Grumbles From The Grave — Robert A. Heinlein — (1989)

“Sure, I’m old enough, Mother. I’m a better shot than Jimmy.”

Jim said, “You’re crazy as a spin bug!”

“Mind your manners, Jim,” his father cautioned. “We don’t speak that way to ladies.”

“Was she talking like a lady? I ask you, Dad.”

“You are bound to assume that she is one. Drop the matter. What were you saying, Doctor?”

“Eh? Nothing that I should have been saying, I’m sure.”

Between Chapter VIII, paragraph 29 and Chapter VIII, paragraph 3:

“Sure.” Jim got up. In so doing he woke Willis, who extended his eyes, sized up the situation, and greeted them. Jim picked him up, scratched him, and said, “What time did you come in, you tramp?” then suddenly added, “Hey!”

” ‘Hey’ what?” asked Frank.

“Well, would you look at that!” Jim pointed at the tumbled silks.

Frank got up and joined him. “Look at what? Oh — ”

In the hollow in which Willis had been resting were a dozen small, white spheroids, looking like so many golf balls.

“What do you suppose they are?” asked Jim.

Frank studied them closely. “Jim,” he said slowly, “I think you’ll just have to face it. Willis isn’t a boy; he’s a she.”

“Huh? Oh, no!”

“Willis good boy,” Willis said defensively.

“See for yourself,” Frank went on to Jim. “Those are eggs. If Willis didn’t lay them, you must have.”

Jim looked bewildered, then turned to Willis. “Willis, did you lay those eggs? Did you?”

“Eggs?” said Willis. “What Jim boy say?”

Jim set him down by the nest and pointed. “Did you lay those?”

Willis looked at them, then figuratively shrugged his shoulders and washed his hands of the whole matter. He waddled away. His manner seemed to say that if Jim chose to make a fuss over some eggs or whatever that just happened to show up in the bed, well, that was Jim’s business; Willis would have none of it.

“You won’t get anything out of him,” Frank commented. “I suppose you realize this makes you a grandfather, sort of.”

“Don’t be funny!”

“Okay, forget the eggs. When do we eat? I’m starved.”

Jim gave the eggs an accusing glance and got busy on the commissary. While they were eating Gekko came in. They exchanged grave greetings, then the Martian seemed about to settle himself for another long period of silent sociability-when he caught sight of the eggs.

Neither of the boys had ever seen a Martian hurry before, nor show any signs of excitement. Gekko let out a deep snort and left the room at once, to return promptly with as many companions as could crowd into the room. They all talked at once and paid no attention to the boys.

“What goes on here?” asked Frank, as he crowded against a wall and peered through a thicket of legs.

“Blessed if I know.”

After a while they calmed down a little. One of the larger Martians gathered up the eggs with exaggerated care and clutched them to him. Another picked up Willis and they all trooped out.

Jim stood hesitantly at the door and watched them disappear.

In place of text between Chapter XIII, paragraph 6 and Chapter XIII, paragraph 17:

“Certainly, certainly,” agreed MacRae, “but speaking non-professionally, I’d rather see the no-good so-and-so hang. Paranoia is a disorder contracted only by those of fundamentally bad character.”

“Now, Doctor,” protested Rawlings.

“That’s my opinion,” insisted MacRae, “and I’ve seen a lot of cases, in and out of hospitals.”

Insert to Chapter XIV, paragraph 49:

“Everything about Mars is startling. Another thing: we’ve never been able to find anything resembling sex on this planet-various sorts of specie conjugation, yes, but no sex. It appears to me that we missed it. I think that all the nymph Martians, the bouncers, are female; all of the adults are male. They change. I use the terms for want of better ones, of course. But if my theory is…

After the current ending:

Jim took it well. He accepted MacRae’s much expurgated explanation and nodded. “I guess if Willis has to hibernate, well, that’s that. When they come for him, I won’t make any fuss. It was just that Howe and Beecher didn’t have any right to take him.”

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