. “What I want to know is how we can square the beef with you, Mr. X-whatever the beef is-—-so that’ll you’ll take the pressure off the local mucky-mucks so we can come to some arrangements with them.”

“I odly agded od advice frob our logal executive id the field. Policy is dot do miggs id such matters udless asked do. Udderstad you a fred of our mad Carrera. Lige do help you sidz he vouches you’re a fred. Tell you wod. I’ll pass word od to City Hall to lay off if you cad straighted it oud with our local mad Rockwell. Bud I won’t interfere udless you cad do thad. Ker-choo!”

“Thanks and gezundheit,” Frank said. “I’ll contact Rockwell right away. Goodbye, Mr. X.”

“Do dabes, blease.” Mr. X hung up.

Frank arranged a meeting with Hal Rockwell for early the following day. The Negro Mafioso was pleasant, but businesslike. “Here are the comparison figures.” He tapped a sheet of paper in front of him on his desk. “They don’t lie. Firstly, our cut of what the Observatory paid our girls three months ago was almost double what it is today. Since you started bringing in unmarried scabs, less than half the original work force is getting anything like full part-time employment from your organization. Secondly, the figures show a ten percent decrease—and that percentage is on the upswing—of the business our own outlets are doing since you started paying unmarrieds for the sex they used to pay us to get. Thirdly, this isn’t just a management problem. If it was, I would have contacted you and tried to work something out instead of asking Mr. X to put pressure on the local power structure. You see, I’m under pressure myself. Because of this Venus situation, our girls have organized. This is the first time that’s ever happened. Do you realize what a threat to the Syndicate that is? And they’ve been pressuring us for a bigger cut of the take since your outfit has cut into their piecework pay. We’re faced with a labor force that’s working itself up to union solidarity. I’ve even heard some whispers that the Teamsters may try to come in and take over, use the organization here as a foothold to unionize prosties on a national basis. So you see, I had to deal with the threat here and now before it got out of hand. And that meant cracking down on competition from Venus. And I can’t ask Mr. X to have the establishment take the pressure off you unless you can figure a way to get the rank-and-file off my back.”

“How do I go about doing that?” Frank wondered.

“Search me. The best place to start, I guess, would be at Mother Tucker’s place.”

“Mother what?”

“Tucker.” Rockwell came down hard on the “t” sound.

“Oh. I thought you said--”

“A common mistake. The name is Tucker. ‘T,’ as in ‘tail’.”

“I see.” Frank nodded. “Why there particularly?” he asked.

“That’s where this union the girls are getting up is steamrolling. Here’s the address.” Rockwell jotted it down on a piece of paper. “You can use my name. But I don’t know if it’ll help.”

Frank thanked him and left. That evening he took a cab to Mother Tucker’s. He mounted the steps of the brownstone house and rang the doorbell.

“How much is it?” The small girl in the French maid’s costume who answered the door dug into the pocket of her short apron and came up with a bill and some coins.

“Beg pardon?” Frank was confused.

“Aren’t you the fellow from the drugstore?”

“No, I’m not.”

“Oh. Sorry. See, they promised to send over some stuff for this--umm—-condition I got, and I thought you-”

“It’s all right,” Frank assured her. “I’m here to see Mother Tucker.”

“Damn! What good’s all that advice on the matchbook covers if you can’t ever get a lousy delivery from the lousy druggist? At this rate, by the time I get it cleared up, I’ll be too old to— Well, that’s not your red wagon, it’s mine. I guess you’re after some fun. Come on, I’ll take you into the parlor where the girls are.”

“I just want to see Mother Tucker,” Frank tried to explain. But she was already leading the way to the parlor and he found himself following along in her wake. “I don’t want—”

The maid’s mind was on her own troubles. She seemed not to hear his protest. “You the fellow Erasmus said he was sending over?” she asked.

“No. I don’t know any Erasmus. And I don’t want to go into the parlor either.” Frank stopped following her and stood firmly in his tracks.

“You don’t? Then what—?”

“What’s the trouble, Gertrude?” A tall, spare woman with no make-up emerged from a room off the hallway. Her face was strong, the bones pronounced, a square, stubborn jaw jutting out under shrewd brown eyes. She might have stepped out of a Grant Wood painting.

“There’s no trouble, Mother,” Gertrude started to explain. “This gentleman just—”

“I just want to see you. If you’re Mother Tucker, that is,” Frank guessed.

“I’m Mother Tucker. But my position here is strictly supervisory. Why don’t you let Gertrude take you inside and introduce you to some of the young ladies?”

“I’m not here for that. Can’t we talk privately for a few minutes?”

“What about?” Mother Tucker’s eyes narrowed. “Are you from the police? I already took care of-—”

“I’m not from the police,” Frank interrupted.

“Well, all right. Come on in.” Mother Tucker led him back into the room from which she’d emerged and closed the door behind them. The room was furnished as an office, as utilitarian and businesslike as the impression conveyed by Mother Tucker herself. She sat down behind the desk and motioned Frank to take a chair. “Now what is it?” she wanted to know.

Frank told her of his efforts to settle the Observatory’s latest trouble and ended by relating Hal Rockwell’s suggestion that he go to her establishment.

“Well, you’ve come to the right place,” Mother Tucker told him. “When the madams called a meeting to decide what action to take, they picked me to draw up our complaints and present them to Mr. Rockwell. Also, one of my girls heads up the union the workers formed. You’ll have to come to terms with both of us. I think I can speak for the management echelon. What sort of a settlement do you propose?”

“I think I can persuade the Observatory to hire say half a dozen madams as expert consultants. The salaries should make up for any loss you’ve been suffering from business falling off because of the Venus program. Mind you, I’m not being altruistic in this. I think you have something to contribute to their researches into erotic response patterns in human beings. Anyway, if we can work out satisfactory wage-scales, will you take the pressure off Rockwell?”

“Sounds fair enough. But how’s it going to solve your problem? The Syndicate still isn’t going to stand still for losing money on their cut of the madams’ operations.”

“I think I can straighten that part out with Carrera so he can show the boys upstairs how it can be to their advantage to carry the cutback as a tax loss. In the long run, they’ll come out with more money if I can work m out right.”

“If it’s all right with them, then I certainly have no complaint. But you understand I’m only speaking for the madams. The girls are another matter. You’ll have to deal with them separately. See, at first, we had an agreement for their union and our group to act together. But now that agreement’s been canceled.”

“How come?” Frank asked.

“Matter of tactics. They’ve come up with this war-cry for “Red-light Power.” I couldn’t go along with that. I come from a Quaker background, you know. Strictly non-violent. And I persuaded the other madams to commit themselves to a non-violent policy. I’m willing to get them to agree to copulate for co-existence. Hmm, that’s not a bad slogan. I think I’ll have a sign made up.” Mother Tucker made a note on a pad on her desk.

“How about ‘Fornicate for Freedom’?” Frank suggested.

“Old hat. Still valid though. Anyway, as I was saying, we’ll work something out with you along the lines you’ve outlined, but I can’t speak for the girls. You’d best talk to Xenobia about any settlement with them.”

“Xenobia?”

“She’s the shop steward here. Also, she’s on the policy committee of the union. If you can make a deal with her, she can probably get the rest of them to go along. As a matter of fact, she’s in the upstairs parlor right now with some other union executives. I’ll take you up, if you’d like, and introduce you.”

“Thanks. I’d appreciate that.”

Mother Tucker led Frank to the upstairs parlor, introduced him to Xenobia and left. The tall Greek girl showed Frank to a sofa on the far side of the room. “You waiting here ’til I’m readying for you,” she told him. “Union business coming first.” She left him and went back to the table where half a dozen or so other girls were sitting. The girls, like Xenobia, were dressed in their working clothes —negligees, lingerie, slit dresses, net stockings, bikini panties, etc.

Frank glanced around the room. Several picket signs were strewn along one wall. He craned his head to read them:

“LADIES OF THE NIGHT, UNITE!”

“DOWN WITHAMATEUR COMPETITION! DOWN WITH SCABS!”

“WE DEMAND THE WAGES OF SIN!”

“NO PLAY WITHOUT ADEQUATE PAY!”

“SENIORITY FOR SENIOR SIRENS!”

The last struck Frank as perhaps beside the point, having nothing to do with the Venus situation, but he could see how it might worry the Syndicate. If the girls extended their activities, their demands would be more directly threatening to management. As he strained his ears to hear their conversation, Frank could appreciate the threat even more.

“Why should we stop with the guinea pigs?” a blonde in black lace was demanding of the other girls.

“Not all of them is Italian,” a redhead pointed out.

“I know that,” the blonde said haughtily. “But what I mean is we shouldn’t just take on the scab broads who go to that Venus place. We should aim higher. This is a chance to really pressure the Syndicate to improve our working conditions. What we should do is make up a list of grievances for them.”

“Agreeing,” Xenobia said. “Is good think. I write. You all say what.”

“An eight-hour working night,” the blonde suggested. “That should come first. Eight hours a night is every tart’s right.”

“Free accident insurance,” another chimed in. “A girl gets knocked up, it should be management’s responsibility to foot the bill. Or take what happened to poor Gertrude She oughta get some kinda compensation for having to work as a maid ’til the sulfa drugs take.”

“A softer mattress in every bed,” the redhead piped up “The springs come right through the one I got and my back’s been killing me. The things I do sometimes, just so I can avoid having to lie down!”

“Improve the bidet facilities,” another suggested.

“Yeah. And we should have a voice in determining consumer privilege. Sometimes a girl wants to be able to draw the line somewhere even if the customer is always supposed to be right.”

“Less time for more pay! Three dollars for three minutes is slave labor in today’s economy!”

And so it went. Frank listened, fascinated, as the girls came up with more demands to better their working conditions and Xenobia wrote them down. When they were through, the blonde summed up the general feeling. “It’s about time somebody besides the vice cops organized us,” she said.

The meeting broke up. The other girls left. Xenobia came over to Frank. “You hearing?” she asked. “Now making most, you smart,” she suggested. “After we fixing scientists, not so much for so little customer getting. But still cut-rating now. So you spelling out what liking and I loving to suit.” She stroked his cheek.

“No,” Frank told her. “That’s not why I’m here.”

“No? So! Then you just come to finking, or what?”

“No-no! Not at all. I’ve come to help arbitrate your dispute with the Venus Observatory.”

“Mediocre!” Xenobia snapped her fingers. “All right, Mr. Mediocre, what offering you come with for sediment?”

“First,” Frank told her, “re-instatement of all personnel who’ve been laid off.”

“What you mean? That whole troubling. No being laid. Off. On. Any which-why.”

“You don’t understand. I mean that all those fired will be re-hired.”

“Oh. Goodly! You should saying right out. But how coming? Word from sciencers is, no more professionites. They telling pros only amateurs good now for lab-loving.”

“That’s true. But now they’re willing to compromise. You see, by pairing off an amateur male with a professional female, or vice versa, they can obtain data on the amateur that they might not be able to get if he—-or she—-were asked to perform with another amateur.”

“That for surely!” Xenobia snorted. “Two amateur typings in bed like cooking stove no gas. Everything there to cooking, but no flame. So okay. Old-timings back to work. But how about other professioners. They losers lotsa business to free scientifical loving. How making that up?”

“Suppose Venus puts on six new girls,” Frank offered cautiously.

“Dropping bucket. Maybe fifty helping, but even that not solutioning problem.”

“I’m sure they won’t be able to use fifty.” Frank was firm. “Maybe a dozen at most.”

“That all you talking, no soup. Tomorrow we picnicking worse than before. New tactic, also. No secrete. I warning you. Every picnicker got long hatpin. Scab-love girlings cross picnic line, we sticking pins in falsies. Whoosh!” Xenobia jabbed at the air viciously.

“Wait a minute,” Frank said. “Let me think.”

“Taking time. Thinking better offer. Otherwise-— Whoosh!” Xenobia stabbed at the air again.

“Got it!” Frank snapped his fingers. “Do you know Professor Woocheck, the co-chief of the Venus project?”

“Bald fogey loving? Knowing him very well. We go to jail together.”

“Yes, that’s right. I forgot. Well, do you know that Professor Woocheck is one of the foremost gynecologists in the country? And that there are several other gynecologists, as well as other doctors, working under him at the project?”

“I wanting work under him,” Xenobia remembered, “but fogey copping out. Anyway, I not seeing -”

“Suppose,” Frank proposed, “that I could persuade the Professor to set up a free medical treatment program for all the girls in your union? Now you know that’s a big expense for ladies in your line of work. Wouldn’t the money you’d save offset the business you’re losing because of Venus?”

“Is truly. Unioners buy, no doubtful. That big point why we maybe later striking against management after finish Venus picnicking.”

“You’ll be able to avoid that now,” Frank pointed out. “Your union membership won’t have to go through the deprivation of a prolonged walkout. What do you say? Is it a deal? Can I tell Hal Rockwell you girls will cooperate if he will? Can I tell him you don’t care if the charges are dropped against the Venus people?”

“Is sediment. Come, we clap-clap on it.” Xenobia started to dance slowly, slapping her palms together over her head.

“Sorry. I don’t have time now. I’ll have to take a raincheck on the clap-clap.” Frank waved from the doorway and left.

Halfway down the stairs he met Mother Tucker coming up. “I hope you and Xenobia are finished,” she told him. “She’s needed downstairs. A sudden influx of customers from a convention.”

“What convention?” Frank asked idly.

“Some association of newpaper publishers,” she told him as she edged past and continued up the stairs. “The place is busier than Bargain Day at Gimbels.”

“Newspaper publishers? Hmm,” Frank mused to himself. When he got to the foot of the stairs he ambled into the parlor. It was indeed very crowded.

The first person Frank spotted was D. B. Herzel, publisher of the Flintsburgh Daily Herald. Herzel’s much-caricatured bushy eyebrows made him stand out in the throng. The eyes under them were squeezing a pair of large breasts a few feet away from him at the moment.

“Hello there, D. B.,” Frank greeted him.

Herzel started guiltily. “Oh, hello, Pollener,” he said, his face reddening.

“How’ve you been?” Frank asked pleasantly.

“All right. And yourself?”

“Just dandy. And how is Mrs. Herzel?”

The reddening face developed into a very bad sunburn.

“She’s fine,” he said weakly. “Just fine.”

“Give her my regards when you see her,” Frank purred.

“Oh. Sure. Sure.” Herzel looked at him suspiciously. “I didn’t know you knew my wife,” he said.

“I don’t. But I've always wanted to meet her.” Frank’s smile was cherubic. “Say, D. B.,” he added innocently, “I’ve been meaning to call you about a client of mine. The Venus Observatory. You’ve been pretty rough on them lately. Particularly that editorial bit last week. I think it’s because you don’t really understand the humanitarian import of their work. Why don’t you look into it and see if maybe you can’t find it in your heart to run another editorial pointing out all the good their research will eventually accomplish.”

“You mean do an about-face? I don’t think I--”

“Sure you can, D. B. Talk it over with the Mrs. Get the feminine point of view. I’m sure you’ll see things differently. Unless maybe,” Frank added as if by afterthought, “you’d rather I discussed it with her?”

“No. No. I’m sure you’re right. I’ll take care of it.”

“Now that’s what I call publishing integrity.” Frank patted him on the back and moved away.

The short, fat man he spoke to next was attempting to balance a girl in a transparent black nightie on his rotund stomach. His eyes grew very large at Frank’s opening words.

“Hello there, Mr. Foster. Say, I’ve been meaning to congratulate you on that anti-vice crusade you’ve been running in the Courier-News. Keep it up. In no time at all you’ll put the red-light district right out of business. And I sure think it’s wonderful the way you go to all this trouble to do your own research. That’s real nitty-gritty journalism, the kind you don’t see much of any more.”

“I— I— I-—” Foster sputtered.

“Only why not stick to what you know about,” Frank continued. “Stay with real vice and lay off the Venus Observatory. You wouldn’t want people to call you a hypocrite for writing about something outside your personal experience.”

“I—I— I—”

“You will stop taking pot-shots at science, now won’t you, Mr. Foster?”

“I– I— I—” Foster managed to nod.

“Good. I knew I could depend on you.” Frank started to walk away. “And let me congratulate you,” he called over his shoulder. “That’s a prime example of the perils of vice you’ve caught there. Hang onto her!”

The Flintsburgh Evening Journal came next. Its publisher, Hartley P. Cronin, was just following a hip-wiggling blonde out the doorway towards the staircase when Frank called his name loud and clear. Cronin swiveled around fast, with his finger automatically raised to his lips. His normally sleek gray hair was rumpled and there was a lipstick smear on the tip of his aristocratic nose.

“Talk is you’re thinking of politics,” Frank opened as he walked around Cronin and blocked his path to the stairs.

“This is neither the time nor place to-—”

“Talk is that’s why the Journal’s cracking down so hard on our illustrious Mayor.”

“A disgrace to civic-—”

“Talk is you’re out to beat him out for the nomination for Governor.”

“Can’t we postpone this conversation until -”

“Happens I’m on my way over to His Honor’s office right now.” Frank ignored Cronin’s startled expression. “I’ll give him your regards.” He stepped away from the staircase and started for the front door.

“Pollener! Wait a minute!” Cronin scuttled after him. “What is it you want?” he whispered anxiously.

“The Venus Observatory. I want only psalms of praise from the Journal from here on in.”

“All right.” Cronin looked relieved. He’d been expecting a much more sizable request. “You have my word on it.”

“Thanks. And I hope you win. His Honor really would make a lousy Governor.”

Pleased with his night’s work, Frank waved good night to Cronin and left the establishment of Mother Tucker.

When he reached home, the first thing he did was call Professor Woocheck and fill him in on everything that had happened. The Professor readily agreed to all the conditions Frank had settled upon with Xenobia and Mother Tucker. He even seemed to see more value in the contribution that might be made than Frank had. When Frank hung up on the Professor, he called Hal Rockwell.

“I think I’ve even gotten the Syndicate off the hook as far as any serious threat from the girls’ union is concerned,” Frank pointed out at the conclusion of his speech to Rockwell. “So will you do me a favor and pass the word along so the charges against the Venus people are dropped?”

“Will do,” Rockwell promised.

He kept his promise. The telephone wires really hummed that night with the chain of calls he set in motion. He called Carrera. Carrera called Mr. X. Mr. X called His Honor. The Mayor called the police commissioner. The commissioner called the precinct captain. The captain called the Vice Squad lieutenant who had led the original raid. And before morning, the lieutenant had made arrangements to drop the charges.

Then the lieutenant called the captain to tell him the matter had been taken care of. The captain called the commissioner. The commissioner called the Mayor.

By that time it was mid-morning of the next day. “Dropped?” the Mayor said. “You can’t drop those charges,” he said. “Re-instate them!” he ordered the police commissioner.

“Press those charges against Venus,” the police commissioner told the precinct captain.

“Recharge Venus,” the captain told the lieutenant.

“I wish to hell they’d make up their minds,” the lieutenant grumbled.

He wasn’t as miffed as Frank was, though, when news of the charges being refiled reached him late that afternoon. He got the Mayor on the phone immediately.

“What’s the big idea?” he asked. “I thought the beef was squared?”

“With the unmentionables, yes. But something new’s come up. The Mothers for Morality and all their bluenose affiliates have been in my office all day raising hell about your Venus people. They want the book thrown at them. And let’s face it, they represent a helluva lot of votes.”

“But why?”

“Seems your scientists goofed. One of those college girls they let get screwed in their lab is the daughter of the MFM president. Mother claims she was a virgin before that and can prove it. Now the little angel’s knocked up and Mama’s having a fertilizer fit.”

“Pregnant?” Frank groaned.

“With a capital P.”

“Pregnant!” Frank hung up the phone and groaned again. “How the hell am I going to get them out of this one?’

And, he wondered, what next?

CHAPTER SIX

“The particular female sexual experience to be discussed in this chapter presented the investigators with the most difficult problems of the entire survey. This was not due so much to a lack of willing volunteers, nor to difficulties of observation (which might have been expected to be intrinsic with such female subjects) as it was to outside pressures brought to bear in an effort to make the Venus Bio-Erotic Observatory cease its activities in this particular sphere and, indeed, in others as well. Legal entanglements were strewn in the path of scientific endeavor. However, even while they were being overcome, the study moved forward, thanks to the dedication of the staff. Some of this fervor, it should be noted, was far above and beyond the call of scientific duty . . .”

Chapter Five, Survey of Bio-Erotic Behavior,

Patterns in Human Beings,

by Woocheck & Peerloin

“When non-action has been eliminated as a possibility and wholeness of mind is confused by indecision as to wich of several actions to take first and what the order of ensuing actions should be, the tenets of Causocratic Effectivism may best be served by listing the possible courses of action on a sheet of paper. First the list should be horizontal, each action on the same level, therefore guarding against any subconscious weighting of the decision as to primary and secondary acts. Then, after due consideration, the actions should be listed vertically in keeping with the results of one’s reflections.” Thus it had been written by the Swami Rhee Va.

Frank Pollener’s final list looked like this:

1. See Judge O’Neill re delaying injunction.

2. Arrange appointment with Mrs. Slocum to discuss daughter’s condition. Aim:

A. Persuade her to drop charges. (How?)

B. Failing (A), pump Slocum re case for defensible points. Particularly try learn extent evidence.

3. Interview Slocum daughter re other possible causes pregnancy.

4. Check with Prof. Woocheck re--

A. His expert gynecological opinion of medical “proof.”

B. General rules re subjects to reject (i.e., Virgins.)

C. Future actions re litigation involving Venus already in progress.

5. Repressure publishers re play down all developments.

6. If successful (2.A), repressure Mayor, etc., drop first charge against Peerloin et al.

It was an orderly list and the Swami Rhee Va would have approved of it. However, as the sage had repeatedly warned, all actions are to some extent dependent on the actions -- frequently unpredictable — of others. Still, it wasn’t until after Frank performed the first task on his list that he ran into that particular bottleneck.

Judge O’Neill, by luck, was the jurist to whom Mothers for Morality had gone seeking an injunction against the Venus Observatory which would have made the institution “cease and desist” all of its activities until such time as evidence could be presented to a grand jury showing why the district attorney should not take action to shut down the Observatory permanently. The “luck” of his being the Judge appealed to for the injunction lay in the fact that Frank knew him very well. Judge O’Neill had been Frank’s teacher in law school and his mentor later on, during Frank’s early days at the bar. Frank was sure the Judge would listen to reason.

“I’m not asking you to quash the injunction,” Frank explained to the Judge in the privacy of his chambers. “I’m not even asking for a legal stay at this time. All I’m asking you to do is to delay it for a few days. Just take a few days’ time to consider it before issuing the injunction. That’s all I want. Time.”

“And if I agree? What good will time do you?” the Judge wondered. “The case for the injunction is solid enough. Eventually I’ll have to issue it.”

“Not if I can persuade the plaintiff to drop the charges.”

“And just how are you going to do that?”

“I’m not sure,” Frank admitted. “I just want time to try.”

“All right,” Judge O’Neill agreed. “I’ll stall as long as possible.” He looked at Frank in a way that was both curious and kindly. “This Venus thing is really a crusade for you, isn’t it?” he remarked.

“Yes. These people aren’t charlatans, you know. They’re acting from the highest humanitarian impulses and they’re dedicated to obtaining data which will benefit humanity as a whole.” Frank was fervent. “And it bothers me that they have to put up with every nit-picking obstacle small minds can arrange to put in their way.” .

“You really see nothing immoral in their encouraging unmarried people to make love in their laboratories?” the Judge asked mildly.

“Absolutely not! These are supposed to be enlightened times. Eventually the evidence provided by these experiments will benefit countless others who for one reason or another are now hampered in their sex practices.”

“Hmm.” The Judge thought about it. "‘You don’t have to answer this,” he said delicately, “but your zeal does make me curious about one thing.”

“What’s that?”

“Have you personally participated in the—umm- ‘experimental’ phase of the program?”

“You mean have I -?” Frank was taken aback. “No, I haven’t.”

“But why not?” There was a twinkle in the Judge’s eye, but Frank missed it. “If you’re so convinced it’s right, why not? After all, Frank, you don’t exactly enjoy a reputation for sexual abstinence.”

“All that’s changed,” Frank assured him. “The Swami Rhee Va— Well, I don’t have time to explain now. But it has changed. Still there’s something to what you say. I really don’t have any reason for not having participated. Believe me though, it’s not hypocrisy. I just hadn’t considered offering my services. If I ever get all these messes cleared up, I can assure you that I will consider doing just that.”

“I’m glad to see you’re still a man of principle,” Judge O’Nei1l told him as Frank got up to leave. “I’ll sit on the injunction,” he promised. “But you better move fast.”

“Will do.” Frank shook hands goodbye and left.

Back in his own office, Frank dialed the number of Mothers for Morality. They informed him that Mrs. Slocum wasn’t there and gave him her home phone-number. Frank called it.

“Violate me in Violet time/Don’t reap me in the fall!” the voice that answered sang into the telephone. It was a young, female voice, both chipper and sultry at the same time.

“Hello?” Frank responded. “Is Mrs. Slocum there?”

“Oh! Sorry! I was expecting a call from a friend and— It’s my mother you want.” The voice was chastened now. “I’m sorry, she isn’t here.”

“Can you tell me when she’ll be back?” Frank asked. “I’m very anxious to reach her.”

“Not ’til Thursday. She’s up at Sunny Hills—you know, the sanitarium—-having a nervous breakdown.”

“That doesn’t sound like very much time for a nervous breakdown,” Frank opined. “Are you sure she’ll be back on Thursday?”

“Absolutely. Mother does everything on schedule.”

“Oh. Why is she having a nervous breakdown?” Frank thought he knew the answer, but he was fishing for any information he could get.

“Oh, come on now. You know. Don’t be polite. Everybody knows. She’s having a nervous breakdown because Little Lila—that’s me-—went and got herself with chee-ild. By the way,” she added as an afterthought, “who is this?”

“My name is Frank Pollener. I’m an attorney. I represent the Venus Observatory. And you must be Lila Slocum. You’re the reason I’m anxious to reach your mother.”

“I can imagine!” Lila Slocum giggled. “Listen, do you want to buy me off?”

“I hadn’t thought about it. Why?”

“Isn’t that what they always do with the fallen woman? Buy her off?”

“Do you think your mother would agree to—” Frank started to say cautiously.

“Oh, no! Not Mother!” Lila laughed outright. “Unlike me, she’s unbribable. She’s really hipped on this morality business, you know. Ever since her menopause. That’s when she started having her nervous breakdowns.”

“That’s very interesting.” Frank was sincere. He filed the information away in the back of his mind for possible future use.

“Yes. And now with my fall from grace, she’s really got something to get her teeth into. I don’t envy you having to lock horns with her, Mr. Lawyer.”

“You don’t sound too sympathetic towards your mother’s point of view,” Frank noticed.

“I’m not. Are you kidding? If it hadn’t been for Mumsy, I wouldn’t have had to resort to science to relieve me of my chastity. If she wasn’t such a watchdog, I could have let myself be seduced in the back seat of a car like any other normal, hot-blooded American girl.”

“You mean red-blooded.”

“That’s what you think!”

“Then the experiment at Venus really was the first time?” Frank fished.

“Yep. But it sure took. Wouldn’t you say?”

“I would say.” Frank had no choice but to agree.

“Presuming,” he added delicately, “that there was no extra-scientific experimentation involved.”

“Why, Mr. Pollener! What a thing to say!” Lila Slocum was indignant. “If that’s your attitude, why, I just don’t think I care to discuss the matter with you any further. Mother will be back on Thursday if you want to talk to her. Goodbye!”

The receiver clicked in Frank’s ear. Slowly, he hung up the phone. Mrs. S1ocum’s absence stymied him. If he couldn’t talk to her, there wasn’t much he could do about the situation. He’d just have to wait until Thursday and hope some opportunity for effective action would present itself then. If it didn’t, Judge O’Neill would be sure to issue the injunction not long after Thursday.

Frank glanced at his list and sighed. The sequence had been short-circuited. The only thing to do was skip to the end and go see Professor Woocheck.

At Frank’s request, Dr. Peerloin was also present at their meeting. He explained in detail to the two scientists just what restrictions they would have to place on the project if there was to be even a chance of treading the narrow line of legality. In particular, he stressed to them that they must take steps to guarantee that no virgins were included in the ranks of future subjects who participated in the program.

“But that cuts us off from information concerning a vital part of human sexuality!” Professor Woocheck protested.

“No virgins!” Frank was firm.

“Very well. No virgins.” Professor Woocheck sighed resignedly.

Frank turned to Dr. Peerloin and repeated himself. “No virgins.”

“No virgins,” she agreed. “I quite understand.” She glanced at her watch. “If you’re through now, Counselor, I’d like to be excused. I have some material to go over with my assistant.”

“Of course.” Frank waited until she was out of the room and then turned back to Professor Woocheck. “I’m glad of this opportunity to be alone with you, Professor,” he said. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you about . . .”

As the Professor listened to Frank, his colleague was passing on the edict regarding virginity to her assistant. “The Professor is very disturbed by it,” Dr. Peerloin told Mercy. “He feels--as I do—that unless at least one virgin participates in the study, the validity of our conclusions will suffer.”

“I’m a virgin,” Mercy said thoughtfully . . .

Dr. Peerloin’s raised eyebrows were matched by those of the Professor as he stared at Frank. “You, mean you want to participate sexually in the program?” he asked the young lawyer.

“Yes. Why not? I believe in what you’re doing. I’ve thought it all out according to the tenets of Causocratic Effectivism. And just recently the hypocrisy of my not participating has been pointed out to me by a man whose opinion I value most highly.”

“Are those your only reasons?” the Professor asked shrewdly.

“No,” Frank confessed. “The truth is that up until about six months ago, I lived a very active sex life. But my becoming a disciple of the Swami Rhee Va changed that. In keeping with his principles, I had no sex at all because I could see no humanitarian result evolving out of committing sex acts. Frankly, it’s been so long that by now I’m ready to climb the walls. And by indulging in sex here, I can see a positive result which will satisfy my conscience. These are my motives. I hope you’re not disappointed in them.”

“Not at all,” the Professor assured him . . .

“Not at all,” Dr. Peerloin was echoing at exactly that moment. “Your desire to have sex for its own sake doesn’t shock me, Mercy. It’s natural. Particularly working in this environment where you’re subjected to constant stimulus. But I’m just not sure that it would be ethical for someone involved in the project to also participate in it sexually.”

“You’ve always said that a good social scientist shouldn’t stay aloof from the environment,” Mercy reminded her. “And didn’t you participate in the fertility rites with the Peruvian Indians when you were studying them?”

“Only in the dancing,” Dr. Peerloin said quickly. “Not in the actual rites. Besides, there’s a morale question. It could be very embarrassing for you and very sticky generally if the rest of the staff got wind of you participating.”

“They wouldn’t have to know. Only you and the camera man and Professor Woocheck would have to know. To everybody else I’d be just an anonymous interview card followed by an anonymous performance card. I can prepare my own interview myself. You know you can trust me to do that honestly. So I’ll be just a couple of punch-cards to be fed into the computer.”

“I don’t know,” Dr. Peerloin said. “I just don’t know . . .”

“I don’t know why you shouldn’t participate if you’re willing,” Professor Woocheck was telling Frank. “I can’t see any objection.”

“Swell.” Frank was satisfied. Then he had an afterthought. “Say, Professor, one thing.”

“Yes?”

“It’s about Fig. Will he be watching? I mean, somehow the idea of him watching just bothers me. It would really interfere with my performance.”

“You don’t have to worry,” the Professor assured him. “Since our activities have expanded, Mr. Newton has no time to spend in the observation room. He’s much too busy working with the computer to correlate results and match up subjects.”

“Match up subjects?”

“Yes. That’s how it’s done. You will be interviewed; and from the results of that, the computer will produce a punch-card. Then it will match this card with another, and that is how your partner will be selected.”

“Very clever,” Frank decided. “Still, doesn’t it ever make a mistake? What if there should be an accident?. . .”

“What if there should be an accident?” Dr. Peerloin pointed out to Mercy.

“But there’s nothing to worry about,” Mercy told her. “I’ve been taking birth control pills for a long time.”

“You have? But why? I mean, if you’re still a virgin -”

“It’s the only practical way for a single girl to live,” Mercy said primly. “When a man buys fire insurance, after all, that doesn’t mean that he expects his house to burn down.”

“Well then, all right.” Dr. Peerloin gave in. “I guess if that's what you want, I have no right to stand in your way.”

“It is what I want,” Mercy assured her. She fell silent a moment. Then— “I wonder what he’ll be like?” she mused.

“Who?”

“The man in the experiment. I wonder what he’ll be like . . .”

“I wonder what she’ll be like,” Frank Pollener was saying.

“You’ll find out,” Professor Woocheck told him. “You’ll find out very soon. I’ll arrange for you to be interviewed tomorrow and have the data processed immediately afterwards. So by the day after tomorrow, you won’t have to wonder any more.”

Frank left then. A moment after he’d gone out the front door of the Observatory, Mercy emerged from Dr. Peerloin’s office. She went straight home to her apartment, had dinner and went to bed. Frank, at home in his apartment, also went to bed early. By the time he got up, at nine o’clock, Mercy was already back at the Observatory working. When he arrived there for the interview, she was in her office with the door closed, filling out her own interview form.

The interviewer assigned to Frank was a very intense young man. His analyst had once told him that his work constituted a classic example of voyeurism sublimating for direct sexual experience. He and the analyst were trying to work it through. Meanwhile, the young scientist continued to work with earnest dedication. The interview was only twenty minutes old when Frank managed to ruffle his professional composure.

“You’re not joshing me now, are you, Mr. Pollener?” the interviewer asked stiffly. “How many times in one night did you say?”

“Six on the average.” Frank’s voice was very low. “But that was before I embraced Causocratic Effectivism and forsook all sexual activity. I mean, I may be out of practice by now.”

“Or you may profit from your vacation,” the interviewer observed. “And how many partners have you had experience with?”

“A couple of hundred, I guess. I never really counted.”

“Can you be more explicit?”

“Would you believe three hundred?”

“No,” the interviewer sighed. “But then I’m not supposed to make evaluations. Is three hundred the figure you want me to write down?”

“Make it two-fifty.”

“And there are deprived men starving all over this city,” the interviewer muttered to himself.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Nothing. Nothing . . .” The interviewer phrased the next question. The interview continued.

When it was over, the interviewer correlated his data, assigned it a number, and brought the anonymous sheet of paper containing the results to “Fig” in the computer room. He and Mercy arrived there at the same time. “Fig” took the papers from both of them, and when they’d gone, he fed the data into the machine. Within seconds two punchcards were emitted by the smooth-whirring mechanical monster. “Fig” took the two cards and made a note of the numbers on them. Then he took one and slipped it into a slot headed “FEMALE.” “A little present for your vagina, love,” he crooned to the machine. “And this is for you, you queer,” he added as he dropped the second card in the slot labeled “MALE.” “Okay, Cupid, do your stuff.” He threw a lever and stood back and waited.

A moment later the cards emerged together, neatly stapled, from yet another slot. “Fig” waited a moment, expecting a second set of cards, then glanced at them. “Well, I’ll be damned,” he chuckled. “First time that ever’ happened. Well, I guess you were meant for each other, whoever you are.”

Curious, he pressed a button on the giant memory bank and was rewarded by the reappearance of the two original sheets of paper. Glancing at some of the key code symbols on them, “Fig” was able to understand just enough to make him chuckle again. “A sexual Superman, and a maiden’s race. Should be quite an event. Damn! Wish I could watch.”

But he couldn’t. When Frank arrived at the “get-acquainted” room the next day, “Fig” was slaving away at the “brain.” True to his word, Professor Woocheck had seen to that. Indeed, he was too busy to watch Frank’s performance himself. Likewise, Dr. Peerloin didn’t have the time to watch Mercy’s first “experiment.” Their only observer would be the camera man.

Before the camera man activated his equipment, however, the procedure was for Frank and Mercy to spend some time familiarizing themselves with each other’s bodies. Mercy was lying there in a sleazy red nightgown she’d bought especially for the occasion when Frank entered the “get-acquainted” room.

“Hi,” he said nervously as he entered. “My name is Frank--”

“Don’t tell me your last name!” Mercy interrupted quickly. “You shouldn’t have told me your first one. It’s against the rules. This is all supposed to be anonymous.”

“I thought we were supposed to get acquainted.”

“We are. But anonymously.”

“Oh. Well, I guess you’ll have to show me how to do that. You seem to be more experienced than I am,” Frank guessed. “This is my first time here.”

“Mine too,” Mercy replied. “But I’m very familiar with the ground rules. This is a sort of a bullpen.”

“A bullpen?”

“Yes. You know. For warming up before the real game starts.”

“I see.” Frank sat down next to her on the bed.

“That’s the idea.” Mercy took his arm and placed it around her shoulders.

Frank reached further and cupped her breast in the palm of his hand. He stroked it lightly. “Are you warming up?” he asked after a moment, continuing the caress. “I think I am.” Mercy was a little breathless. “But I still have some feelings of anxiety and embarrassment. Perhaps if you kissed me . . .”

“Good thinking.” Frank kissed her. “Did that relieve your feelings of embarrassment and anxiety?” he asked when the long kiss was over.

“To a very large extent,” she said, her voice trembling. “What— What are you doing?”

“Getting acquainted.” Frank’s hand worked its way higher up under her nightgown. Her thighs quivered under the caress.

“Oh. Oh! OH!” Mercy had to control the reflex to pull away as his fingertips grazed their target. “Aren’t you— Aren’t you rushing things?” she asked.

“Not at all,” Frank assured her. “Don’t be so tense.”

“Now what are you doing?”

“I think you should get acquainted with my body too,” Frank explained.

“OH!” Mercy gasped. “I didn’t expect-—” Her eyes were very wide. She couldn’t take them off what Frank had exposed. “It’s so big!”

“Not really,” Frank said modestly.

“You’ll hurt me.” Mercy was afraid.

“No I won’t,” he promised. “Here. Let me show you very slowly. I promise to stop if it hurts.”

“What are you doing? No! Wait! Stop! Don’t do that!”

“I’m not really hurting you, am I? I’m barely inside.”

“Don’t go any further! Stop!”

“Lady, believe me,” Frank said earnestly, “this is no time to stop!”

“You’re not supposed to do that until the actual experiment,” Mercy protested.

“Don’t worry. I’ll be able to do it again for the experiment. You don’t have to worry on that score.”

“That’s not what I’m worried about!” Mercy pushed him away. “But you’1l ruin the whole purpose behind the experiment if you don’t stop now.” She pushed back on the bed, retreating from him as far as she could.

“Then let’s get to the damn experiment!” Frank said impatiently.

“All right,” Mercy agreed.

A few minutes later they were in the “experiment” room, all wired up and ready to begin. Frank wasted no time doing just that, and now Mercy raised no protest. All the years she’d waited for this moment exploded with a frenzy of wild abandon. All the months Frank had denied himself did likewise. Now moments of building ecstasy claimed them both. And then-—

“Ouch!” Mercy cried.

“What’s the ma— Oh! You didn’t tell me you were a— How come they let a—” Frank was torn between confusion and his still eager passion.

“Never mind. It’s over now,” Mercy panted. “It’s done. Don’t stop! Please don’t stop!”

Frank didn’t stop. He continued. She continued. Then they rested. Then they resumed again. Another rest. Etcetera, etcetera, etcetera . . .

It was no less than five etceteras and quite a while later that the experiment was finally concluded. Tenderly, Frank helped Mercy remove the wires. Looking at him, her face was filled with wonder as they dressed.

“That was wonderful!” Finally she just had to say it.

“Terrific!” Frank agreed sincerely. “Too good to just let it go at this. Can’t we arrange to see each other again? On the outside, I mean.”

“Oh, no!” Mercy was shocked at the idea. “That’s expressly against the rules!”

“The hell with the rules!”

“It’s impossible!” Mercy finished dressing quickly. “Thank you for a very nice time.” She held out her hand to him.

He took it and held it a moment. “You really don’t want to see me again?” he asked.

“Oh, I do! But I can’t! I just can’t!” Confused and distressed, Mercy fled the room.

Frank finished dressing and went in to see Professor Woocheck. He had a bone to pick with him. “I thought I told you no virgins!” he said indignantly.

“So you did, Mr. Pollener. And the staff has been instructed to take all precautions necessary to comply. Why are you so upset?”

“I just participated in one of your experiments.”

“And it wasn’t pleasurable? I’m sorry.”

“It was pleasurable! It was more pleasurable than I ever remember it being before! But that’s not the point. The point is that the girl who participated with me was a virgin!”

“Surely you must be mistaken. As a gynecologist, I can tell you that such errors—”

“I am not mistaken!” Frank insisted. “If you’ll summon the young lady, I’m sure she’ll verify what I’ve said.”

“That’s impossible,” Professor Woocheck told him firmly. “In the first place she’s probably already left the premises. And in the second, our most stringent rule is that subjects should meet nowhere but in the experiment room. Not even here. It’s really necessary,” he explained, “to protect those who proffer their services to us.”

“I guess that makes sense,” Frank admitted. “But what happens if two subjects meet by accident?”

“They should ignore each other. They must act as if they never met. It’s the only fair thing to do.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Frank granted. “Too bad. I really did dig that girl. More so than any other girl I can think of. . . .”

“He was more of a man than any I’ve ever known, or dreamed about,” Mercy was telling Dr. Peerloin.

“Don’t you think you’re letting yourself be carried away?” the older woman counseled. “After all, this has been your first experience.”

“Maybe. But I just can’t tell you how he made me feel. Just thinking about it—” Mercy hugged herself. “Oh, I’m still up in the clouds.”

“I think you’d better take the rest of the day off,” Dr. Peerloin suggested.

“Oh, thanks. I think I will. I just want to go home— and remember.”

Mercy went back to her own office then. She powdered her nose, fixed her hair and studied her reflection in the mirror. Her face was still flushed. Natural, she decided. Still, it should be gone by now. It was really a dead giveaway. Would people be able to tell by looking at her? she wondered. She put the thought out of her mind, slung her shoulder-bag pocketbook over her shoulder, locked her office and started for the bank of elevators at the other end of the hall.

A moment later Frank emerged from Professor Woocheck’s office. “A virgin!” He couldn’t get the thought out of his mind. It just went to prove that the Swami Rhee Va was right. Always there was the danger of the most thoroughly considered action having its result altered by a circumstance which the one taking the action could not possibly have anticipated. What the eventual result of his action would be in the light of the unexpected virginity which had intruded on it, Frank couldn’t even guess. All he knew was that he agreed with the Swami Rhee Va: The unexpected was a constant threat to the most devoted disciple of Causocratic Effectivism.

It wasn’t until much later that Frank would begin to truly appreciate that truth. Yet the beginnings of that appreciation awaited him at the very moment that he started for the elevator. A crowded car had just stopped; its doors were opened; Frank made a dash for it.

He just made it. The elevator doors closing behind him squashed him against the other passengers, facing the rear. His eyes met those of the others, facing front. Automatically, he dropped them.

That was when Frank first realized that he was standing nose-to-nose with the girl to whom he’d just made love. Their bodies were pressed tightly together. Their eyes met.

Mercy gasped inaudibly and quickly gazed over Frank’s shoulder. Frank shifted his eyes to the left, then furtively shifted them back. Remembering the Professor’s admonition, he too tried to behave as if they were strangers. Still, it was hard to ignore Mercy, with her body pressed so warmly against his and reminding them both of their recent intimacy. Mercy blushed a furious red. Frank felt his own face becoming very warm.

When the doors opened at the ground floor, Frank bolted blindly out of the elevator. He braked to a halt when he came up against a blank wall. He realized he must have turned the wrong way. He reversed his direction.

By that time, Mercy was outside the doors of the Observatory. That the closeness in the elevator had been traumatic for her was attested to by the weakness of her knees. Feeling that she just had to sit down and catch her breath for a moment, she turned into a drug store, found a chair at the counter, and ordered a Coke. She was dawdling over it when a slightly shaky voice from directly behind her asked the counterman for an Alka Seltzer. Mercy swiveled around. “Oh, no!” Once again she was face-to-face with Frank.

“Oh, no!” Frank echoed her sentiments. Hastily, he reached over her shoulder to retrieve his attache case from the counter where he’d just set it down.

At the same moment, Mercy, also anxious to end the encounter, grabbed her shoulder-bag up from the counter. The straps became entangled with Frank’s attaché case. For a moment that seemed an eternity, they both tugged, each frantically trying to disentangle and flee the scene.

“Whoa!” It was the counterman. Nimbly, he leaned across the counter and untangled the shoulder-bag from the attache case. “People!” He shook his head as both customers hurried out of the store by different exits.

Anxious to avoid any further meetings, Frank turned up the first side street. Mercy, meanwhile, had crossed the main avenue to a small park and sat down on a bench to compose herself. Feeling foolish at going so far out of his way, Frank nevertheless walked three full blocks before turning the corner, walking another block, and then heading back towards the main avenue where he had to catch his bus. Just about the time he reached the avenue, Mercy left the park and recrossed the street to get to her bus stop. Waiting there, she looked idly into a store window. Then she stepped into the entryway of the store to study the display from that angle. Just as she turned around and stepped out of the entryway again, Frank came abreast of the doorway.

Inadvertently, Mercy stepped directly in the path of the skinny, nervous little man walking directly in front of Frank. The little man stopped and attempted to reverse his direction, bumping into Frank. By then Frank and Mercy had seen each other. Appalled, Frank stepped to the right so she might pass both him and the little man. Aghast, Mercy stepped to the right and started trying to do just that. Intimidated and confused, the little man also stepped to the right. Frank danced to the left. The little man pranced to the left. Mercy did likewise.

“Please,” the little man begged. “I’m in a hurry.”

“Sorry.” Frank reversed direction again.

Too late. The little man had already decided to extricate himself by moving the same way. And by the time he’d turned around, his way was once again blocked by Mercy.

“Lady!” he pleaded desperately. “I gotta catch a bus!”

All three shifted back at the same precise moment again. Their timing was as precise as a trio of well-rehearsed Rockettes. It was too much for the little man. With an oath, he sprang off the curb and darted into the street to get out from between Frank and Mercy.

There was the squeal of brakes. The taxi’s bumper stopped a scant inch from the little man’s knee. The driver roared his rage. “You stupid father-mucker!” he screamed. “I oughta bust you right in the nose!”

“Enough!” the little man screamed back. “Enough! All my life people have been picking on me. Enough! I’m going to kill you!” He reached into the open cab window and grabbed the driver by the throat.

The driver broke the hold and came charging out of the cab. He knocked the little man to the pavement. “Why don’t you pick on somebody your own size?” a bystander growled. A moment later he and the cab driver were swapping punches. A crowd gathered. The melee grew. Others joined in. A cop came running-up, swinging his club. Somebody yelled “Police brutality!” and beaned him with a pop bottle. The avenue was fast developing into the scene of a riot.

In the confusion, Mercy and Frank had managed to circle each other and run away. Frank darted west for about three blocks, then crossed the avenue and boarded a bus going in the same direction. Mercy ran east and finally got on a bus going east.

Her bus went east for eight blocks, then turned south. Frank’s bus continued west for about a mile, then veered north. Mercy’s bus turned again and headed west. Frank’s bus turned east. Mercy’s bus switched to south again. Frank’s bus went north. Finally Mercy’s bus pulled to the curb. Finally Frank’s bus stopped. Mercy glanced out her window and noted casually that there was a bus heading in the opposite direction which had paused at the stop across the street. Frank glanced out the window and saw a bus pointed in the opposite direction at the curb across the street.

Their eyes met. Their jaws dropped open. They continued to stare at each other helplessly until both buses finally pulled away.

Mercy reached home and immediately took a hot bath to calm her nerves. When Frank reached home, he took a cold shower to calm his nerves. After the bath, Mercy resorted to a heating-pad to relieve the tension she was still feeling. After the shower, Frank lay down with an ice-pack on his head. Mercy was too disturbed to lie quietly. So was Frank. Mercy made herself something to eat and then decided to go to a movie to take her mind off things. Frank went out to dinner and then to a movie to distract himself.

The movie bored Mercy. Frank found himself yawning at the movie. Finally it was over. The lights in the theater went up. Mercy rubbed her eyes and then glanced around to accustom them to the glare. Frank blinked rapidly and swiveled his head on his neck to relieve the cramp caused by having sat for so long. Mercy looked casually at the man seated beside her. Frank focused naturally on the girl in the seat next to his.

“EEK!” Mercy screamed.

“YIKES!” Frank screamed.

. . . In the morning, Frank called Swami Rhee Va long distance and poured out his distress to him. In the morning, Mercy called Dr. Peerloin, explained that she was too distraught to come to work that day, and poured out her distress to her.

“Long walks,” Swami Rhee Va advised. “Go to the park and contemplate.”

“Why would I go to the park? I don’t have any motivation,” Frank pointed out.

“Buy a dog. Animals have great inner am-ness. Walk the dog in the park,” Swami Rhee Va advised.

So Frank went out to a pet shop and bought a standard-size Boston bulldog. While he was selecting his new pet, Mercy was ringing the doorbell of her next-door neighbor.

“Can I borrow Suzie for a while?” she asked. “I’m feeing very restless today and I thought I’d take a walk. I’d like some company.”

“Sure,” the neighbor replied. “It’ll save me the trouble of having to walk her later.”

A few minutes later Mercy emerged from her building with a standard-size French poodle on a leash. She headed for the north entrance to the park. On the other side of the park Frank was leading his new pet in by the south entrance.

Frank walked for a while with the dog, which he’d decided to name “Duke.” Mercy strolled a while with Suzie. Frank decided to unleash his dog and let it run. Mercy let Suzie off the leash. Duke bounded out of sight. Suzie pranced off behind some bushes where she couldn’t be seen.

After a while, Frank went looking for Duke. Mercy trotted after Suzie. Frank whistled for his dog. Mercy called, “Here, Suzie. Here, Suzie.” This kept up for a few minutes, and then -

Frank spotted Duke with another dog and started for him. Mercy spotted Suzie with another dog and ran towards her. Both Mercy and Frank pulled up short about six feet from each other.

“You again!” Mercy gasped.

“Oh, no!” Frank moaned.

“Why are you following me?” Mercy demanded.

“Me following you? Don’t be ridiculous!”

“After all, it was a scientific experiment. You might have the decency not to -”

“Look, lady, it was very nice, but I assure you—”

“Common ethics should dictate—”

“When something’s over, it’s over. Most girls would have too much pride to—-”

“Oh!” Mercy pointed. “Look!”

Frank looked. “Ohmigosh! Now, Duke, you stop that!”

“Suzie! You come away from there this minute!”

“He’s not the kind of dog you’d expect to act like this,” Frank explained embarrassedly.

Red-faced, Mercy replied stiffly, “Well, I certainly hope you’re not implying that Suzie encouraged him.”

“She certainly isn’t discouraging him,” Frank pointed out.

“Stop it! Suzie! Stop it!” Mercy’s agitation changed to alarm. “Oh!” she wailed. “They won’t stop!”

“Would you?” Frank murmured.

“Don’t just stand there! Do something!”

Frank tore a branch from a tree and flailed at the dogs. It had no effect and he finally gave up. “I can’t make them stop,” he told Mercy. “If I had a pail of scalding Water, maybe . . .”

“Well, you don’t! . . . Oh! This is awful!”

Frank tried to find a silver lining. “It’ll be an awfully interesting example of cross-breeding,” he remarked.

“What’ll we do?” Mercy was wringing her hands.

“What can we do? We’ll just have to wait until they’re through.”

“Oh!” Mercy took out her frustration at the situation on Frank. “I never want to see you again!”

“Ditto!” Frank agreed. “Most devoutly ditto, lady!”

“Most devoutly ditto, lady!” Late that afternoon Frank repeated the words as he sat in the computer room of the Venus observatory and finished relating his misadventures to “Fig” Newton.

“Oh, my!” “Fig” wiped his eyes. “I don’t know when I’ve heard anything so funny.”

“Funny to you, maybe,” Frank pointed out. “Not to me.”

“Well, it serves you right. Holding out on an old college buddy. A frat brother, no less.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean you didn’t even tell me you were going to be a guinea pig.”

“Sorry. I was afraid you might have watched.”

“I would have,” “Fig” admitted.

“And that would have left me limp,” Frank confessed.

“I see what you mean. Okay, so all is forgiven. But how come you’re telling me now?”

“I just had to talk to someone. I called the Swami Rhee Va, but they said he was in a trance and that might last for days. I thought of Professor Woocheck, but he’s in conference. So I decided to come up here and unburden myself to you.”

“Third choice!” “Fig” was insulted.

“Don’t be like that.” Frank didn’t want to hurt his feelings. “After all, we’re frat brothers and all that jazz.”

“Don’t tell me you’re willing to admit the old nostalgia to yourself at last?” “Fig” crowed happily.

“I guess so. Every man has to have at least one friend he can tell his troubles to. I guess you’re it for me.”

“What have I been trying to tell you?” “Fig” beamed. “That’s life.”

“What’s life?”

“A magazine.” “Fig” was delighted.

“Where do you get it?” Frank asked resignedly.

“At the corner newsstand.”

“How much is it?”

“Thirty-five cents.” “Fig” hopped up and down with glee.

“Why does it cost so much?”

“That’s life!” “Fig” was ecstatic.

“What’s life? No! Wait a minute. That’s enough,” Frank added hastily.

“It was great though, wasn’t it?” “Fig” enthused. “Didn’t it take you back?”

“I enjoyed it very much.” Frank placated him. “But the thing is, Fig, what am I going to do? Every time I turn around I bump into that damn girl. How can I forget her if that keeps on happening? It’s hard enough trying to get her out of my mind.”

“That’s the whole trouble, old buddy,” “Fig” told him. “It is all in your mind. A few coincidences and you’ve built a federal case out of it. What you need is to go out with some other girl, have some fun, get your mind off what’s bugging you.”

“Maybe you’re right. Trouble is I don’t really know any girls any more. Since I’ve embraced Causocratic Effectivism, I’ve been out of circulation.”

“I’ll fix you up with a blind date,” “Fig” offered.

“Oh, no!”

“Why not?”

“Because it would just have to turn out to be that same chick, that’s why. Wait a minute!” Frank had a sudden idea. “I’ll call up this girl Gloria I used to date.”

“Uh—uh, old buddy. Sorry,” “Fig” told him. “I’m afraid Gloria’s out.”

“What do you mean? You don’t even know her.”

“That’s where you’re wrong. I know her very well indeed. Truth is we’ve been shacking up together the last few months.”

“But how did you happen to meet—” A sudden suspicion dawned on Frank. “That first night you called my apartment about the Professor. You called back!” he accused “Fig.”

“Guilty. But don’t feel too bad about it, old buddy. It’s all in the fraternity.”

“Some buddy you are!” Frank was indignant.

“Don’t take it like that. You’re not going to let some fluff come between us, are you?”

“No. To tell the truth, I don’t really care. Gloria didn’t really mean anything to me. You can have my blessing.”

“That’s the spirit. Now why not let me make amends by fixing you up with a blind date?”

“I don’t dare.”

“You mean you really believe that same chick would show up? Oh, come on now, Frank, that isn’t logical.”

“The Swami Rhee Va says logic is a trap. And I wouldn’t dare take the chance without consulting with him about the possible results before going out on a blind date.”

“Suppose I can prove to you that your fears are mathematically groundless?” “Fig” suggested after thinking a moment.

“What do you mean?”

“We’ll feed the situation into the computer and ask for an evaluation of the odds against your meeting the same broad on a blind date.”

“Gee, I don’t know.” Frank was doubtful. “Can that machine of yours really judge a problem like that? I mean, isn’t it kind of abstract?”

“No problem’s too abstract for Cupid here.” “Fig” patted the computer fondly. “Why, it even came up with an answer for the theological question which has beset mankind all through the ages.”

“What question?”

“Is there a God?”

“And what was the answer it came up with?”

“Well, it gave it a lot of consideration. Gears whirred and wheels turned and levers were tripped and retripped and lights flashed on and off. I tell you, I didn’t really think it was going to get unstymied. But in the end it delivered.”

“What was the answer?” Frank asked doggedly. “Is there a God? What did your gismo say?”

“ ‘There is now!”’ “Fig” chortled. “That was its answer. Now, what do you say? Shall we give it a crack at your anxiety?”

“Well, all right.” Frank agreed reluctantly.

“Good.” “Fig” rubbed his hands together. Humming to himself, he sat down in front of the electric typewriter and typed steadily for about five minutes. Then he yanked the sheet from the roller and handed it to Frank. “Read that and tell me if I’ve got it all right,” he instructed him. Frank read it. “That’s the situation,” he admitted when he was through.

“Fine and dandy.” “Fig” took the sheet back and inserted it in one of the computer feed-slots. There was a slight whirring and a moment later he extracted the sheet along with a small answer-card attached to it. “One chance in eighteen billion, seven hundred and eighty-three million, nine hundred seventy-two thousand, four hundred and sixteen!” he announced triumphantly.

“One in eighteen billion, seven hundred eighty-three million, nine-seven-two thousand, four hundred seventeen,” Frank reflected. “That’s pretty long odds, isn’t it?”

“Four sixteen,” “Fig” corrected him. “Damn right those are long odds. That’s damn near infinity, buddy. Now what do you say? With odds like that going for you, let me fix you up with a blind date tonight.”

“Well, I guess I’ve taken all the precautions Swami Rhee Va could ask,” Frank reflected. “Okay. Fix me up.”

“Don’t worry, buddy, you’re as good as fixed. I’ll call you later about the where and when.” “Fig” escorted Frank to the door. After he’d left, the computer engineer sat down and riffled through his little black book. Suddenly he snapped his fingers and tossed the book aside. “I’rn going to make sure old Frank’s absolutely safe,” he told himself. “I’m going to fix him up with the one girl who couldn’t possibly be the nemesis that’s bugging him. If she’ll go, that is . . .”

Three floors below “Fig,” Mercy had just finished telling Dr. Peerloin of her latest encounter with her nemesis.

“The only way to forget about this young man,” Dr. Peerloin advised, “is to keep yourself busy with other young men.”

“I don’t date much,” Mercy admitted. “The men I meet all seem to be so shallow.”

“You must force yourself to get over that attitude,” Dr. Peerloin advised firmly. “Particularly right now when it’s so necessary to distract yourself. You should grab at the opportunity to go out with any young man. You should—” The ringing of the telephone interrupted Dr. Peerloin. She answered it. “Yes, Mr. Newton, she’s right here.” Dr. Peerloin handed Mercy the phone . . .

“Fig” was waiting with the two girls when Frank arrived at the night club where they were to meet that evening. He and Gloria were facing the entrance. They waved to Frank as he entered. Frank walked over to them, admiring the bare shoulders of the girl with her back to him as he came, wondering what she’d look like from the front, hoping she wasn’t a dog. He came around the table so “Fig” could introduce him.

Mercy looked up and turned chalk-white. Her eyeballs rolled up into their sockets. She slumped forward.

“Some water!” Gloria called anxiously to a passing waiter. “I think she’s fainted!”

“One chance in eighteen billion, seven hundred and eighty-three million, nine hundred and seventy-two thousand, four hundred and fifteen,” Frank sobbed bitterly. “You and your goddam computer!”

“Four hundred sixteen,” “Fig” remembered. It was all he could think of to say.

CHAPTER SEVEN

“Once the hurdle of virginity had been surmounted, some (if not all) of the investigators breathed more easily. Enough time had elapsed since the inception of the program by now so that those concerned with the socio-psychological manifestations resulting from the various biological sex functions performed felt justified in evaluating certain of the material concerned with attitudes, reactions, etc. With the sociographers being human, it was necessary to have their own attitudes also evaluated by one another - to guard against weighting the results. These endeavors proceeded smoothly and the erotic experiments continued apace, lulling the staff and project directors into a false sense of security. However, this was shattered by the accidental primigravida still threatening the Observatory’s very existence . . .”

Chapter Six, Survey of Bio-Erotic Behavior

Patterns in Human Beings,

by Woocheck & Peerloin

Well, what about universal orgasm? Isn’t it every woman’s inalienable right? Even mothers? Even Mothers for Morality? Such were the questions Frank would find himself raising before the day was over.

The day was Thursday. It began with a telephone call to Mrs. Slocum. At first she had balked at meeting with Frank. But when he had pointed out that there might be some way of handling matters that could spare the Slocum family untoward publicity about daughter Lila’s condition, Mrs. Slocum had reluctantly agreed to see him.

Anxious to convince Mrs. Slocum of the humanitarian worth of the project she was attacking, Frank brought Professor Woocheck along in the hope that his dignity and dedication would help impress the point on her. Mrs. Slocum, however, remained unimpressed. “The only way I will drop my plea for an injunction pending a grand jury investigation,” she told them both firmly, “is if the Observatory agrees to voluntarily close its doors, cease all operations and stop lending a cloak of science to out-and-out libertinism.”

“That’s out of the question.” Frank’s position was equally firm. “We’re willing to compromise, but we’re not going to accept a total defeat that will destroy our existence without putting up a fight. And that fight could be very painful for you and yours, Mrs. Slocum. Believe me, it would be better for all concerned if we can work out a compromise before the case comes to court and the newspapers focus on it.”

“I’m sorry. I will not compromise what I believe in. If my daughter gets hurt—well, perhaps it will be just punishment for her. And I am strong enough to bear whatever I have to bear.”

“Are you?” It was dirty pool, but Frank felt obliged to use whatever ammunition was at his disposal. “Would this really be worth having another nervous breakdown, Mrs. Slocum?”

“That doesn’t concern you!” Her words were angry ice-chunks.

“Perhaps not. But if you persist in forcing Judge O’Neill to issue an injunction which will stop the Observatory’s work, then we’ll have to fight back by issuing a statement to the press accusing Mothers for Morality of being led by a mental incompetent.”

“You’re trying to blackmail me, Mr. Pollener!”

“No. I’m just trying to—”

“Yes you are!” She stood up and pointed indignantly at the door. “But it won’t work. Get out!”

Frank and the Professor had no choice but to leave. Outside, the Professor turned to Frank and gently remonstrated with him. “You were trying to blackmail her,” he said.

“I suppose so.” Frank sighed. “But what else can we do?”

“Reason,” the Professor suggested. “If Mrs. Slocum won’t listen to it, perhaps the other ladies in her organization will.”

“Mmm.” Frank thought about it. “But Mrs. Slocum would never let us talk to the group,” he pointed out. “And besides, Judge O’Neill will hand down the injunction today if they ask for it.”

“Then they must be meeting today,” the Professor surmised. “That could be your chance.”

“Maybe. If only there were some way of getting Mrs. Slocum out of the meeting while I talked to them.”

“The first thing to do,” the Professor suggested, “is to find out where and when the meeting is to be held. I think Dr. Peerloin might be helpful there.”

They took a cab back to the Venus Observatory. Professor Woocheck explained the problem to Dr. Peerloin and came up with his idea of how she might help. A few moments later Dr. Peerloin was on the phone with Mrs. Slocum.

“My name is Mrs. Amanda P. Vanderveer,” Dr. Peerloin lied. “I am very interested in the moral problems confronting mothers today. I understand you are connected with a group which has similar concerns. I would very much like to attend your next meeting and perhaps join the group. Can you give me any information?”

The receiver crackled for a while. Then Dr. Peerloin said “Thank you very much” and hung up the phone. “One o’clock in the Regency Room of the Parliament Hotel,” she told Frank and Professor Woocheck.

Frank glanced at his watch. “About an hour from now,” he said. “But the question is how to keep Mrs. Slocum away from that meeting until I get a chance to talk.” Frank thought about it a moment. Then, slowly, a smile spread over his face. He had a plan. It involved the Professor, and so Frank explained it to him.

About fifteen minutes later the Professor alit from a cab about a block away from the Slocum home. He approached the house cautiously until he had a clear view of the car parked in the driveway. He jotted down the license plate number on a piece of paper. Then he walked back to the corner. There was a phone booth there and the Professor settled himself in it to wait.

Another ten minutes passed and his waiting was over. From the phone booth he saw Mrs. Slocum come out of her house, get into her car and pull out of the driveway. As she started down the street, the Professor put a dime in the coinbox and dialed.

“Hello, police?” The Professor made his voice very agitated. “Somebody just stole my car. They just turned the corner from Spruce Street and are heading south on Main. The license number is . . .”

At one o’clock Frank Pollener mounted the podium and faced the meeting of the Mothers for Morality. “Mrs. Slocum has been unavoidably detained,” he told the assembled ladies. “And she has asked me to address you until she gets here. This may surprise some of you, for I am here representing the viewpoint of the Venus Observa-tory.” He took a deep breath. “If you ladies would consider the genuine benefits to all humanity,” he began. Then, looking around, the hostile eyes which looked back at him gave him a sudden inspiration. The direct approach was the best way to reach these women. “Every lady here will profit directly from the Venus study,” he told them. “Every lady who has ever suffered the frustration of sex without satisfaction,” he said pointedly, “will be helped by it.” Now their faces told him he’d hit pay-dirt. “How? you ask. I’ll tell you how. The results of this study will help doctors everywhere to advise women how to attain sexual satisfaction each and every time that they are made love to by their husbands. Well, What about that? Isn’t orgasm every woman’s inalienable right? Even mothers’? Even Mothers for Morality? Mothers in the prime of life? At the height of their sexual potential?” The faces were beaming approval at Frank now. Heads were nodding like testing time at a yo-yo factory.

He kept talking, warming to his theme. He spoke long and earnestly. And when he was through, he received a standing ovation. He left secure in the knowledge that the request for an injunction against the Venus Observatory pending a grand jury investigation would be withdrawn.

Frank left whistling. Everything was going right for him. Everything had been going right ever since the previous night and the blind date with Mercy.

“Look,” Frank had told her when they’d both recovered from the initial shock of seeing each other once again, “I’m as disturbed by this as you are. But we’re stuck with each other. So why not try to make the evening pleasant?”

“I guess you’re right,” Mercy had agreed.

“Well, thank goodness for that,” “Fig” had said. “Waiter,” he’d called. “Bring us a bottle of champagne.”

The champagne had been an inspired idea. It had relaxed both Frank and Mercy. The first feeling of having to make an effort at polite conversation vanished in a quick rapport that had them chatting together easily. They discovered that they had many likes in common. Dancing, it turned out, was one of them. They danced. They had more champagne. They danced again. They danced very well together. The feeling was building quite quickly between them that they did everything very well together. Including the one thing they both studiously avoided mentioning.

When they parted with “Fig” and Gloria in front of the club, Frank and Mercy’s spirits had been high. They were laughing at some bit of nonsense of “Fig’s” when they climbed into the cab. Then, suddenly, they weren’t laughing any more; they were kissing each other.

The kiss was repeated outside Mercy’s door. Frank decided against pushing it any further. He really liked her, and there would be plenty of time for that. Nothing was said, but Mercy sensed his decision and was glad. They did, however, kiss one more time.

“Fate,” Frank had murmured, a teasing note in his voice.

“Kismet.” Mercy giggled.

“Why fight it?” Frank rolled his eyes in mock imitation of a ham actor.

“It’s bigger than both of us .. .” Mercy had fallen in with the light mood.

“A magnetic attraction . . .”

“We’re just meant for each other . . .”

“So we’ll defy convention!” Frank made a fist and shook it dramatically.

“Ignore the rules!” Mercy made a Joan of Arc face à la Ingrid Bergman.

“And I’ll call you tomorrow . . .”

“You will?” Mercy was brought up short.

“I will.” Frank dropped the sham then. “I want to sec you again, Mercy. What do you say?”

“Call me tomorrow,” Mercy had murmured.

They’d kissed one last time and Frank had left then. Mercy had gone to bed humming to herself. She’d waked up feeling the same way. She was still humming when she arrived at the Observatory to begin her day’s work.

Dr. Peerloin had assigned her to study some of the first case histories compiled by the Observatory. The idea was to see if it was possible to tell from the extensive interview information what the bio-erotic reaction of the person would be and then to check it out in reverse with data accumulated in the series of “experiments” involving the particular person. What Mercy was looking for was a pattern or patterns which might later form the basis of theories applicable to all people. She worked away steadily and happily all morning.

It was early afternoon when she came across Frank Pollener’s interview sheets. Ordinarily, she knew, she should simply have skipped over them. There was not yet enough laboratory evidence on Frank to relate to the interview. One experience was hardly enough to prove anything. But Mercy was only human. She couldn’t resist reading his interview.

“First experience, age fourteen.” She smiled to herself. “Precocious,” she decided. “Second experience, age fourteen. Must have liked it,” she concluded. “Third, age fourteen . . . Etcetera . . . What a depraved little boy!” Mercy was still smiling, but not quite so understandingly. “Frequency during adolescence . . . Oh, that’s disgusting!” The smile vanished. “Frequency as an adult . . . Appalling! . . . Number of partners . . . Why, that’s inhuman!” Mercy was scowling openly now. “Meaningful relationships Oh! How awful!” Her eyes were positively racing over the pages now. “Reason for not marrying . . . Why buy a cow when—- Of all the—!”

The telephone on her desk rang, forcing Mercy to tear herself away from the interview sheets and answer it.

“Hello Oh, it’s you! No, I am not glad to hear your dulcet tones. . . . Bothering me? Nothing’s bothering me! No. I’m busy tonight.... No, I’m busy then too. . . . Next week? I’m busy. . . .When am I not busy? Never, as far as you’re concerned! . . . Oh, you’re lonely for me, are you? Well, go talk to your milkman! Goodbye!” Mercy slammed down the phone.

Immediately, the phone rang again. “Hello!” Mercy’s voice was still angry.

“Mercy?” The voice reacted to her tone. “This is Dr. Peerloin.”

“Oh. Hello, Dr. Peerloin. I’m sorry. I was expecting someone else.”

“Oh. Well I just called to ask you to come to Professor Woocheck’s office. He has something he wants to discuss with those of us in supervisory positions.”

“I’ll be right there.”

When Mercy arrived, Dr. Peerloin, Professor Woocheck, “Fig” Newton and half a dozen others were already waiting. “Fig” got her a chair and Professor Woocheck started speaking.

“Thanks to Mr. Pollener, who’s been helping us in our legal difficulties,” he told them, “our two major problems are solved. The Mothers for Morality will withdraw their request for an injunction. And Mr. Pollener assured me that he’ll be able to get the charges dropped against Dr. Peerloin and the others who have been facing trial. However,” he tapped a pile of envelopes on his desk, “I have here several letters from various people and organizations which obviously misunderstand the nature and purpose of our work. None is serious at the moment, but all have the potentiality of becoming a serious obstacle to our investigations. So I thought it would be a good idea for us to go over them together and decide how to deal with each one individually.”

There was a general murmur of agreement.

“Very well.” The Professor withdrew the paper from the top envelope. “The first is from the ‘National Committee to Ban Sex Surveys.’ They claim that such surveys are an infringement of privacy and encourage lewd behavior among unmarried people.”

“Why not write them that, if anything, it discourages such behavior,” Mercy said bitterly. “I mean, experience is not only a great teacher, but may also be a great dissuader.”

“That may be so sometimes,” Dr. Peerloin said, looking at Mercy sympathetically. “But not always, Mercy. I think it would be better to inform them that if their aim is to end sex surveys, they shouldn’t object to our activities since our survey is the survey to end all surveys.”

“Could you write them a diplomatic letter along those lines, Doctor?” the Professor requested.

“I’ll be happy to.”

“Good. Now the next protest comes from the ‘Interstate Conference of Homes for Unwed Mothers.’ Pointing out that they can’t keep up with the demands for their services, they criticize us for creating a climate of activity which might further add to their case load.”

“I’ll write and tell them that we’re in favor of birth control information and devices being made available to teenagers,” Dr. Peerloin offered. “It may not directly answer their question, but it will sway them towards approval of the Observatory.”

“All right.” Professor Woocheck handed her the envelope. “Now here is a letter signed by fifty-two members of the ‘International Cybernetics Institute,’ ” he continued. “These learned gentlemen seem to be laboring under a decided misapprehension. Somehow, they have gotten the idea that a part of our project is the mating of machines. They are objecting strongly to ‘the use of electronic computers and other mechanistic devices for purposes of procreating themselves’, ” the Professor quoted.

“Some nerve!” “Fig” Newton was indignant. “Why, my computer never—-! The very idea—!” he sputtered. “Let me have that one, Professor! It’ll be a pleasure to answer it!”

“Very well, Mr. Newton. But please be tactful.” The professor passed the letter over to him. “Now, here’s a joint query from the Urban League, the N.A.A.C.P., CORE, and the Southern Christian Leadership Conference. Since we’re paying our subjects, they want reassurances that we’re not discriminating in our hiring practices.”

“Well, we aren’t,” Mercy said. “Shall I write and tell them that?”

“If you will. However, the matter is complicated by two other letters. The first is from the Student Non-Violent Coordinating Committee. They protest the participation of Negroes as being antithetical to ‘Black Power.’ And the second is from the White Citizens’ Councils of fourteen Southern and border states. They want reassurances that there will be no miscegenation in the project. The SNCC, incidentally, also says it agrees with the Black Muslims that our project defiles African blood. What can I tell these groups?”

“Tell them all the same thing,” Dr. Peerloin suggested. Tell them that we only use subjects with some percentile of Negro blood. It should reassure the Muslims and the Klux clucks, and besides, it’s true. Every Caucasian has some percentile of non-white ancestry.”

“A good point. I’ll have to consider how to phrase it for each of the opposing groups.” The Professor put the letters to one side and picked up the next one. “Now here’s a communication from the ‘Women’s League Against the Distribution of Salacious Films.’ They somehow got wind that we’re filming our experiments, and they want some reassurance from us that the films will be clearly identified as ‘For Adults Only’ when shown.”

“Give them their reassurance, by all means,” “Fig” chuckled.

“They also request ten tickets to all advance screenings. . . . Oh, well, I’ll simply tell them that we’ll contact them about such arrangements at the proper time. Now the next letter . . .”

Mercy’s attention drifted as the Professor’s voice droned on. It kept drifting on and off through the rest of the meeting, which seemed interminable to her. But it wasn’t interminable, and finally it ended.

Dr. Peerloin fell in alongside Mercy as they left the Professor’s oflice. “You are the most changeable girl,” she observed. “This morning you were singing like a bird and now you look like you’d just learned a Swiss scientist published the results of an experiment you’d been working on for four years just when you were ready to publish yourself. What’s the trouble?”

“Oh, I don’t know. I’m just so darned confused, I guess.”

“Well, why not come up to my place and have dinner with me tonight,” Dr. Peerloin offered. “We can talk and maybe that will make you feel better.”

“Thanks.” Mercy accepted sincerely. “I’d like that.”

Some twenty minutes later, Frank Pollener was making his own preparations for dinner. The conversation with Mercy had left him hurt and resentful earlier in the day. He couldn’t figure her out. The night before she’d been so warm. And then she’d all but told him to go to hell on the phone. Why?

The more he thought about it, the madder he got. It was a slap at his manhood, that’s what it was. Well, he’d show her!

Frank was so angry that for the first time since becoming a disciple of the Swami Rhee Va, he threw all the tenets of Causocratic Effectivism to the winds. Almost, the way in which he turned into a man of action without contemplation, constituted a betrayal of all the beliefs he’d embraced. Still, the All of am-ness moves in mysterious ways to look after fools and backsliders.

But Frank was past thinking about the All of am-ness in the aftermath of his phone conversation with Mercy. He’d show her! That’s what he’d decided. And that meant proving to her--or was it to himself?—that Mercy wasn’t the only caviar in the sex pool. He’d been out of touch, true, but now was the time to get back in touch, and the devil take the wrath of any old flames who might resent his cavalier call after such a long time.

The first number he fished out of his little black book was indeed wrathful. A few choice references to Frank’s ancestry and she hung up on him. His second call drew a recent husband, heavy with sarcasm which barely covered the threat of what he would do if Frank bothered his wife again. But the third call hit pay-dirt.

No, Amelia told him, she hadn’t forgotten him. No, she wasn’t busy that evening. Yes, she’d love to come up to his place for dinner and listen to some records and “or something.”

So Frank had gone home, straightened the place up, thrown on some steaks and was now tossing a salad while he waited for Amelia to arrive. The lights were low; his schmaltziest records were stacked on the turntable. Finally the doorbell rang and he went to admit Amelia.

A yard of bosom came through the door and Amelia followed it into the apartment. It waited for her in the living room while she exchanged greetings with Frank in the foyer. His eyes kept it company as he reflected that this was just the medicine his ego needed.

Dinner went down to the patter of reminiscences of the things they’d done together, the people they’d known, the good times they’d had, almost all of which Frank had forgotten. Still, he managed to parry with the left hand of his brain while figuring to the exact drop how much wine to give Amelia to weaken her resistance without having her pass out on him. As it turned out, he needn’t have bothered. Amelia’s resistance was nonexistent.

That became obvious almost as soon as dinner was over. Frank turned on the stereo and sat down on the couch beside her. Immediately Amelia snuggled up and looked at him soulfully. The effect was spoiled by a bit of spinach caught between her front teeth, but Frank managed to ignore it.

They danced. Dr. Peerloin would have appreciated the way they danced. It proved that the Peruvian Indians had no copyright on the movements used in their fertility rites. Spinach or no, Frank ended the dance with a kiss.

Their lips were still glued together as they sank to the couch. Amelia’s dress was low-cut and she guided Frank’s hands to her bodice as surely as a fruit store shill bent on touting tomatoes. Frank squeezed the tomatoes and was rewarded by an answering squeeze that worked a slight cramp out of his thigh muscles. An anticipatory thrill shot through him and he didn’t even stop to think how Swami Rhee Va would have disapproved of the way in which he and Amelia were progressing from one uncontemplated action to the next. The immediate result was that Amelia leaned back and pantingly asked, “Don’t you have a bedroom?”

Frank assured her that he did and eagerly led her to it. The short walk was marked by the shedding of their clothes like leaves in a strong autumn wind. By the time they fell to the bed, their branches were bare. And a moment later they entwined. . .

It was at that same moment that Mercy was making a confession to Dr. Peerloin over their after-dinner coffee. “I know I shouldn’t have stayed when I saw it was him,” she was saying. “And I shouldn’t have looked at his interview, but--”

“Nonsense,” Dr. Peerloin interrupted. “You’re human. Of course you couldn’t resist the temptation to look at his interview sheet. In your position, I would have done the same thing myself.”

“But it was awful. The man’s an absolute satyr!”

“How fortunate for you, my dear.” Dr. Peerloin clapped her hands. “When one is young and female, one doesn’t often have the opportunity — particularly in our emasculated society—of matching one’s mettle with a real man.”

“But he’s disgusting!”

“Bosh! He’s simply a full-blooded American male. And there aren’t too many of those around today. As your superior at the Observatory, I have to tell you to stay away from him. But as your friend and another woman, if I were you I’d call him up and apologize for being rude on the phone today, and leave the way open for him to follow through with his interest in you.”

“You really think I should call him?”

“A virile man like that? Absolutely!” Dr. Peerloin nodded vigorously . . .

Her nod was canceled out by Amelia’s shaking her head sadly but sympathetically at Frank. “Don’t feel bad, sweetie,” she told him. “It had to happen sooner or later. The pace you used to go at! Nobody could keep it up. Just too much too soon, baby. And there’s a kind of justice in it, you’ll admit. It’s sort of ironic, a Casanova like you, and now you can’t!”

“I think I’d like to be alone now.” Frank felt almost as tragic as he sounded.

“All right, baby. I’ll get dressed and go. I can still catch a late movie.” She patted him on the shoulder and went into the living room to retrieve her clothes. A while later she called out a goodbye to him and the door slammed behind her.

More time passed and Frank sat on the edge of the bed, still not moving. He sat there a long time before the ringing of the telephone prompted him to raise his head. Wearily, he got to his feet and went into the living room to answer it.

“Hello?” He listened. He listened a long time. And while he was listening, a transformation came over him. His shoulders straightened. The pained expression vanished from his face. The lines of inner anguish disappeared from his forehead. Finally, he spoke. “Well, if you aren’t the most changeable girl. I thought you hated me.” He listened again, briefly this time. “Well, sure I want to see you again. Would you -- that is, do you think it would be all right if you came up here for dinner?” He laughed at the response. “Oh, you’d be surprised at what a good cook I am. . .. You will? Say seven-thirty tomorrow night. . . . Swell. See you then, Mercy.”

The early part of the next evening, for Frank, was both a repetition of the previous night with Amelia and as different from it as night from day. There was the dinner, the low lights, the soft music, the conversation, and then the dancing and the kiss, the couch and more kisses and more intimate caresses. It was the same pattern, but a different girl — and a very different Frank. The difference was in the way he felt about Mercy. Amelia had been a simple convenience wanted more out of pique than passion. Mercy, on the other hand, turned him on emotionally as well as physically from the moment she arrived. And by the time they strode hand-in-hand into his darkened bedroom, Frank had every reason to believe that Mercy was as eager as he was. Thus he was all the more taken aback a few passion-filled moments later by the sharp reaction which marked her cry in the darkness.

“No!” Mercy pulled away so abruptly that she almost fell out of the bed.

“No?”

“NO!”

“But—?” The suddenness of it left Frank confused and speechless.

“I’m sorry,” she half-sobbed. “Honestly I am, but I just can’t.”

“Why not?” It seemed a logical question.

“I can’t explain.” The tears were cascading down Mercy’s cheeks now. “I’m sorry. I know it’s not fair, but -”

She couldn’t go on. She leaped to her feet and ran out of the room. A few minutes later the front door of the apartment slammed behind her.

Only then did it hit Frank. He dropped his feet over the edge of the bed and sat with his head in his hands. Twenty-four hours had passed, but he was in exactly the same position he’d been in the night before. With one difference. Last night he’d known what had gone wrong. Tonight he simply couldn’t comprehend what had happened. Why had Mercy all of a sudden reacted to him that way?

If Frank had been in Dr. Peerloin’s office the next morning, he might have had the answer. Mercy was sobbing out her version of the evening to the woman scientist.

“I really wanted to go through with it,” Mercy sniffled. “But I was suddenly overpowered by this feeling that it was wrong. Morally wrong.”

Dr. Peerloin stared at her uncornprehendingly. “But you and this young man have already—”

“I know!” Mercy wailed. “Ridiculous, isn’t it? But somehow that was all right because it was a scientific experiment. The wires buzzing, the wheels whirring, the lights flashing, the cameras grinding, the hum of the machines—all that seemed to reassure me that I wasn’t doing anything to feel guilty about. It was all in the interests of research, you see. But in his bed last night, in his arms that way, naked, just doing it for selfish satisfactions-— well, it just seemed terribly, terribly wrong. Sex like that-— it just disgusts me! I know I’m not being scientific about it. But I don’t care! It disgusts me!”

“Where have I failed?” Dr. Peerloin murmured to herself.

“And men disgust me too,” Mercy decided. “They’re animals! Just like animals, they’ve only got one thing on their minds. Sex!” Mercy didn’t care that she was being both irrelevant and irrational. “Animals!” she repeated. “Animals!”

Lion-like, Frank Pollener followed the statuesque blonde into her bedroom a few nights later. “Oh, it’ll be such a pleasure to make it with a real man after that husband of mine,” she cooed. Mouselike, Frank Pollener emerged a half-hour later. “And I thought my husband had problems!” the blonde called after him as he slunk out the door.

Animalistically, he made another attempt about a week later. But it ended with him feeling like a vegetable.

It took him two weeks to work up his courage again. “You’re some wolf,” the girl said to him just before she decided to stop fighting him off and succumb. “Harmless as a pussycat,” was her later verdict as she watched Frank slink out with his tail between his legs.

A few more such incidents, and Frank reached the conclusion that the beast in him was a dead duck. It wasn’t an easy conclusion to face. Backslider though he was, Frank recognized that he couldn’t face it without the help of the Causocratic Effectivism which once had guided his life. Indeed, as he thought about it, he decided that all his troubles stemmed from the moment he had turned his back on the tenets of the Swami Rhee Va. He decided to call the Swami long-distance, confess his departure from those tenets, and ask for forgiveness, re-acceptance and — most of all—advice.

“Impotency is the Nirvana of Causocratic Effectivism,” the Swami told him after Frank had poured out his troubles to him.

“But I’m not ready to accept Nirvana.”

“That is true.” The Swami pondered a moment. “You say that despite all of your potency failures, you think you would have succeeded with this Mercy if she had not fled the scene.”

“I’n1 sure of that.”

“Are you in love with her?” the Swami asked.

“I don’t know. How do you tell?”

The Swami pondered that one too. “If you are correct in saying you would have succeeded with her, then your trouble must be solved by the process of Causocratic Elimination.”

“I haven’t had any difficulties with that.” Frank was confused.

“You misunderstand. Causocratic Elimination is a matter of choosing between am-ness factors, which to discard, which to retain. In your case, it means deciding whether the cause of your last potency was the girl, or the environment.”

“I thought my problem was impotency.”

“Where have I failed?” The Swami sighed. “Your problem is to find the reason behind your moment of potency. You think it was the girl. But right now your am-ness is in such turmoil as to blind you to the other possibility. It may have been the environment. Since the girl is unavailable at present, the only way to determine the truth is to test your potency in the environment.”

“You mean go back to the Observatory? But suppose I get the same girl?”

“Then it will prove nothing,” the Swami said patiently. “You must arrange things so that you do not get the same girl.”

“I see.” Frank thanked the Swami and hung up. He pondered the advice a few moments, and then re-dialed.

“Hello-hello!” Professor Woocheck’s voice was barely discernible through the loud sounds of running water.

“Hello, Professor. I—”

“Mr. Pollener? Mr. Pollener, is that you? I’ve been trying desperately to get you. Your line was busy.” The rest of the Professor’s words were lost in the gurgling noise.

“Wait a minute, Professor! Not so fast! I can’t understand you. I’m having difficulty hearing. What’s that noise in the background?”

“I say I’ve just been served with a paper and I don’t understand it!” the Professor shouted.

“Ouch! Are you trying to break my eardrum? What kind of a paper? What are you talking about? And what’s that damn noise?”

“It’s the water running in the sink,” the Professor shouted. “I’m washing my hands.”

“Well, turn it off, dammit.” The sound in Frank’s ear receded to a faint drip-drip and then stopped altogether.

“That’s better. I can hear. Now what’s all this about a paper?”

“It’s a legal paper. A lawsuit. We’re being sued.”

“Calm down,” Frank soothed him. “Now, tell me what you’re being sued for.”

“It’s a paternity suit,” the Professor moaned. “Lila Slocum is naming the Venus Bio-Erotic Research Observatory as the father of her unborn child!”

“I’ll be damned!” Frank said. “Hold on a minute, Professor.”

“Where are you going?”

“To wash my hands,” Frank told him. “I’m going to wash my hands.”

CHAPTER EIGHT

“At no point in the time-span of the survey was its very existence so seriously threatened as when the charges of the primigravida elicited the danger of a suspension of funding. Early courtroom examination of the primigravida’s claims pointed to an unsatisfactory prognosis regarding the continued existence of the Venus Bio-Erotic Research Observatory. However, when the primigravida, in testifying as to the dyspareunia which accompanied the alleged inception of her condition, mentioned that examination determining estrus had been followed by injection with a nylon needle which bypassed the fornix and entered the cervix, counsel for Venus seized upon the evidence and . . .”

Chapter Seven, survey of Bio-Erotic Behavior

Patterns in Human Beings,

by Woocheck & Peerloin

It never rains but it pours. When Mothers for Morality had voted to drop their request for an injunction to force the Venus Observatory to cease its researches, Frank Pollener hadn’t foreseen that Lila Slocum’s condition might be the basis for an attack on the Observatory from another direction. Without the backing of her organization, Frank had thought that Lila’s mother would drop her attack and concentrate on coping with her daughter’s problem. Instead, she had elected to start a personal action. In retrospect, Frank wasn’t sure whether he’d underestimated or overestimated the power of motherhood as typified by Mrs. Slocum. In any case, she had instituted a paternity suit and named the Venus Observatory as the father of her unborn grandchild. Almost immediately the suit came to the attention of the executors of the Estate of Samuel Venus and they threatened to cut off the Observatory from any further funds if a judgment was granted against them in the paternity suit. Their attitude—which Samuel Venus himself might well not have supported when he was alive—was that the bequest had never been intended to pay the costs of such a claim as this.

So the pressure was on from two directions. Frank had to cope with the legal problems involved and he had to keep in mind the financial ones as well. His first move was to get Lila Slocum’s attorney to agree to have the case decided by a judge, rather than a jury. Next he persuaded the opposing attorney to join him in a plea to the judge that newsmen and spectators be barred from the trial. On Frank’s part this move was prompted by the knowledge that the less publicity the case received, the longer the Venus trustees would hold off cutting off the Observatory’s funds. The opposing attorney agreed in the interest of protecting his client from embarrassment. The judge granted the request and the case was heard in chambers.

Frank had one stroke of luck. Judge O’Neill was assigned to the case. It wasn’t that Frank felt his relationship with the Judge would sway him. It was just that Judge O’Neill was a stickler for the letter of the law and not likely to be swayed by sympathy for the unwed mother-to-be.

Nevertheless, Frank’s first legal tactic was shot down by the Judge. Frank had prepared a brief asking that the case be dismissed on the grounds that the Venus Bio-Erotic Research Observatory was an institution, not an entity, and therefore incapable of fathering a child. The opposing attorney anticipated this move and was ready with a counter-brief. Judge O’Neill called a recess while he read over both arguments, and announced his decision at the beginning of the second session of the hearing.

“Defense counsel is to be complimented on the thoroughness of his reasoning,” Judge O’Neill said, “but plaintiff’s attorney makes the valid point that since the institution represented by the defense is committed to refusing to name the possible father of the unborn child, it must shoulder the obligations of paternity itself.”

Similar reasoning defeated Frank’s second motion that the case be postponed until termination of pregnancy so that blood tests might be made on the child as a means of either proving or disproving paternity. “Since the Venus Observatory refuses to identify the possible father,” Judge O’Neill echoed his first reasoning, “there is no basis for postponement. Motion denied.”

Frank had expected the decision. He’d only made the plea in the hope that a postponement might also delay any action by the trustees. Professor Woocheck had already told Frank something that made it clear such a postponement probably couldn’t affect the outcome of the case.

“According to our records,” Professor Woocheck informed Frank, “Lila Slocum’s pre-participation physical examination revealed the hymen membrane to be intact. That examination took place the day before her actual participation.”

"‘Of course she might have been with someone else in the interim,” Frank replied, “but the chances are pretty slim and next to impossible to prove.”

“But she must have,” the Professor insisted. “We take every precaution against pregnancy.”

“And yet she is pregnant. Well, I’ll have detectives try to check her movements between her two visits to the Observatory.”

A few days later Frank told the Professor the results of that investigation. “Negative. She went straight home after the first interview and didn’t leave the house until she went to the Observatory for the second time.”

“I can’t understand it.” The Professor shook his head. “Our birth control methods have never failed us before. If I Weren’t a scientist, I’d say her conception was immaculate.”

“Somehow I don’t think the Vatican would back you up on that even if you weren’t a scientist,” Frank told him.

That was the way things still stood the day Mrs. Slocum’s attorney called Lila Slocum to testify before Judge O’Neill. After the obvious facts about Lila had been gotten on the record, her attorney got down to cases. “Did you go to the Venus Bio-Erotic Observatory on the morning of March the ninth of this year?” he asked his client.

“March the ninth? Oh, yes. That was my second visit.” Lila was a bit too chipper to be an object of sympathy. A pretty girl with a naturally bubbly personality, albeit not too intelligent, she seemed to get pleasure out of being in the spotlight and her attitude towards the proceedings was one more of amusement than anything else. “My second visit,” she repeated. “That was the day I got kno—- I mean, pregnant.”

“Objection!” Frank was on his feet.

“Sustained. Witness is cautioned to answer the question and not offer conclusions,” Judge O’Neill directed.

“Tell us in your own words what happened to you on your second visit to the Venus Observatory.” Lila’s lawyer came in quickly and smoothly with the next question.

“Well, first they asked me my name and checked it against some list the girl had there. She said I should go to this room; I don’t remember the number. When I got there, they gave me an internal-—you know? After that I stayed on the table and this doctor came in with a long needle. He said the needle was nylon and it wouldn’t hurt and I shouldn’t be nervous because it was in the cervix; Then he gave me the shot—-inside, you know? Then they said I should go. By the time I got downstairs again, I was wondering because this sure wasn’t what I’d expected. So I asked the girl at the desk and she said oh, there’d been some mistake, and I should go over to this next building …"

Lila’s voice prattled on, but Frank lost the gist of what she was saying because Professor Woocheck was tugging at his arm. “What is it?” Frank turned away from the witness to consult with his client.

“I don’t understand it,” the Professor said. “That bit about the examination is standard, but we never give our subjects injections. Not in the cervix, or anywhere else.”

“Someone must have. Why would she make a thing like that up?” Frank turned his attention back to Lila’s testimony.

“. . . some more questions and then they ask me to wait while they run the info through some gadget they have,” Lila was testifying. “After a while they came back and said they’d matched me up and I could go to this room to rehearse like. So I do and . . .”

The testimony went on for a long time. By the time Lila’s attorney had concluded the examination and was ready to turn her over to Frank for cross-examination, it was past noon. Judge O’Neill called a recess for lunch.

Immediately, the Professor grabbed Frank and began speaking with great urgency. The result of what he said was that the two of them took a cab to the Venus Observatory. Only they didn’t go into the Observatory. They went into the building next door.

It was late when they returned to the Judge’s chambers with two new witnesses in tow. Judge O’Neill waved away Frank’s apologies, obviously anxious to get started. “Who are these people?” He indicated the couple with Frank.

“They’re witnesses, Your Honor," Frank explained. “I’d like to call them right away and then come back to plaintiff for cross-examination if necessary. But it may not be necessary.”

“I object.” The other lawyer was on his feet. “This is highly irregular.”

“It is, Your Honor,” Frank agreed before the Judge could sustain the objection. “But their testimony will clear this whole matter up. I believe it will resolve this whole matter quickly and thereby save the time of the Court and the taxpayers’ money.”

“Very well.” Judge O’Neill granted Frank’s request. “Call your first witness, Counselor.”

Frank summoned the witness, elicited her name and address and place of employment and then phrased his question. “Have you ever seen this young lady before?” He pointed to Lila Slocum.

“Yes sir. On the morning of March ninth of this year. I have reason to remember the young lady and the date very clearly.”

“Will you tell the Court your reason?”

“Because of an incident she was involved in on the morning I mentioned. The young lady’s name is Lila Slocum. She came to my desk that morning and told me her name.”

“That would be the reception desk,” Frank interjected.

“That’s right. That’s where I work. Anyway, she came there and gave me her name and I checked it against this list I have for appointments. The name was there, so I sent her to the examining room where she was supposed to go.”

“And did you see her again after that?”

“Yes. She stopped at my desk again awhile later and she seemed very confused. It turned out she was looking for the Venus Observatory. They’re right next door to us, and that’s what I told her. The reason I remember so clearly is that right after she left another woman came up to my desk and said she was Lila Slocum and she was sorry she was late, but she’d been held up in traffic and could she still keep her appointment.”

“Was that when you realized a mistake had been made?” Frank asked.

“Objection! The Slocum attorney was on his feet. “Calls for a conclusion on the part of the witness. As a matter of fact, Your Honor, I don’t see the relevance of this entire line of questioning.”

“Objection sustained,” Judge O’Neill decided. “And plaintiff’s counsel does have a point there,” he added to Frank. “I must admit that the relevance escapes me so far.”

“I promise Your Honor that it will be firmly established,” Frank said.

“Very well then. Continue your questioning. But understand that if you can’t tie things together, Counselor, I’ll have all this testimony stricken from the record.”

“I understand, Your Honor.” Frank turned back to the witness. “Did the appearance of a second Lila Slocum bring certain facts to your attention?” he asked. ,

“Yes.”

“What were those facts?”

“I realized that I had made a mistake by sending the first Lila Slocum upstairs. I had inadvertently sent her to keep the appointment made for the second Lila Slocum.”

“Did this realization prornpt you to take any action?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Well, I was sure that they would have discovered the mistake upstairs before treating the woman. And the fact that she’d stopped—the first one, I mean-—to ask directions to the Venus Observatory made me think they must have told her she was in the wrong place.”

“So the Lila Slocum in this courtroom was never informed of the error.”

“Not by me she wasn’t.”

“Thank you. No further questions.” Frank turned to the Slocum attorney. “Your witness.”

“No questions, but since the relevance of this testimony hasn’t yet been established, I reserve the right to recall the witness for cross-examination at a later time.”

“So noted,” Judge O’Neill said. “Call your next witness, Counselor,” he instructed Frank.

When the witness had mounted the stand, been sworn in and answered his preliminary questions, Frank got down to his reason for being there. “Do you recognize the plaintiff?” he asked.

“Yes. I treated her in my office at the clinic.”

“And was that on the morning of March the ninth of this year?”

“According to my records, it was.”

“Will you describe the treatment you gave her?”

“Of course. My assistant had determined that ovulation was at mid-cycle, and so I treated her according to a pre-made schedule. I gave her a uterine injection with a nylon needle inserted in the cervix.”

“Your Honor,” Frank addressed the Court. “I’d like to retain this witness for further and immediate questioning, but first I’d like to ask the plaintiff one question and I’d like to get one expert opinion from Professor Woocheck.”

The plaintiffs lawyer objected and the Judge again brought up the matter of relevance, but in the end he granted Frank the latitude he asked. Lila Slocum was brought back to the stand.

“Of your own knowledge,” Frank asked her, “has everything these two witnesses testified to regarding yourself been the truth?”

“I guess so.”

“Answer yes or no,” the Judge instructed her.

“Yes.”

“Witness excused,” Frank said. He called Professor Woocheck.

“Will you tell the court your qualifications in the field of gynecology, Professor?” he asked after the scientist had been sworn in. The Professor complied.

“Very impressive,” Judge O’Neill granted.

“Yes.” Frank nodded. “We’re fortunate in having such an expert witness on hand. Now, Professor, just one question. Would a nylon needle piercing the hymen and reaching to the cervix necessarily rupture the hymen, or even tear it noticeably enough to be evident during a subsequent internal examination?”

“Absolutely not,” the Professor replied. “It would be little more than a pinhole. Even if the examiner were looking for it, I don’t know how he’d detect it without the help of magnifying instruments.”

“Thank you, Professor, you’re excused.” Frank turned back to the original witness. “Doctor,” he asked, “does your professional opinion agree with the Professor’s?”

“I’m afraid it does,” the witness sighed.

“Thank you, Doctor. I know this is difficult for you. Now will you tell the Court just what it was that you injected into the plaintiff.”

“Ten cc’s of seminal fluid.”

“Would you explain the purpose of the injection, Doctor?”

“Our clinic administers such injections to women whose husbands are impotent. The common name is artificial insemination. The purpose is to impregnate them.”

“Thank you, Doctor.” Frank turned to the bench.

“Your Honor, I think it’s perfectly clear what happened now. The plaintiff entered the building next to the Venus Observatory by mistake. Because of her having the same name as a woman due to come in for treatment, she was sent to a treatment room and given an injection meant to induce pregnancy. Then she left there and went to the Venus Observatory where the examination she was given did not reveal that her hymen had been pierced by a nylon hypodermic needle. She did indeed have intercourse at the Observatory and this did indeed rupture her hymen. But, Your Honor, that was not the cause of her pregnancy. Although she was a virgin and unaware of what had happened, I respectfully submit that she was pregnant before she ever entered the Observatory. Therefore, I ask Your Honor to dismiss this case on the basis of this new evidence.”

“Case dismissed,” Judge O’Neill agreed.

“My boy! You did it!” Professor Woocheck hugged Frank jubilantly. “You’ve saved the Observatory. The executors won’t have any excuse to cut off the bequest now. I just don’t know how we’ll ever be able to show our gratitude!”

“I do,” Frank assured him. “I know just how you can show your gratitude.”

“Anything, my boy. Anything.”

The Professor was as good as his word. It took him only two days to arrange matters so that Frank could put the Swami Rhee Va’s concept of Causocratic Elimination to the test. He was happy that the Observatory was able to do something concrete to express their thanks to Frank. The Professor had even spoken to Hal Rockwell and arranged for the services of the most beautiful and talented professional courtesan in Flintsburgh to participate in the “experiment” with Frank.

Yet, when the big morning arrived, just before Frank was due to leave for the Observatory he had a moment of panic. It impelled him to call the Swami Rhee Va for a last-minute reaffirmation of the course upon which he was about to embark.

“Suppose I still can’t perform,” Frank said to the Swami. “What then?”

“Then,” the wise man told him, “it will show that you are really in love with the young lady who has been troubling you.”

“In love with her? No, Swami. On the contrary, I can’t stand her. I hate her!”

“Study the Law of Causocratic Oppositism,” the Swami told him cryptically and hung up the phone.

Frank had no time at the moment, however, to study the Law of Causocratic Oppositism. He had to leave for the Observatory if he was going to get there on time. He arrived on the dot and Professor Woocheck had him conducted to the “rehearsal room” where he was introduced to his partner and they proceeded to “get acquainted.”

While he was so engaged, another visitor who had arrived at the Observatory at about the same time Frank had was sitting in Dr. Peerloin’s office with the doctor and Mercy. Dr. Peerloin had introduced the cherubic-faced gentleman to her assistant: “Mercy, this is the Reverend Joseph Goodson. The Reverend has been a missionary in the Peruvian interior for almost twenty years. He was the best friend I had during my investigations there. I believe this is the first time he’s been out of the jungle since 1946.”

“That is true,” the Reverend confirmed.

“How does civilization strike you?” Mercy asked politely.

“To which civilization are you referring, young lady?” Reverend Goodson replied with a twinkle in his eye.

“Touché.” Dr. Peerloin laughed. “But what do you think of the Observatory? Quite an improvement over sneaking around the bushes with a Polaroid, eh, Reverend?”

“Well, I haven’t really seen it yet, but I’m sure you’re quite right. This is a far cry from the old days when you visited with me in the Peruvian interior.”

“Yes.” Dr. Peerloin sighed reminiscently. “There have been a lot of Mother Hubbards under the bridge since then.”

“Still, I find all this most interesting.” Reverend Goodson brought her back to the present, waving his hand in an all-inclusive manner. “It’s so different from anything I’ve known in the jungle.”

“Why don’t you take the Reverend on a tour of the Observatory?” Mercy suggested. “That way he’ll be able to appreciate the entire picture.”

“I’d like that,” the Reverend agreed.

“Then come along.” Dr. Peerloin got to her feet. “You come too, Mercy,” she decided. “You’re more familiar with some of the details than I am.”

It was about half an hour later that their tour finally brought the threesome to the observation room. The observer-technician on duty stood back so that they could see the tele-screen tuned in on the “experiment” room.

“Too bad,” Mercy remarked to the Reverend. “It’s not in use at the moment.”

“There’s a couple on their way in there,” the technician corrected her. “I just got the signal from the ‘rehearsal’ room. See. There they are.” He pointed to the screen.

“Oh, good.” Mercy looked. “Oh, no!” she exclaimed shrilly.

“Is there something wrong?” Reverend Goodson asked, noticing that Mercy’s expression was agitated and that she was turning red.

“My dear. What is it?” Dr. Peerloin was concerned.

“That’s him!” Mercy’s voice quavered and she sank to a chair. “That’s the--the brute I told you about!”

“Oh?” Dr. Peerloin peered at the screen over the tops of her glasses. “Oh!” She continued staring. “I see what you’ve been talking about,” she said. “I can’t really blame you for falling in love. That is a real man.”

“I am not in love!” Mercy protested. “I hate him! I hate him! Just look what he’s doing! I could never love a man like that!”

“I see that the basic lusts are not confined to the Peruvian jungle.” The Reverend Goodson shook his head sadly.

“And look at that—-that woman with him!” Mercy said through clenched teeth.

“The natives would call her a ‘bombarosa,’ ” Reverend Goodson mused. “That means a woman who inspires a young warrior to break the tribal taboos. Or, in your society, a female who drives a man to sin. I can’t approve, of course, but I can understand how the young man could be tempted by such a woman.”

“His whole life has been one long giving in to temptations like this!” Mercy muttered bitterly.

“Well, he certainly knows how to give in expertly,” Dr. Peerloin observed.

“Oh! I can’t watch!” Mercy turned her back on the tele-viewer. The others were silent for what seemed a long time to her. “What’s happening?” Finally, she couldn’t keep herself from asking.

“They’re just about to—” Dr. Peerloin started to answer and stopped suddenly in mid-sentence. “Oh dear!”

“What is it?” When Dr. Peerloin didn’t answer, she swiveled around to look at the screen for herself. Her whole attitude changed at what she saw.

The Reverend Goodson was the first to speak again. “The wages of sin . . .” he intoned.

“Are fatigue.” Dr. Peerloin finished for him.

“Oh! I can’t stand it!” Mercy’s voice was filled with sincere sympathy. “He looks so crushed! It’s not his fault! That woman was just too brazen for him, that’s all!”

“His performance certainly didn’t live up to his potential,” Dr. Peerloin noted. “His potential was about as great as any I’ve recorded in all my years as a social anthropologist.”

“Well, he lived up to it with me!” Mercy said as fiercely as a tigress defending her mate.

“It is true that responses may vary according to one’s partner,” Dr. Peerloin told her reassuringly. “Look, the female has left him alone,” she added.

“The poor sinner is really suffering,” Reverend Goodson said with compassion.

“He’s not a sinner! Not now, anyway! Only a would-be sinner!” Mercy found herself still defending him. “Oh, he looks so miserable! I have to go to him,” she decided.

“I’ll go with you,” Dr. Peerloin said.

“You will?” Mercy was surprised, but she didn’t stop to argue.

“And so will I,” the Reverend Goodson said. “Perhaps some spiritual comfort . . .”

Frank Pollener looked up dully as the three of them entered the “experiment” room. He was still sitting on the edge of the bed in the same position of abject defeat.

“Oh, my poor darling!” Mercy rushed over to him.

“Go away, Mercy.” Frank’s voice was choked. “I’m no good to you. I’m no good to myself. I'm no good to anybody anymore.”

“Nonsense!” Dr. Peerloin tried to reassure him. “Temporary potency failure . . .”

“It’s not temporary,” Frank confessed in a small voice. “This has been going on for weeks now. Ever since the time with Mercy I haven’t been able to— I thought maybe this environment, the machines and all, would fix things up. But—”

“Mercy thought it was the enviromnent too,” Dr. Peerloin interrupted. “But I’m not so sure. Environment isn’t as important as selection. Believe me, with the right partner—“

“I thought of that. But Mercy won’t-—”

“I Wanted to, but I couldn’t. Somehow it just didn’t seem right.”

“Excuse me,” the Reverend Goodson interrupted. “I’m an outsider of course, but it occurs to me that by concentrating on this matter of surroundings you both may have made a mistake. Perhaps what is really bothering you is that none of us can truly escape our taboos. But we can function within their bounds.”

“What do you mean?” Frank asked suspiciously.

“If you were to marry--” The Reverend confirmed Frank’s suspicions.

“Marry!” Reacting, Frank’s despondency dissolved. “But I don’t want-—-!”

“Many a sinner has found salvation in marriage, my boy!” Reverend Goodson pointed out.

“But—!”

“Do you want to go through the rest of your life without sex?” Dr. Peerloin backed up the Reverend. “Do you want Mercy to go through the rest of her life frustrated?”

“Don’t beg him,” Mercy protested. “If he doesn’t love me —”

“But I do love you,” Frank said, a note of wonder in his voice.

“You do?”

“Yes. Do you--? Do you love me?”

“Yes.” Mercy’s eyes shone.

“Then if you two will join hands-—” Reverend Goodson seized the advantage and produced a Bible. Looking into each other’s eyes as if hypnotized, Frank and Mercy did as he suggested. “Dearly beloved,” the Reverend began, “We are gathered here in the presence . . .”

As soon as the ceremony was over, Dr. Peerloin dashed to Professor Woocheck’s office to tell him the news. “And,” she concluded breathlessly, “if we hurry, we can get back to the “observation” room just in time to see the Observatory’s first case history of a wedding night. You see, the happy couple have agreed to let the Observatory record their first marital experience for the benefit of our researches. So please hurry.”

The Professor hurried. A moment later he and Dr. Peerloin joined Reverend Goodson and the technician in the “observation” room. All four watched in silence. It was an awed silence. After a very long time, Dr. Peerloin’s hand crept into that of Professor Woocheck. On the tele-screen matters had been concluded and the wedding couple were getting dressed. Yet the Doctor and the Professor continued to look. Noticing their preoccupation, the Reverend Goodson followed the technician out of the room quietly, tactfully refraining from bidding them goodbye.

The elderly couple holding hands didn’t even notice them leaving. They continued standing there, maintaining the contact, even after the tele-screen showed the “experiment” room to be empty. Finally, Professor Woocheck spoke.

“You know, Doctor,” he said, “there is one aspect of our work we have been neglecting. We have done virtually no testing with geriatric subjects. I think it’s time that Phase Four was initiated.”

“You mean -?”

“And why not? It might be a very pertinent phase of our research.” Professor Woocheck slipped his arm around her.

“Oh, Professor!” Dr. Peerloin giggled.

“The “experiment” room is available,” Professor Woocheck murmured into her ear.

“Oh, Professor!”

“Purely for science,” he said a little later as he led her through the door of the “experiment” room.

“Purely for science,” Dr. Peerloin agreed. There was quiet, and then-— “Oh, Professor!”

“It has been illustrated that much significant data covering all phases of bio-erotic human behavior was revealed in the course of the research study and has been condensed for compilation in these pages. One most significant point the authors feel should be touched upon before closing has to do with Phase Four of the program, which was devoted to the study of eroto-geriatrics. Contrary to popular belief, our researches proved conclusively that age is not of itself a deterrent factor in satisfactory copulatory relationships. On the contrary, the experience brought to cohabitation by geriatric partners would seem to provide even greater satisfactions than those enjoyed by younger subject volunteers. There is strong evidence to support the contention that enjoyment of human sexuality can increase with the years . . .”

Epilogue to Survey of Bio-Erotic Behavior

Patterns in Human Beings,

by Woocheck & Peerloin