Jill took a sip, then a bigger one. Whatever the ingredients it seemed to be what she needed; well-being spread from her center toward her extremities. She drank about half, let Harshaw add a dividend. «Look in on our patient?» he asked.
«No, sir. I didn't know where he was.»
«I checked a few minutes ago. Sleeping like a baby — I think I'll rename him Lazarus. Would he like to come down to dinner?»
Jill looked thoughtful. «Doctor, I don't know.»
«Well, if he wakes I'll know it. He can join us, or have a tray. This is Freedom Hall, my dear. Everyone does as he pleases … then if he does something I don't like, I kick him the hell out. Which reminds me: I don't like to be called “Doctor.”»
«Sir?»
«Oh, I'm not offended. But when they began handing out doctorates for comparative folk dancing and advanced flyfish ing, I became too stinkin' proud to use the title. I won't touch watered whiskey and take no pride in watered-down degrees. Call me Jubal.»
«Oh. But the degree in medicine hasn't been watered down.»
«Time they called it something else, so as not to confuse it with playground supervisors. Little girl, what is your interest in this patient?»
«Eh? I told you, Doct — Jubal.»
«You told me what happened; you didn't tell me why. Jill, I saw the way you spoke to him. Are you in love with him?»
Jill gasped. «Why, that's preposterous!»
«Not at all. You're a girl; he's a boy — that's a nice setup.»
«But — No, Jubal, it's not that. I … well, he was a prisoner and I thought — or Ben thought — that he was in danger. We wanted to see him get his rights.»
«Mmm … my dear, I'm suspicious of a disinterested interest. You look as if you had normal glandular balance, so it's my guess that it is either Ben, or this poor boy from Mars. You had better examine your motives, then judge which way you are going. In the meantime, what do you want me to do?»
The scope of the question made it hard to answer. From the time Jill crossed her Rubicon she had thought of nothing but escape. She had no plans. «I don't know.»
«I thought not. On the assumption that you might wish to protect your license, I took the liberty of having a message sent from Montreal to your Chief of Nursing. You asked for leave because of illness in your family. Okay?»
Jill felt sudden relief. She had buried all worry about her own welfare; nevertheless down inside was a heavy lump caused by what she had done to her professional standing. «Oh, Jubal, thank you!» She added, «I'm not delinquent in watch standing yet; today was my day off.»
«Good. What do you want to do?»
«I haven't had time to think. Uh, I should get in touch with my bank and get some money — » She paused, trying to recall her balance. It was never large and sometimes she forgot to —
Jubal cut in. «If you do, you will have cops pouring out of your ears. Hadn't you better stay here until things level off?»
«Uh, Jubal, I wouldn't want to impose on you.»
«You already have. Don't worry, child; there are always freeloaders around here. Nobody imposes on me against my will, so relax. Now our patient: you said you wanted him to get his “rights.” You expected my help?»
«Well … Ben said — Ben seemed to think you would help.»
«Ben does not speak for me. I am not interested in this lad's so-called rights. His claim to Mars is lawyers' hogwash; as a lawyer myself I need not respect it. As for the wealth that is supposed to be his, the situation results from other people's passions and our odd tribal customs; he has earned none of it. He would be lucky if they bilked him of it — but I would not scan a newspaper to find out. If Ben expected me to fight for Smith's “rights” you have come to the wrong house.»
«Oh.» Jill felt forlorn. «I had better arrange to move him.»
«Oh, no! Not unless you wish.»
«But you said — »
«I said I was not interested in legal fictions. But a guest under my roof is another matter. He can stay, if he likes. I just wanted to make clear that I had no intention of meddling with politics to suit romantic notions you or Ben Caxton may have. My dear, I used to think I was serving humanity … and I pleasured in the thought. Then I discovered that humanity does not want to be served; on the contrary it resents any attempt to serve it. So now I do what pleases Jubal Harshaw.» He turned away. «Time for dinner, isn't it, Dorcas? Is anyone doing anything?»
«Miriam.» She put down her needle point and stood up.
«I've never figured out how these girls divide up the work.»
«Boss, how would you know? — you never do any.» Dorcas patted him on the stomach. «But you never miss any meals.»
A gong sounded, they went in to eat. If Miriam had cooked dinner, she had done so with modern shortcuts; she was seated at the foot of the table and looked cool and beautiful. In addition to the secretaries there was a man slightly older than Larry called «Duke» who treated Jill as if she always lived there. Service was by non- android machines, keyed from Miriam's end of the table. The food was excellent and, so far as Jill could tell, none was syntho.
But it did not suit Harshaw. He complained that his knife was dull, the meat was tough; he accused Miriam of serving leftovers. No one seemed to hear him but Jill was becoming embarrassed on Miriam's account when Anne put down her fork. «He mentioned his mother's cooking,» she stated.
«He is beginning to think he is boss again,» agreed Dorcas.
«How long has it been?»
«About ten days.»
«Too long.» Anne gathered Dorcas and Miriam by eye; they stood up. Duke went on eating.
Harshaw said hastily, «Girls, not at meals! Wait until — » They moved toward him; a machine scurried out of the way. Anne took his feet, each of the others an arm; French doors slid aside; they carried him out, squawking.
The squaws ended in a splash.
The women returned, not noticeably mussed. Miriam sat down and turned to Jill. «More salad, Jill?»
Harshaw returned in pajamas and robe instead of evening jacket. A machine had covered his plate as he was dragged away; it now uncovered it, he went on eating. «As I was saying,» he remarked, «a woman who can't cook is a waste of skin. If I don't start having service I'm going to swap you all for a dog and shoot the dog. What's dessert, Miriam?»
«Strawberry shortcake.»
«That's more like it. You are all reprieved till Wednesday.»
After dinner Jill went into the living room intending to view a news stereocast, being anxious to find out if she played a part in it. She could find no receiver, nor anything which could conceal a tank. Thinking about it, she could not recall having seen one. Nor any newspapers, although there were plenty of books and magazines.
No one joined her. She began to wonder what time it was. She had left her watch upstairs, so she looked around for a clock. She failed to find one, then searched her memory and could not remember seeing clock or calendar in any room she had been in. She decided that she might as well go to bed. One wall was filled with books; she found a spool of Kipling's
The bed in her room was as modern as next week, with automassage, coffee dispenser, weather control, reading machine, etc. — but the alarm circuit was missing. Jill decided that she would probably not oversleep, crawled into bed, slid the spool into the reading machine, lay back and scanned the words streaming across the ceiling. Presently the control slipped from relaxed fingers, lights went out, she slept.
Jubal Harshaw did not get to sleep as easily; he was vexed with himself. His interest had cooled and reaction set in. Half a century earlier he had sworn a mighty oath never again to pick up a stray cat — and now, so
