The Dark Design by Phillip Jose Farmer

It seems that, unless this woman bears a remarkable physical resemblance to the genuine Jill Gulbirra, she is not one of the numerous phonies that have plagued this River-valley for far too long a time.

The Office of Vital (some say Deadly) Statistics has furnished us with the following information. Gulbirra, Jill (no middle name). Female. Natal name: Johnetta Georgette Redd. Born February 12, 1953, Toowoomba, Queensland, Australia. Father: John George Redd. Mother: Marie Bronze Redd. Heredity: Scotch-Irish, French (Jewish), Au­stralian aborigine. Unmarried on Earth. Attended schools in Canberra and Melbourne. Graduated 1973 from Mas­sachusetts Institute of Technology, master’s degree in aeronautical engineering. Commercial aviator’s license, four-motor. Free balloonist’s license. Engineer-navigator on West German freighter blimp serving Nigerian govern­ment, 1977-78. Blimp pilot for Goodyear, United States, 1979. Blimp pilot for the Sheik of Kuwait, 1980-81. Blimp instructor for British Airways Systems, 1982. Became in 1983 the only qualified woman airship captain in the West­ern world. Logged 8342 hours airship flight time.

Died April 1, 1983 A.D., automobile accident near How-den, England, just before assuming command of the newly commissioned rigid airship Willows-Goodens.

Profession: obvious from above.

Skills: flute, archery, fencing, kendo, quarterstaff, mar­tial arts, badmouthing.

She is pretty good with her dukes, too, having slammed a distinguished citizen, Cyrano “Schnozzola” deBergeracin the breadbasket, following with a knee to the jaw, rendering him hors de combat and speechless. This phenomenon oc­curred as a result of his having laid hands (without permis­sion) upon her teat. Normally, the fiery Frenchman would have challenged anyone who handled him so savagely to a duel to the death (across the Parolando boundary, of course, since dueling is illegal in our fair state). But he is so old-fashioned that he would feel, as he put it “comme un im­becile,” if he were to fight a woman. Moreover, he feels that he was in the wrong for having made advances without invitation “verbal” or “ocular.”

An hour after suppertime yesterday, your enterprising intrepid appeared at the door of Gulbirra’s hut and knocked. There were some grunts and then a querulous voice called. “What in hell do you want?” Apparently, the would-be interviewee didn’t give a hoot about the identity of her caller.

“Miss Gulbirra, I’m Roger Bligh, reporter for The Daily Leak. I’d like to interview you.”

“Well, you’ll have to wait. I’m on the pot.”

Your journalist lit up a cigar to pass the time. He also planned to use its burning tip later to clear out the fumes in the hut. After some time, during which he heard splashing of water in a basin, he heard, “Come on in. But leave the door open.”

“Gladly,” said your dauntless.

He found the subject seated at a chair by the table and smoking a joint. What with the cigar and maryjane and residue of the subject’s recent occupation and the smoke from several fish wax candles, neither visibility nor olfactor-iness were at an optimum.

“Miss Gulbirra?”

“No. Miz.” “What does the title mean?”

“Are you asking just to get my views or don’t you really know? There are plenty of people of my time around. Sure­ly, you’ve encountered Miz before?”

Your reporter confessed his ignorance.

Instead of enlightening Mr. Bligh, the subject said, “What is the position of women in Parolando?”

“In the daytime or at night?” Mr. Bligh said.

“Don’t get smart with me,” Miz Gulbirra said. “Let me put it simply so your mind can grasp exactly what I’m talking

about. Legally, that is, theoretically, women have equal

rights here. But in practice, in reality, what is the male

attitude toward females?”

“Mainly lecherous, I’m afraid,” the intrepid replied.

“I’ll give you one more chance,” the subject said. “Then it’ll be a question of chance and gravity which strikes the ground first outside the door, your ass or your stinking cigar.”

“My apologies,” the intrepid said. “But, after all, I am here to interview you, not vice versa. Why don’t you ask our female citizens what they think of the male attitude toward them? Anyway, are you here to conduct a suffragette crusade or to build and to man (if I may use the word) the proposed dirigible?”

“Are you making fun of me?”

“The farthest thing from my mind,” the dauntless said hastily. “We are quite modern here, even though the late-twentieth-centurians constitute only a small percentage of the population. The state is dedicated to the construction of the airship. To that goal, strict discipline during working hours is maintained. But a citizen may do what he damn well pleases on his hours off, as long as he doesn’t hurt anybody else. So, let’s get down to business. What is a Miz, not to be confused with amiss?”