They took me out of my cell today and led me, cuffed and hoodwinked, into what was
probably a courtroom. There they removed the hoodwink and the cuffs… which left me
the only one out of step; my guards were hooded and so were the three who (I think)
were judges. Bishops, maybe, they were wearing fancy robes with that sacerdotal
look.
Page 99
Heinlein, Robert A – To Sail Beyond the Sunset.txt
Other flunkies here and there were also hooded – put me in mind of a Ku-Klux-Klan
meeting, so I tried to check their shoes-Father had pointed out to me during the
recrudescence of the Man in the twenties that those hooded `knights’ showed under
their sheets the cracked, scuffed, cheap, and worn-out shoes of the social bottom
layer who could manage to feel superior to somebody only by joining a racist secret
society.
I could not use that test on these jokers. The three `judges’ were behind a high
bench. The court clerk (?) had his recording equipment on a desk, his feet under it.
My guards were behind me.
They kept me there about two hours, I think. All I gave them was `name, rank, and
serial number’ -‘I am Maureen Johnson Long, of Boondock, Tellus Tertius. I am a
distressed traveller, here by misadventure. To all those silly charges: not guilty!
I demand to see a lawyer.’
From time to time, I repeated `Not guilty’ or stood mote.
After about two hours, judged by hunger and bladder pressure, we had an
interruption: Pixel.
I didn’t see him come in. Apparently he had come to my cell as usual, failed to find
me, and went looking – found me.
I heard behind me this `Cheerlup!’ with which he usually announces his arrival; I
turned and he jumped into my arms, started head bumping and purring, while demanding
to know why I wasn’t where I was supposed to be.
I petted him and assured him that he was a fine cat, a good boy, da kine!
The middle ghost behind the bench ordered: `Remove that animal:
One of the guards attempted to comply by grabbing Pixel.
Pixel has absolutely no patience with people who do not observe correct protocol. He
bit the guard in the fleshy pare of his left thumb, and got him here and there with
his claws. The guard tried to drop him; Pixel did not let go.
The other guard tried to help – now two wounded. But not Pixel.
That middle judge used some quite colourful language, got down and carne around,
saying: `Don’t you know how to grab a cat?’ – and proved at once that he did not.
Now three wounded. Pixel hit the deck, running.
I then saw something that had been known to me only through inference, something
that none of my friends and family claimed to have seen. (Correction: Athene has
seen it, but Athene has eyes everywhere. I mean meat-and-bone people.)
Pixel headed straight for a blank wall at emergency full speed – and just as he
seemed to be about to crash headlong into it, a round cat door opened in front of
him, he streaked through it, and it dosed instantly behind him.
After a bit, I was returned to my cell.
In 1912: Brian bought an automobile, a car – somewhere during that decade
`automobile carriage’ changed to- `automobile’, and then to `auto’, and then to
`motor car, or `car’ – the ultimate name for the horseless carriage, as it could not
get any shorter.
Brian bought a Reo. Nelson’s little Reo runabout had proved most durable and
satisfactory; after five years of hard wear it was still a good vehicle. The firm
used it for many things, including dusty drives to Galena and Joplin and other towns
in the white metals area, and records were kept and Nelson was paid mileage and
wear-and-tear.
Page 100
Heinlein, Robert A – To Sail Beyond the Sunset.txt
So when Brian decided to buy a car for his family he bought another Reo, but a
family car, a five-passenger touring car – a beauty and one that I could see was
safe for children, as it had doors and a top – the runabout had neither. Mr R.E.