I WILL FEAR NO EVIL by Robert A. Heinlein

“That is correct. I pointed out that you could check on what I told you—officially—by making such a call. You still can.”

“Uh, Miss, I don’t see what you are driving at.”

“I’m sure you can figure it out. Do you wish to retire today? If so, send up Mentone; I want to interview him.”

“Miss, I’ve no wish to retire at all.”

“Really? You gave the impression that you were looking for another job. Perhaps with Mr. Salomon. If so, I do not want to stand in your way. Retirement at full pay is available to you, O’Neil.”

“Miss, I like it here.”

“I’m pleased to hear it. I hope you will stay for many years. O’Neil, have you ever discussed my comings and goings with anyone?”

“Only when you’ve told me to, Miss. In which case I always have your order on tape.”

“Fine. Wipe this tape and I’ll hold while you do so.”

Shortly he said, “Wiped, Miss Smith.”

“Good. Let’s start over. Chief O’Neil, this is Miss Johann Sebastian Bach Smith speaking. I want my car, one driver, and both Shotguns in thirty minutes.”

“They will be ready, Miss Smith.”

“Thank you. I’ll be shopping. Is there anything I can pick up for Mrs. O’Neil?”

“That’s most kind of you, Miss. I don’t think so. Shall I ask her?”

“If you do, it is only necessary to say that my car is going out. If she has a list, I’ll be happy to have Fred or Shorty take care of it. Off.”

(Boss, you scared the pee out of him. Was that nice?)

(Running a feudal enclave in the midst of a nominal democracy isn’t easy, Eunice. When Johann said ‘Frog,’ everybody hopped—my security boss especially. O’Neil has got to know—they’ve all got to know—that Johann is still here . . . and that no one, not even darling Jake, reviews or vetoes what I say. Unless he marries us, in which case I’ll go female and let him decide everything.)

(That’ll be the day!) (I might, dear one. Tell me, did you obey Joe?) (Well. . . I never bucked him. I suppose you could say I obeyed him. Except that I fibbed, or sometimes kept my mouth shut.) (I’d do just about the same. I think a perfect arrangement would be to do exactly what a man tells me to do . . . but wangle it so that he tells me to do what I’ve already decided to do.)

Joan felt, rather than heard, her chuckle. (Boss, that sounds like a recipe for a perfect marriage.)

(I find I like being female. But it’s different. Now what shall we wear?)

Joan settled on a bandeau, a knee skirt, an opaque cloak with hood and yashmak, plus low-heeled sandals, all in subdued colors. She was ready in less than thirty minutes.

(How’s our face, Eunice?) (Okay for – a ‘shopping’ trip. No need to call Winnie; the little baggage probably hasn’t bad much sleep.) (Nor do I want to call her; she might want to come along. Let’s go, sweet—we’re out to break a two-thousand-year record with no help from the Holy Ghost.) (Boss, that’s not a nice way to talk!) (Well, I’ll be frimped! Eunice, I thought you weren’t a Christian? Zen. Or Hinduist. Or some such.)

(I’m not any of those things, Boss. I simply know some useful spiritual disciplines. But it is rude to joke about anything someone else holds holy.) (Even, in my mind? Are you telling me what I must not think? If I could reach you, I’d spank you.) (Oh, you can say anything to me, Boss—just don’t say such things out loud.) (I didn’t and don’t and never have. Quit nagging me.) (Sorry, Boss. Love you.) (Love you, little nag. Let’s go get knocked up.) (Yes!)

She took the front lift to the basement; O’Neil met her and saluted. “Car is ready, Miss—and both drivers and both Shotguns.”

“Why both drivers?”

“Well, Finchley should be on call. But Dabrowski is bucking my authority a touch. Claims he’s senior to Finchley. Do you wish to settle it?”

“Of course not; you must. But perhaps I can smooth some feathers.”