Heinlein, Robert A – Friday

Janet said suddenly, “Let’s all leave!”

I grinned at her. “Swell!”

Ian said, “You really want to do that, Jan?”

“I-” She stopped and looked frustrated. “I can’t. Mama Cat and her kittens. Black Beauty and Demon and Star and Red. We could close this house, certainly; it winterproofs on only one household Shipstone. But it would take at least a day or two to make arrangements for the rest of our family. Even one pig! I can’t just walk out on them. I can’t.”

There wasn’t anything to say, so I didn’t. The coldest depth of Hell is reserved for people who abandon kittens. Boss says that I am stupidly sentimental and I’m sure he is right.

We went outside. It was just beginning to get dark and I suddenly realized that I had entered this household less than a day earlier-it seemed like a month. Goodness, just twenty-four hours ago I had still been in New Zealand-which seemed preposterous.

The police car was sitting on Jan’s vegetable garden, which caused her to use language I did not expect from her. It had the usual squatty oyster shape of an antigrav not intended for space and was about the size of our family farm wagon in South Island. No, that did not make me triste; Jan and her men-and Betty and Freddie-had replaced the Davidson Group in my heart–donna e mobile; that’s me. Now I wanted very badly to get back to Boss. Father figure? Probably-but I’m not interested in shrink theories.

Ian said, “Let me look at this bucket before you lift it. You babes in the wood could get hurt.” He opened the lid, got in. Presently he got out again. “You can float it if you decide to. But hear me. It’s got an identification transponder. It almost certainly has an active beacon, too, although I can’t find it. Its Shipstone is down to thirtyone percent, so, if you are thinking of Québec, forget it. It will seal but you can’t maintain cabin pressure above twelve thousand meters. But, worst of all, its terminal is calling Lieutenant Dickey.”

“So we ignore it!”

“Of course, Georges. But, as a result of the Ortega trials last year, they’ve been installing remote-control destruction packs in police cars. I searched for signs of one. Had I found it, I would have disarmed it. I did not find it. That does not mean that it isn’t there.”

I shrugged. “Ian, necessary risks never bother me. I try to avoid the other sort. But we still have to get rid of this heap of tin. Fly it somewhere. Leave it.”

Ian said, “Not so fast, Marj. Go-buggies are my business. This one- Yes! It’s got the standard military AG autopilot. So we’ll send it for a ride. Where? East, maybe? It would crash before it reaches Québec . . . and that could cause them to assume that you are headed home, Georges-while you are safe in the Hole.”

“I do not care, Ian. I shall not hide in the Hole. I agreed to leave because Marjorie needs someone to care for her.”

“More likely she’ll take care of you. You saw how she polished off Soapy.”

“Agreed. But I did not say ‘take care of’-I said that she needs someone to care for her.”

“Same thing.”

“I will not argue it. Shall we make it march?”

I chopped that off by saying, “Ian, is there enough power in its Shipstone to take it south to the Imperium?”

“Yes. But it’s not safe for you to float it.”

“Didn’t mean that. Set it on course south and maximum altitude. Maybe your border guard will burn it down, maybe the Imperium will. Or maybe it will get through but be blown by remote. Or it might just run out of juice and crash from maximum altitude. No matter which, we are free of it.”

“Done.” Ian jumped back in, was busy at the board, the craft started to float-he dived out, dropping three or four meters. I gave him a hand. “You all right?”

“Just fine. Look at her go!” The police car was rapidly disappearing above us while slanting south. Suddenly it broke out of the gathering dusk into the last of the sunlight and was very bright. It dwindled and was gone.