ASSIGNMENT IN ETERNITY — Robert A. Heinlein

“Jerry!” said his mistress. “I said nothing of the sort; he does not have to play your blues singer. Come away, Jerry. Nappie-play what you want to.”

“You mean he tried to cheat?” McCoy inquired with interest.

“He certainly did.”

“Hmm-Jerry’s got the makings of a real citizen, Shave him and put shoes on him and he’d get by all right in the precinct I grew up in.” He stared at the anthropoid. Jerry stared back, puzzled but patient. Mrs. van Vogel had thrown away the dirty canvas kilt which was both his badge of servitude and a concession to propriety and had replaced it with a kilt in the bright Cameron war plaid, complete to sporan, and topped off with a Glengarry.

“Do you suppose he could learn to play the bagpipes?” McCoy asked. “I’m beginning to get an angle.”

“Why, I don’t know. What s your idea?”

McCoy squatted down cross-legged and began practicing rolls with his dice.

“Never mind,” he answered when it suited him, “that angle’s no good. But we’re getting there.” He rolled four naturals, one after the other. “You say Jerry still belongs to the Corporation?”

“In a titular sense, yes. I doubt if they will ever try to repossess him.”

“I wish they would try.” He scooped up the dice and stood up. “It’s in the bag,

Sis. Forget it. I’ll want to talk to your publicity man but you can quit worrying about it.”

Of course Mrs. van Vogel should have knocked before entering her husband’s room-but then she would not have overheard what he was saying, nor to whom.

“That’s right,” she heard him say, “we haven’t any further need for him. Take him away, the sooner the better. Just be sure the men you send have a signed order directing us to turn him over.”

She was not apprehensive, as she did not understand the conversation, but merely curious. She looked over her husband’s shoulder at the video screen.

There she saw Blakesly’s face. His voice was saying, “Very well, Mr. van Vogel, the anthropoid will be picked up tomorrow.”

She strode up to the screen. “Just a minute, Mr. Blakesly — ” then, to her husband, “Brownie, what in the world do you think you are doing?”

The expression she surprised on his face was not one he had ever let her see before. “Why don’t you knock?”

“Maybe it’s a good thing I didn’t. Brownie, did I hear you right. Were you telling Mr. Blakesly to pick up Jerry?” She turned to the screen. “Was that it,

Mr. Blakesly?”

“That is correct, Mrs. van Vogel. And I must say I find this confusion most — ”

“Stow it.” She turned back. “Brownie, what have you to say for yourself?”

“Martha, you are being preposterous. Between that elephant and that ape this place is a zoo. I actually caught your precious Jerry smoking my special, personal cigars today…not to mention the fact that both of them play the stereo all day long until a man can’t get a moment’s peace. I certainly don’t have to stand for such things in my own house.”

“Whose house. Brownie?”

‘That’s beside the point. I will not stand for — ”

“Never mind.” She turned to the screen. “My husband seems to have lost his taste for exotic animals, Mr. Blakesly. Cancel the order for a Pegasus.”

“Martha!”

“Sauce for the goose. Brownie — I’ll pay for your whims; I’m damned if I’ll pay for your tantrums. The contract is cancelled, Mr. Blakesly. Mr. Haskell will arrange the details.”

Blakesly shrugged. “Your capricious behavior will cost you, of course. The penalties — ”

“I said Mr. Haskell would arrange the details. One more thing. Mister Manager Blakesly-have you done as I told you to?”

“What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean-are those poor creatures still alive and well?”

“That is not your business.” He had, in fact, suspended the killings, the directors had not wanted to take any chances until they saw what the Briggs trust could manage, but Blakesly would not give her the satisfaction of knowing.

She looked at him as if he were a skipped dividend. “It’s not, eh? Well, bear this in mind, you cold-blooded little pipsqueak: I’m holding you personally responsible. If just one of them dies from anything, I’II have your skin for a rug.” She flipped off the connection and turned to her husband. “Brownie — “

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