The Cat Who Walks Through Walls (45 page)

“I do not! Doesn’t count. Like time spent in Brooklyn.”

“And you tell me that I have been here thirty-seven, thirty-eight, thirty-nine days, more or less. But it is not thirty-nine days to me, Gwen Hazel, as Allah will not subtract from my allotted time those days spent in the Lethe field, so I don’t count them. Hell, I wouldn’t believe in them if it weren’t that I now have two feet—”

“You’re complaining?”

“Oh, no! Except that I now have to cut twice as many toenails—”

“
Blert!
”

“What do you know about it? You don’t have toenails; you have claws. And you scratched me in the night, you did. Yes, you did—don’t look innocent. Monday evening the thirtieth of June—of 2188, it was, though I’m not sure what year it is here—we went to see the Halifax Ballet Theater with Luanna Pauline as Titania.”

“Yes. Isn’t she lovely?”

“Wasn’t she! Past tense, dear. If what I’ve been told is true, her ethereal beauty has been dust for more than two thousand years. Rest in peace. Then we went to Rainbow’s End for a late supper and a total stranger had the bad taste to get himself abruptly dead at our table. Whereupon you raped me.”

“Not at the table!”

“No, in my bachelor’s apartment.”

“And it wasn’t rape.”

“We need not fight over it since you repaired my tarnished reputation before noon the next day. Our wedding day, my true love. Mistress Gwendolyn Novak and Dr. Richard Ames announced their marriage on Tuesday the first of July, 2188. Keep track of that date.”

“I’m not likely to forget it!”

“Me, too. That evening we got out of town fast, with the sheriff’s hounds a-snappin’ and a-yappin’ at our heels. We slept that night in Dry Bones Pressure. Right?”

“Right so far.”

“The next day, Wednesday the second, Gretchen drove us to Lucky Dragon Pressure. We slept that night in Dr. Chan’s place. The following day, Thursday the third. Auntie drove us toward Hong Kong Luna, but not all the way because we encountered those eager agrarian reformers. You drove the rest of the way and we wound up at Xia’s hotel so late at night that it was hardly worthwhile to go to bed. But we did. That puts us into Friday the Fourth of July. Independence Day. Check?”

“Check.”

“We were roused out—
I
was roused out; you were already up—I was roused out too soon late Friday morning…and learned that City Hall did not like me. But you and Auntie sprung me—sprang me?—sprung me…and we left for Luna City so fast I left my toupee hanging in the air.”

“You don’t wear a toupee.”

“Not anymore, I don’t; it’s still hanging there. We arrived L-City circa sixteen hundred that same Friday. You and I had a difference of opinion—”

“Richard!
Please
don’t dig up my past sins.”

“—which was soon cleared up as I saw the error of my ways and craved pardon. We slept that night at the Raffles; it was still Friday the Fourth of July when we went to bed. We had started that day many klicks west of there, with freedom fighters getting gay with guns. Still with me?”

“Yes. Somehow in my memory it feels much longer.”

“A honeymoon is never long enough and we’re having a busy one. The next morning, Saturday the fifth, we retained Ezra, then we went to the Warden’s Complex…came back and were waylaid at the entrance to the Raffles. So we left the Raffles hurriedly, in a cloud of corpses, escaping by courtesy of Gay Deceiver and the Time Corps. Most briefly we were in the land of my innocent youth, Ioway where the tall corn grows. Then we blinked to Tertius. Beloved, at this point my groundhog calendar becomes useless. We left Luna Saturday evening the fifth; we arrived here in Tertius a few minutes later, so for our purposes I designate the Tertian day of our arrival as equivalent to Saturday, five July, 2188, and I so name it. Never mind what Tertian citizens call it; it would only confuse me. Still with me?”

“Well…all right.”

“Thank you. I woke up the next morning—Sunday July sixth—with two feet. For Tertius the lapse of time was, I concede, thirty-seven days. You tell me that for you it was about two years, a most unlikely story—I’d rather believe in unicorns and virgins. For Gretchen it was five or six years, which I am forced to stipulate because she is now eighteen or nineteen and knocked up; I have to believe it. But for me it was just over one night, Saturday to Sunday.

“That ‘Sunday’ night I slept with Xia, Gretchen, Minerva, Galahad, Pixel, and possibly Tom, Dick, and Harry and their sheilas Agnes, Mabel, and Becky.”

“Who are they? The girls, I mean; I know those boys. Too well.”

“You poor, sweet, innocent child; you are too young to know. Surprisingly I slept well. Which brings us to yesterday, designated by strict numbering as Monday July seventh. Last night we spent catching up on our honeymoon…and thank you bolshoyeh, mistress mine.”

“You are welcome, sirrah. But the pleasure was shared. I now see how you arrived at that date. Both by dirtside calendar and your biological clock—the basic clock, as every timejumper knows—today is Tuesday the eighth of July. Happy Anniversary, darling!”

We stopped to swap some spit and Hazel cried and my eyes got watery.

Breakfast was swell. That’s all the description I can give it because Gwen Hazel decided to treat me to Tertian cooking and consulted with Dora under a hushfield, and I et what was sot before me, as the Iowa farmer had carved on his tombstone. And so did Pixel, who had some specials that looked like garbage to me but tasted like ambrosia to him, as proved by his behavior.

We had just finished our second cups of—no, it was not coffee—and were about to slip over to the Long mansion for my “special treat,” i.e., for me to meet my new daughter, Wyoming Long…when Dora spoke up:

“Advisory notice: Time line, date, time, and location. Official. Please prepare to set your timepieces on the tick.” Hazel looked surprised, hurriedly grabbed her handbag, dug into it, pulled out a something I had not seen before. Call it a chronometer. “We are in a stationary orbit around Tellus, Sol in, in time line three, coded ‘Neil Armstrong.’ The date is Tuesday the first of July—”

“My God! We’re back where we started! Our wedding day!”

“Quiet, dear! Please!”

“—Gregorian. Repeat: Time line three, Sol ID, July first, 2177 Gregorian. At the tick it will be zone five, oh nine forty-five.
Tick!
Those equipped to receive sonic close correction, wait for the tone—”

It started with a low note and squealed on up until it hurt my ears. Dora added: “Another time tick and sonic correction will be offered in five minutes, ship’s time or Tellus zone five time, which are now matched for local legal time designated ‘daylight time’ for interception point on this time line. Hazel hon, private to you.”

“Yes, Dora?”

“Here are Richard’s shoes—” (Plunk, they hit the bed. Out of nowhere.) “—and his other two suits—” (Plop.) “—and I packaged the small clothes and stockings with them. Shall I add a couple of jumpsuits? I took Richard’s measurements while you slept. These aren’t washables; these are Hercules cloth, won’t take dirt, can’t wear out.”

“Yes, Dora, and thank you, dear. That’s thoughtful of you. I hadn’t yet bought him anything but city clothes.”

“I noticed.” (Plop—another package.) Dora went on, “We’ve been loading and unloading all night. The last of the stragglers left at oh nine hundred but I told Captain Laz about your anniversary breakfast, so she refused to let Lazarus disturb you. Message from Lazarus: If it suits your convenience, will both of you kindly get off your dead duffs and report to THQ. End of message. Transmission from the bridge, live”:

“Hazel? Captain Laz speaking. Can you two leave the ship by ten hundred? I told my hard-nosed brother that ten was the departure time he could expect.”

Hazel sighed. “Yes. We’ll leave for the car pocket at once.”

“Good. Felicitations to both of you from me and Lor and Dora. Many happy returns of the day! It has been a pleasure to have you aboard.”

We were at the car pocket with two minutes to spare, me loaded with packages and cat, and getting used to new shoes—well, one old, one new. I learned that the “car pocket” referred to our old friend Gay Deceiver; the end of a short passage led right into her starboard door. Again I missed seeing those spacewarp bathrooms; Hazel’s grandsons piloted us, and we were told to take the back seats. Pol got out to let us get in. “Hi, Grandma! Good morning, sir.”

I said good morning and Hazel kissed both her grandsons in passing, no seconds lost, and we settled down and strapped in. Cas called out, “Report seat belts.”

“Passengers’ seat belts fastened,” Hazel reported.

“Bridge! Ready for launch.”

Laz answered, “Launch at will.”

Instantly we were out in the sky and weightless. Pixel started to struggle; I caged him with both hands. I think it was weightlessness that startled him…but how could he tell? He didn’t weigh anything to start with.

Earth was off to starboard, apparently full, although one can’t tell that close up. We were opposite the middle of North America, which told me that Laz was a more than competent pilot; had we been in the usual twenty-four-hour orbit, concentric with Earth’s equator, we would have been over the equator at ninety west, i.e., over the Galapagos Islands. I guessed that she had selected an orbit tilted at about forty degrees and timed for ten hundred ship’s time—and made a mental note to check it later, if and when I ever got a look at the ship’s log.

(A pilot can’t help second-guessing every other pilot; it’s an occupational disease. Sorry.)

Then we were suddenly in atmosphere, down thirty-six-thousand klicks in a tick. Gay spread her wings, Cas tilted her nose down, then leveled off, and we again had weight, at one gee—and Pixel liked this change still less. Hazel reached over and took Pixel, soothed him; he quieted down—I think he felt safer with her.

With her wings raked in for hypersonic, the only way I had seen her. Gay is mostly a lifting body. With her wings spread, she has lots of lift area and she glides beautifully. We were a thousand meters up, give or take, and over farm country on a fine summer day—clear, save for anvil cumuli here and there on the horizon. Glorious! A day to feel young again—

Cas said, “I hope that translation did not bother you. Had I left it up to Gay, she would have put us on the ground in one jump; she’s nervous about anti-aircraft fire.”

“I am
not
nervous. I’m rationally careful.”

“Right you are. Gay. She does have reason to be careful. The Pilots’ Precautionary Notice for this planet on this time line at this year states that one must assume AA weapons around all cities and larger towns. So Gay blinks down below the AA radar—”

“You hope,” said the car.

“—so that we will show up simply as a subsonic private plane on air-control radar, if there is any. None, that is, where we are.”

“Optimist,” the car sneered.

“Quit hitching. Have you spotted your squat?”

“Long since. If you’ll quit yacking and give me permission, I’ll take it.”

“At will. Gay.”

I said, “Hazel, I had counted on getting acquainted with my new daughter about now. Wyoming.”

“Don’t fret, dear; she will never know we were away. That’s the way to handle it until a child is old enough to understand.”

“She won’t know, but I will. I’m disappointed. All right, let’s table it.”

The scene blinked again and we were on the ground. Cas said, “Please check to see that you aren’t leaving anything behind.” As we got out and stood clear. Gay Deceiver disappeared. I stared through the space she had occupied. My Uncle Jock’s house was two hundred meters away.

“Hazel, what date did Dora say this is?”

“Tuesday July first, 2177.”

“That’s what I thought I had heard. But when I thought it over I decided that I must have been mistaken. I now see that she wasn’t fooling: ’77. Eleven years in the past. Sweetheart, that ratty old barn there is standing where we landed last Saturday, three days ago. You wheeled me from there toward the house in Ezra’s wheelchair. Hon, that barn we’re looking at was torn down years back; that’s just its ghost. This is bad.”

“Don’t fret about it, Richard. In time-jumping it feels that way, the first time you get involved with a loop.”

“I’ve already lived through 2177! I don’t like paradoxes.”

“Richard, treat it just as you would any other place, any other time. No one else will notice the paradox, so ignore it yourself. The chance of being recognized when you are living paradoxically is zero for any era outside your own normal lifetime…but usually only one in a million even if you time-jump close to home. You left this area quite young, did you not?”

“I was seventeen: 2150.”

“So forget it. You can’t be recognized.”

“Uncle Jock will know me. I’ve been back to see him a number of times. Although not recently. Unless you count our quick visit three days ago.”

“He won’t remember our visit three days ago—”

“He won’t, huh? Sure, he’s a hundred and sixteen years old. Or will be eleven years from now. But he’s not senile.”

“You’re right; he’s certainly not senile. And Uncle Jock is used to time loops. As you have guessed by now, he’s in the Corps and quite senior. In fact he’s the major stationkeeper for North America in time line three. Last night’s evacuation of THQ was made to this station. Didn’t you realize that?”

“Hazel, I didn’t even touch second. Twenty minutes ago I was sitting in our stateroom—Dora was parked on the ground on Tertius, so I thought—and I was trying to decide whether to have another cup, or to take you back to bed. Since then I’ve been running as fast as I can to try to catch up with my own confusion. Unsuccessfully. I’m just an old soldier and harmless hack writer; I’m not used to such adventures. Well, let’s go. I want you to meet my Aunt Cissy.”

Gay had put us down across the road from Uncle Jock’s place. We walked down the road a piece, me carrying packages and swinging my cane. Hazel with her handbag and carrying the kitten. Some years back Uncle Jock had placed a much stouter fence around his farm than was usual in Iowa in those days. It was not yet built when I left home and enlisted in 2150; it was in place by the time I visited in…2161? That’s about right.