Reversion

a Novel by Varkel

Spring, 2002

Chapter 15: A Powerful Enemy

“Rosalind didn’t come home last night.”

I looked up in surprise from the morning paper. Alice stood begowned in the kitchen door with a worried frown. She added, “Did she say anything to you about where she was going?”

I nodded. “At supper. You were there. She was going to fetch something from the drugstore. I gathered it was a feminine product.”

Alice sniffed. “I heard you. ‘Is it cool enough for a coat, Tex?’ You men really do jump to your own conclusions, don’t you!”

“It was something else?”

“You idiot! She wanted to tell her assistant English professor good-bye in privacy.”

“Well, then, you know where she is.”

“Will you quit that? I mean, she wanted to tell him on the telephone in the drugstore.”

I studied her, standing arms-akimbo just inside the doorway, and took a breath. “I’m sorry, Alice. I can see you’re actually worried. Why is that? You know Rosalind. She’ll turn up in a few hours with a humdinger of a story.”

“You think so?”

Clara appeared behind Alice. Her eyes locked with mine. “She might not, Tim. She thinks she’s been abducted.”

“Wh-what?”

Clara pushed past Alice into the kitchen. In each hand she bore a binocular viewer that she laid on the table. Gesturing for Alice to join us, she said, “I have a report.”

When Alice and I had applied the internal controls that shaped our bodies to match our desires, we had considered installing the radio transceivers that would permit near-telepathic communication among the three of us, in addition to collecting directly the reports of Clara’s adapted animals. The advantages would be immense, with only one real disadvantage ― but that was a doozer. The transceiver would require cellular transformations in the forehead to render skin and skull transparent at the radio frequencies employed, along with a growth of metallic fibers behind that “window” to serve as antennas. Both adaptations would be only too visible to the milliroentgen X-Ray beams used in doctor’s offices and airport scanners after the Seventies. We could just imagine the excitement we might cause at an airport check-in: “You have a plate in your skull where?” ― not to speak of a CAT scan.

So we had declined, I think to Clara’s grave disappointment, which among other things meant we must continue to use the viewers. Perhaps we would change our minds. I was tinkering with a way to dissolve the transmitter quickly. In the meantime …

Clara explained, “I think she dropped her purse during a scuffle. One of the ladybugs escaped and signaled for pickup, but it was after dark. Our sparrows were all at roost.” She sighed. “I haven’t yet tried to capture a swift, though I think there’s a family in the front chimney of this very house. I’m sorry, Tim.”

“Swifts fly at night?” I asked.

“Night and day, but they are very secretive birds. I may have to adapt a falcon to catch a swift.”

“But you said you have a report.”

“Yes. I skimmed it. The ladybug followed Rosalind indoors but escaped when someone left the door open shortly after dawn. The sparrow responded and fetched it here just a few minutes ago. I think she’s on a ship, Tim.”

“A ship? Really?”

“That’s what it looks like. Rows of masts tied up at docks.”

“Well, great! Where’s the ship?”

She sighed again. “That I can’t say. I am really learning the limitations of my animals this morning. I have no recorder in the birds. I can’t tell you what it saw nor the direction it flew.”

I stared at her. Presumably she always expected to know where the bugs did their spying, as she had known at the FBI office.

She hung her head. “I’m so sorry, Tim!”

I hugged her against me. “Even to know she’s on a boat is a big advantage. It’s probably on the north side. Let me see if I can deduce anything.”

I took up one of the viewers and its earpiece as she handed the second to Alice. Early morning sunlight streamed into a side window toward which I turned the binoculars.

I found myself looking into darkness interspersed with bright points of light. A huge body intercepted one. I recognized a dim hand clutching for me. Suddenly I was free and rising above a scuffle, above oaths and feminine imprecations. My wings were beating hard and fast, straining my back until I found the button that turned off tactile sensations.

Bodies were milling before me. Suddenly they fell into recognition. A gruff brute roughly hustled Rosalind through a door into a brightly lit room. From the curved walls and short drapes ― and Clara’s guess ― I assumed it was the large main cabin of a yatch. I sailed in behind them, turned and lit upon one of the drapes. Rosalind had stumbled but a man who stood conveniently nearby caught her before she quite fell to the deck.

“Careful, Bertie!” he snapped, helping her regain balance. “Miss Cannell is precious cargo.”

“Harrison!” Rosalind exclaimed, looking up at him. Her fearful expression was immediately replaced by one of anger and outrage. “You’ve kidnapped me! Why, you …” Words apparently failed her.

She glared at Cleaver, whose visage of smug aplomb I recognized only too well. He smiled broadly, brushing her shoulder lightly as though she had indeed fallen and required tidying.

“That will be all, Bertie,” he said to the brute, who departed, closing the cabin door. Cleaver regained his smile as he turned back to the girl. “Kidnapped? Rosalind, are you kidding? There must be some misunderstanding. Didn’t my secretary inform you that Bertie would pick you up?”

“He grabbed me off the street, Harrison! What’s this all about?”

“Oh, I am sorry, Ros. It’s so hard to find decent help. I’ll have words with the man. I’ve asked you here,” he cleared his throat, “to boast about my new toy.” He waved his arm widely. “And I thought we might share a bottle of Chablis in celebration. It’s from California, the Napa Valley, where they are growing wine that rivals the best French stuff.”

She sniffed and continued to eye him suspiciously.

“I missed you last week at your Uncle Manfred’s funeral,” he announced. “Manny was a dear old friend of mine, you know. We did business together at times. Your mother was there, of course. I’ve known her for years as well, though not so sweetly as you.”

He grazed her left breast with the back of his hand and smile grandly. “How many times have we delighted each other? At least two, isn’t it, not even speaking of that splendid encounter at my annual party.”

“Ah, yes. That party.” Her frown was fading. “I do recall your visit to me then ― to renew our acquaintance, you said.”

“Rosalind! Please! We’re much more than mere acquaintances. It’s unfortunate I seem always to be sharing your favors with others. I truly want to spend more time just you with me.” He chuckled deprecatingly. “As for the party, are you sure you can recall anything that happened? I swear I did not take advantage of you on that occasion, however attractively you were splayed on the bed. You were passed out, dear girl, and in no condition to respond as I prefer.”

“So! You’ve dragged me here for a more leisurely bout of sex and fun.” She smiled despite the irate words.

“Not exactly, sweet one, although I’m game, if you are.” He palmed her cheek. “No. Your mother complained to me that you’ve abandoned your apartment and moved in with Tim and his family. I thought I might inquire about that. I’m actually very curious about the boy.”

She pulled at his tie, loosening it. “I’ll have some of that wine you promised. He’s scarcely a boy any longer, you know.”

Cleaver took a couple of steps backwards to reach a silvery ice bucket. Without moving eyes from her he retrieved a bottle clouded with condensation.

“I’ve heard that!” he exclaimed, rummaging in a drawer for a corkscrew. “It’s amazing how he has grown. His sister too, they say. Like the surprising development of your breasts, only more so. Your mother commented on that, by the way. She has no explanation. She’s as flabbergasted as I.”

“The growth is rather obvious, isn’t it?” Rosalind smirked, plumping them with both hands.

“It certainly is! How do you explain it?”

She grinned slyly. “Perhaps there’s something wrong with the plumbing in my old neighborhood.”

“Plumbing!” Cleaver exclaimed, handing her a glass of wine. “It’s something beyond magic, young lady. Don’t you have any idea at all?”

“Tim suggested it was because of all the male attention they’ve gotten this year.”

Cleaver’s eyes narrowed. “He said what?” Then he laughed. “He’s pulling your leg ― or perhaps your nipple. At best he has the cart before the horse. But he, or his family, are at the root of it, aren’t they?”

She straightened. “They’re my friends, Harrison. They’ve invited me to live with them, to join their family. And I like my new boobs. I always had such small ones! The men say they like small ones, but they’re a lot more attentive now!”

“I’m sure. But do you know how it was done?”

She shook her head. “I never asked, Harrison. What’s that western saying about a gift horse? I’ll tell you this. They haven’t said. So it must be a secret, like sex to a kid. And I’m a member of that family now. You can’t expect me to blab their secrets.”

He laughed. “You’re just like your mother, Ros. The only secrets you know were written in Latin two thousand years ago. Admit it. You know nothing about science, so how could you be in possession of any specific information?”

His observation, which was the truth, irked her as he had intended.

“Oh, yeah?” she interposed dourly. “How would you classify time travel? Is it magic or science?”

“Time travel!” Cleaver’s eyes expanded, then narrowed scornfully. “That’s the stuff of fantasy books, young lady. You know it’s not possible. Just think about it for only a moment.”

She shrugged. “I don’t see why it’s so impossible. We’re traveling forward in time even as we speak.”

“Why do you bring it up?” he asked, eyes glittering.

Rosalind sipped her wine. “No, you must be right about that. I have a feeling the three of them are always playing jokes on me, even when they appear to be serious. They’re weird, but I love them. Can you imagine keeping monkeys and bugs as pets?”

“Monkeys, yes. But bugs?”

“They’ve got them trained.”

“Trained? How?”

She wagged her head slightly as if becoming confused. Cleaver appeared to be matching her sip for sip, but I noticed that the level of liquid in his own goblet was hardly lower. Rosalind said, “The monkeys are like servants who don’t know their place.” She giggled. “I discovered them when one of them licked me. As for the bugs, they swarm on your body, a huge number of them, and suck your skin clean. They’re scary but fun. I always used to hate bugs.”

“Yes, yes. Nasty things.” Cleaver, sipping again, peered at Rosalind over the rim of the glass. He shook his head as if abandoning that line of inquiry. “Getting back to the party: those were federal officials who burst in so rudely to spirit you and Tim’s family away to Washington. What was that all about?”

“I was just along for the ride,” she explained, holding out her glass for a refill. “They went to meet President Truman.”

“Truman! What on earth for?” He poured more wine.

“Harrison, I’m uncertain about what to believe, and I don’t understand a fraction of what they tell me. All I know about the trip to Washington is that they had some information the government wanted, something to do with the mess in Korea, which I first heard about that very morning.”

He grunted. “Along with the rest of the world. What could Tim contribute nationally about Korea?”

She hesitated. “I think Tim knows a lot about the future, Harrison. And so does Truman.”

His eyes flashed. “Knows … or guesses?”

She shrugged. “He argued with the president. He wanted to use Japanese soldiers.”

“Tim?”

“No, the president. Tim talked him out of it.”

“You mean, Truman wanted to send Japs to fight in Korea?”

She nodded. “That’s what I remember.” She chuckled. “And something else. Tim knew about the general getting promoted before he did.”

“What general?”

“It was in the papers yesterday. He’s going to get a fifth star.”

Cleaver shrugged. “Anybody with a line into congress would know that. But why would an obscure Chicago family have such a line? Unless, of course, they’re very special people.”

“They’re special to me. But I know what you mean. They’re important somehow. They’ve been to Washington before and there are federal cops always lurking about protecting them.”

“Federal cops?” Cleaver glanced around the cabin with a look of consternation. He had a point. I wondered if the FBI was watching out for Ros yet.

But the girl continued, “If it weren’t for that and for Tim and Alice growing into adulthood over a period of weeks, I would dismiss them as lovable eccentrics who’re nuts about alternate universes and space travel.”

“Space travel!” Cleaver grabbed her arm so firmly that Rosalind sloshed her drink. “You mean rockets and that sort of thing?”

Rosalind sought to pull her arm free. “Please, Harrison! You’re hurting me!”

“Oh! I’m terribly sorry, dear girl.” He released her. “Knowledge about rockets would make sense of this, you know. With rockets and atom bombs the United States could rule the entire world.”

Rosalind rubbed her arm and pouted at the man. “I don’t think I’m supposed to talk about these things, Harrison, even though I don’t understand them.”

He lifted her arm for a generous kiss on the soft inner part just below the elbow. “You understand much more than you realize, darling. But I won’t press you to reveal confidences. I actually invited you here to show you my new yacht.”

“You abducted me,” she said with a smile.

He dismissed the complaint with a wave of his arm. “I have a splendid idea,” he said. “Let’s sail to my cottage on Beaver Island. It’s about 300 miles up the lake. We could be there in two days or so, and I’m certain you’d love the voyage.”

“That sounds like fun, Harrison. It really does, but such a trip would last at least a week, and I can’t stay away that long. I want to be around to help Tim set up his factory. He’s letting me write the recruiting blurb.”

Cleaver sought to refill her glass, but the bottle was near empty. He reached into a cupboard to retrieve a fifth of Scotch.

“Factory? Is Tim going into business?” he asked as he poured.

Rosalind waved her glass back and forth, sloshing some whiskey onto her wrist. “That’s more secret stuff, Harrison,” she slurred. “It’s all about space ships. And some new kind of space drive. You said you’d not press me about these matters.”

“A new space drive? You mean it’s not a rocket?”

“I don’t know how it works, Harry.” She grinned loosely. “Rockets are so masculine ― spewing at everything in sight!” She took another swallow and added, “Tim said his spaceship will be to the veetoo as the veetoo was to a child’s toy. What’s a veetoo?”

“You’re pulling my leg,” he asserted. “Did he say how it works?”

“He might have, but I don’t remember. Does it make any difference to us?”

“Perhaps not, darling,” he responded, filling her glass again. “It’s just that space ships might become important in coming years and I’d like to get in on the ground floor. Perhaps I could offer Tim some funding.”

She got to her feet but swayed dangerously. “I’m drinking too much. Where’s your powder room? And let’s not talk about Tim’s secrets. I don’t know anything valuable in any case.”

“As you wish, sweetheart. And I’d rather you not get drunk.” He took the glass from her hand. “We could truly enjoy ourselves tonight, if you remain somewhat alert.”

She gazed at him with a crooked smile as he began to unbutton her blouse. “I know what you want,” she remarked with approval. “But let’s not talk about Tim anymore.”

“But, darling, you must at least tell me how he is as an adult lover. Did you know I sucked on him at the party when he was still a pretty boy?”

“I doubt you want to know the truth of it, Harrison, because the news could give you an inferiority complex. I’ll just say he’s grown dramatically, in all directions, although he’s still pretty. Sucking him now is a real challenge, I can tell you.”

Cleaver grunted an amused laugh. “I don’t know what to say, Ros, except I’m jealous. I suppose he satisfies you.”

“Satisfy me! Harrison, the guy leaves me limp every time.”

He unclasped her bra and pulled it off to free large, firm breasts. “Magnificent!” he exclaimed, palming both. “They’re just the right size for a tall girl like you.”

“Oh, dear!” she cried in a stagy voice. “I’m a prisoner and at your mercy!”

Cleaver’s nostrils flared. “I know that game, Ros. It can get rough.”

She stepped back to assay him. “It’s either that, Harrison, or I can service you like a whore. I’ll enjoy the sex either way, although it won’t be, you know, special.”

“He’s that good, is he?” Cleaver began to undo his clothes. “I have no illusions, sweet one. I won’t attempt to match Tim’s prowess. I’m not comfortable with rape, however, despite your playful willingness, so let’s go to bed for some mutual pleasure.” He paused. “I hope I can excite you. Please don’t fake it.”

She embraced him lightly. “I’m very orgasmic,” she whispered into his ear, “and I remember your tongue. It’s as talented as an old woman’s.”

They entered a passageway at the rear of the cabin. Cleaver showed her into a stateroom on the right, leaving the door open. I heard him say, “Use the lavatory through there, but look at this, will you? You probably don’t recognize the electronics. Those machines are wire recorders. You’ve heard of them? And that, my dear, is a 20 inch television receiver, one of the largest made.”

I heard nothing further. Impatiently I skipped ahead and saw motion. Rosalind, still dressed, appeared in the passageway. Cleaver, naked except for his socks, steered her by the elbow. “Let’s use this other stateroom, where you can snooze as late as you wish.”

They passed out of sight to the left.

Again I skipped ahead. Did the bug have sense enough to move its perch? To my surprise, it did. It entered the passageway and swung to the left through the open door, taking a position on the wall, I presumed.

Cleaver knelt beside the bunk in the small sleeping cabin, bent over the nude girl, mouth nuzzling her hip and belly, hands on thighs and breasts.

“Have you found everything in order, Harrison?” she asked fretfully. “I’m getting impatient.”

“Let me part these legs so I can get at you, dear girl. I have a reputation to defend.”

She opened them eagerly and his head moved directly between them. She sighed in contentment and began to play with her breasts, pinching the nipples. Soon, she squirmed her lower body and her sighs progressed to light moans.

“Don’t tease me!” she cried when he paused and raised his head.

He resumed the task with determination. She became increasingly agitated. “Yes! Yes!” she exclaimed then yelled inarticulately. Her body went rigid and her thighs closed on the man’s head. She relaxed after less than a minute.

“Thank you, Harrison,” she said with eyes closed. “Your reputation is intact.”

“You’re welcome, my dear. I have always treasured that flavor. Would you mind lying on your stomach for my turn?”

“Harrison! You want something nasty?”

“If you don’t mind, dearest. I’ll be very gentle.”

Without reply she rolled over. He stroked her fresh, plump buttocks and fondled the soft thighs below them.

“My, my, Rosalind, you are indeed a splendid piece of ass!”

She giggled. “I’ll get Tim to make me a pussy between my boobs.”

“Can he do that?”

“He can do anything!”

Cleaver rose to his feet. “Just a moment, sweet one. I’ll get you a relaxing drink.”

He returned in seconds and offered her a glass containing a clear liquid. She raised up on an elbow and sniffed it.

“Gin,” she announced. “But something else as well. Harrison! I believe you intend to drug me.”

“Just something to loosen you up, my dear.”

“My tongue or my sphincter? It won’t do you any good, though, because I don’t know anything of value, as you mentioned earlier.”

“Swallow it. You’ll feel better.”

She glanced askance at his rigid organ. “I know you like lively women, Harry. Okay, I’ll drink it.”

She downed the potion and laid her head on the pillow. He quickly lubricated himself with salve from a tube. After parting her long legs, he climbed between them and lowered his body to hers. She uttered a grunt when he penetrated her, but otherwise remained silent and still as he sought his pleasure in languid strokes. After a couple of minutes he suddenly plumbed her with two rapid, long thrusts then lay heavily upon her briefly, quivering and whining as if in pain.

“You’re squishing me,” Rosalind protested in a weary, slurred voice.

He dismounted to kneel again at the side of the bunk. “Now let’s talk about that factory,” he said into her ear.

“It’s for space ships,” she mumbled. “They want to go to the moon.”

“When?”

“I don’t know, ’cept it’ll take a few years. We have losh to do. Tim nee’sh losha people, special people.” Her voice began to fade. “I get to help pick ’em.”

“Where will he build it?”

Her eyes, which had drifted closed, flickered open. “He neesh ― needs somewhere without radar. Ish that the right word? Maybe you can help … find …” Her head sagged.

Despite repeated efforts Cleaver was unable to elicit any further information. He finally gave up in disgust and left the cabin. I needed a long skip in the report to observe anything but the random limb movements of a sleeping and probably drugged Rosalind.

Finally the light brightened. Cleaver was looking in. My viewpoint moved towards him, passed over his shoulder and entered the cabin. It’s main door stood open, admitting the reddish light of dawn. I sailed through the door and rose into the air with a glimpse of large boats lined up in rows. In short order a small bird zoomed toward me and everything went black.

I set the viewer on the table and looked up as Alice did the same with hers. “What do you think?” I asked.

“At least she got laid.”

When I only sniffed, she added, “If it’s a boat, it’s a big one.”

“Cleaver called it his yacht. He can afford a large one.”

“But where is it?”

I shook my head. “I don’t know. But I suspect Cleaver wants to talk to me.” I stood up. “Think I’ll go for a walk.”

* * *

“You can’t be Tim!”

I turned in startlement at the feminine call. A limousine had stopped at the curb beside me with passenger window open. The face behind it was beautiful, well made-up, smiling with a wrinkle of puzzlement ― and only too familiar.

“But you can be Mona.”

She blinked. “Now how would Tim’s older brother know me on sight?” She sniffed. “I didn’t think Tim had an older brother, and you’re too pretty to be his father.”

“Boys grow up, Mona.”

“In a couple of months?”

I smiled. “Teenagers can change quickly sometimes.”

“Yes, in all directions, I’ll bet.” She leered at my groin ostentatiously, then pushed open the door. “Get in. I want to find out.”

“You want to take me for a ride, eh?”

“If you’re running an errand, I’ll be happy to give you a lift.”

“That’s nice. Is it just coincidence that brings you in front of Rosalind’s old apartment?”

She grinned. “Well, no, as a matter of fact, I was looking for you. Your housekeeper said you had come this way.”

“My housekeeper?”

“Perhaps another member of your harem, then. You can do better than she. Come on, big boy. I know you had fun before. Think how it can be now!”

Hand on the top of the open door, I bent down, stared into her eyes and said in low but firm tones, “All right, but I want you to take me to Cleaver.”

She lost her smile. “I thought you were on an errand.”

“It’s the same errand. Move over.” I put a foot in the car, dropped my hip beside hers and simply slid her buttocks across the wide velvet seat, closing the door behind me.

Her eyes had widened. “You … you shoved me!”

She was alone in the large passenger compartment. I pointed to the speaking tube. “Tell the driver to get going.”

“Okay!” she snarled, but her hand squeezed my thigh and she breathed admiringly, “Good heavens, Tim, that’s hard muscle!”

“Tell him.”

She pulled the funnel to her mouth and said, “Home, James.” Immediately the long car slid forward.

I returned her grin. “Is that the chauffeur’s name?”

She shrugged. “To me they’re all James. Where do you want me to drop you?”

“I told you. I want to see Cleaver.”

“That’s good. He wants to see you too.”

“He ordered you to fetch me, didn’t he?”

“Oh, I was easy. I wanted to see you again, especially after all the changes I heard about. Will you force me to drag it out myself?”

I chuckled grimly. “The referent of your it is not hard to guess. I’m sorry, Mona, but today I’m in no mood for hanky-panky.”

“I can put you in the mood.”

“Not in time to be of any use to you. It can’t be that far to Cleaver’s yacht.”

She had reached across me and pulled down the window shade on the passenger window. She froze at my words, her face in front of mine. “How’d you know about the yacht? He only bought it last month.”

“I know. I also know that’s where he’s holding Rosalind.”

“Holding?” She smiled. “Only for this.” Her hands caught me behind the head and pulled our faces together in a kiss. I allowed her tongue to probe but failed to follow it on withdrawal.

She backed away slowly, studying my eyes. “Though you don’t know exactly where it is. How interesting!”

“I’ll know when we get there.”

She chuckled slightly, but her expression showed no humor. “How is it I get the impression the worst thing I could do is take you to Cleaver?”

She reached for the speaking tube. I snatched it and held it away from her.

Her eyes grew wide. “Timmy, you’ve changed!”

I grinned. “I thought you’d already noticed.”

“You’re so much more forceful!”

While she watched my face, her hands went to the zipper of my fly. Mona was one of the most beautiful women I have ever seen, whose perfectly proportioned body remained the choice memory from Cleaver’s orgy in June. But impatience was my principle reaction to her pressure in my groin. I shook my head and brushed her hands away. “Not now, Mona.”

Her eyes flashed in protest. “You must know I’m curious!”

“So am I. Tell me about Cleaver.”

Her hands fell dispiritedly into her lap. She took a deep breath. “Cleaver is like an old sock.”

“Your employer?”

“Employer?” She grunted. “My keeper.”

“That’s what they call the attendants at a zoo.”

She chuckled. “It’s a zoo, all right. Except he doesn’t clean out the cages … the gilded cages.”

“How rich is he?”

“Oh, he’s up there, though maybe not with Rockefeller and Ford. He packed most of the military K- and C-rations in the war.”

“Then he deserves some credit.”

“Credit? I think he made a few hundred million for his efforts ― despite our confiscatory taxes.”

“Did he cheat?”

“Of course he cheated! How else can you keep anything with a 96 per-cent tax rate?”

“That’s why they invented tax shelters. He seems to be interested in my family for a lot more than sex. Do you know anything about that?”

She laughed sarcastically. “You’re asking the wrong person.”

“Well, I’ll ask Cleaver himself in a few minutes, but I’d like to hear your slant.”

“My slant is sex, Timmy: the stiff tongue or cock. Cleaver has a lot of interesting men around him.”

“No doubt. But what’s your future in 20 years?”

“Huh! Ten years is too long. I don’t think about the future, Timmy, beyond the next cock. It’s scary.”

“You ought to get ready for it. Make him buy you an annuity.”

Her pretty face grew solemn. She sighed. “I know what I am, Timmy: Cleaver’s voluntary slave. He takes care of what I need or want and in return I do what he tells me, which is mainly fucking when and whom as ordered. I’m in no position to make him do anything. Hey! What would I have to do to become your slave ― with an annuity?”

“I’m not a keeper, Mona. Where exactly is Rosalind this morning?”

“The last I heard of her, she was asleep in one of the staterooms.” Her hand moved back to my groin and fondled the contents. “Wouldn’t you like to have a slave who’d fuck anyone you named?”

I caught her arm and gently removed the hand to her own lap. “No, I would not,” I answered emphatically. “Treating a person as if she were just a piece of meat is not my style.”

“Really?” Her tone expressed surprise. “But that’s all women are.”

I studied her. She wasn’t kidding. “Mona, why did you buy into such vicious nonsense?”

“Buy into? What do you mean?”

Damned anachronisms! “You are a beautiful, bright woman, Mona, yet you seem to be caught like a fish on a hook. You don’t need him, you know. You’re wasting your life.”

“I’m what?”

“You could move away, go to school, make of yourself anything you wanted.”

She stared at me. Her lip curled. “Is it the Reverend Tim these days? Where the hell would I get the money to go to school?”

“Lots of places. From me, for example.”

She blinked at me. Suddenly she smiled saucily. “I’ve already offered to be your slave. If you ordered me to go to school, guess I’d have to go. To what school would you send me, Tim?”

An interesting question. “How about art or design?” I mused. “I can see you have good taste. Bright people usually have talent.”

“Hmm. I used to draw. Maybe I’d like that, if the school were coed.”

“That’s true of most art schools.”

“Maybe. Are you rich too, Tim?”

“Me? I don’t have a penny to my name.”

“But you have a PhD in physics. That’s a kind of wealth.”

“Potentially you’re right. The truth is, Mona, I’m as rich as I wish to be just now. Money is not the object. That’s the problem with most rich men, I think. They confuse means with ends.”

“What is the object, Tim?”

“Freedom.”

“Freedom to starve?”

“You’re right. Freedom is only a necessary condition, for which money is the grease.”

“The grease to what?”

“To whatever goals you set for yourself.”

“Really? Just now my goal is to suck your cock again. Do I have enough freedom for that?”

I had raised the window shade. I said dryly, “Give me a rain check. This looks like it might be Cleaver’s slip.”

Indeed the car had proceeded cautiously down onto a board dock to which a large yawl was tied up. As we passed the stern I saw the name: GerryMand Two. It was Cleaver’s, all right.

I followed Mona out of the car. The vessel, long enough in my opinion to qualify as a ship, was tied against the dock’s cork bumpers. A short gangway had been laid down to the rail. A man in work clothes sat in the forward well deck. He seemed to be splicing some lines. He looked up at us, gave me a hard stare but dropped his eyes when they lit upon Mona. I paused to study the vessel. The hemp halyards were secured to simple cleats. They were not the glittery nylon lines attached to power extenders that I recalled in the Nineties ― of course, but meaning that under sail this ship would require a sizeable crew. I wondered how much of it was aboard.

“Come on,” said the woman, stepping lightly across the gangway. “I’ll take you to him.”

Not for nothing did the limousine possess a long whip antenna. Cleaver stood in the aft cabin doorway looking up at us, shirtless under a satin smoking jacket and white slacks. He smiled widely, exhibiting white teeth in a closely shaven, tanned face. “Welcome aboard!” he called.

Mona’s feet twinkled girlishly down the companionway steps to the after well deck as if she had been raised on yachts. Perhaps she had. I had spent time on them in my fifties. Grasping the rails loosely, I descended in one leap, thumping onto the deck behind her and straightening to tower over her.

And over Cleaver. He stared up at me open-mouthed. “My god, they told me ― Can you truly be Timothy Kimball?”

“In the flesh,” I said dryly. Mona slid out from between us with a slight smile.

“What about it?” He demanded of her.

She smiled. “He claims all Tim’s molecules are still there.”

“And a lot more!” He shook his head. “How could this possibly happen to you, Tim, in less than three months?”

“I’ve had a huge appetite,” I admitted. “Where is Rosalind?”

He glanced at his diamond-studded wristwatch. “Still doing her beauty sleep, I imagine. It’s only a little after eleven, you know.” His eyes widened dramatically. “Good lord, Tim, you can’t be concerned about her! You know all about her, ah, interests.”

I stared into his eyes. “Somebody said she was abducted.”

He possessed untapped reserves of incredulity. His eyebrows rose toward his hairline. “Abducted! My god, Tim, you know that’s a canard, whoever said it.” He raised his chin. “And she’ll be the first to put it straight when she gets up.”

“Give her a call, then.” I still hadn’t smiled. “I’d like to hear it from her.”

“Then why don’t you rouse her?” He stood calmly to one side of the doorway. “Go through the salon. She’s in the stateroom on the left.”

I passed him without another word. The “salon” was a cozy room of plush chairs and drink tables, lined with windows presently covered by drapes. I pulled open a door to a short hall and knocked on the door to the left.

Hearing a moan, I unlatched it and stepped through, closing it behind me. The room was very dim. I found a light switch and changed that. Rosalind lay nude on a double bed whose coverings above a single sheet had all fallen to the floor ― excuse me, the deck. She blinked at me owlishly. Her hands went to her temples.

“Timmy! Where’d you come from?”

I sank to the bed beside her and raised her to a sitting position. “Are you all right, Ros?”

“No! My head is killing me.”

“Kiss me,” I told her, working up my saliva.

“My breath is terrible, Timmy.”

“Not to me, my dear.” My hand raised her chin. Despite her worried look she let our lips meet, opening hers expectantly.

“Swallow it,” I told her after a moment. “You’ll feel better.”

She obeyed with a snort that was almost a giggle. “That’s what Harrison said.”

We sat quietly for a minute or two. I wondered at Cleaver’s forbearance in permitting it, then thought of a reason why.

My companion said in awe, “I didn’t know a man’s spit could make such a difference!”

“Do you feel better?”

“Oh, yes. You’re a wonder! … Oh, Timmy!” Her expression faded from approval to anxiety. “Harrison said a lot of other things. And so did I.”

“I know. Do you need help dressing?”

“No. Not now. My clothes are in that pile and I recently discovered there’s a lavatory through that door. Give me five minutes, Tim.” She smiled wanly. “Just don’t expect Betty Grable.”

I squeezed her against me. “I’d rather have Rosalind any day.”

“Oh, Tim!” She kissed me again.

Cleaver sat in the salon, a tall drink in hand. Mona had disappeared. He gestured to the short table between his chair and the next on which another tumbler rested, frosted with condensation. “Take a seat and have some refreshment. How is our favorite tall redhead this morning?”

I took a seat but ignored the drink. “She’ll be all right. She’s dressing.”

“Are you satisfied she wasn’t brought here by force?”

“I never asked her that, Cleaver. Force would not have been necessary” ― I fixed his eye with mine ― “this time.”

He cocked an eyebrow inquiringly, then shook his head. “Tim, apparently we are getting off on the wrong foot. I deplore that very much. We seemed so compatible at my party in June. It was obvious to me that, although you were very young, you had a good head for business on your shoulders. Certainly someone who earns a PhD in physics at the age of 15 is bound to shake the world! I admire that talent and ability, Tim. I think it represents the highest type of human, the cream of life on this planet.”

His face was earnest. I said, “What do you want, Cleaver?”

“Can’t you call me Harrison, or even Harry? After all, we have been the most intimate of friends.”

“We have been intimate,” I admitted grudgingly. “Can it be that you want to control your ‘highest type of human?’”

“Control? Tim, what an idea! Don’t you understand? I want to help him!”

“To help him,” I repeated. “With money, perhaps?”

“Oh, certainly. And I don’t refer to piddling amounts, either. I’m prepared to invest 50 million dollars.”

I shook my head. “Piddling is a relative term.”

He studied me with obvious interest, doubtlessly thinking of Rosalind’s disclosures. “Do you have any idea ― that is, do you have any justification for a larger sum?”

I said confidently, “I have a detailed development plan. It includes commitments, not mere estimates, for $500 million in the first year.”

“Five hundred ―” His eyes were round. “Commitments, you say?”

“Oh, yes, from many investors.” I smiled internally. Clara has a cautious soul despite her reversion across four centuries. She had used more than 25 aliases ― that I knew of ― to manage her money accounts.

He licked his lips, eyes glowing. “To develop what, Tim?”

“I understand that Rosalind told you.”

“Spaceships? To the moon?”

“That’s only the beginning.”

He stared at me, breathing in slow pants, like a gun-shy dog who hears distant thunder. He shook his head as if recovering from a dream. “This is incredibly interesting, Tim. I think I know who your investors must be, and I’m surprised that Truman has so much vision. By the way, I’m most pleased that you are so forthcoming. But let me ask you something that may be of even greater importance than moon colonies.”

“Go ahead,” I said cheerfully. That was the moment I keyed run to the NEPENTHE program already setup for my saliva glands.

He asked earnestly, “Do you know how your sudden growth to physical adulthood was accomplished?”

I smiled. “Yes, I know.”

He took a deep breath. “Tim, surely you realize what such an ability implies for medicine. Are these techniques of yours, including breast enlargement, applicable to the general population?”

“I’m confident of it.”

His face lit as if in a spotlight. “My god, Tim, this may be the greatest discovery in history!”

On that note Rosalind appeared in the doorway. She looked from Cleaver to me. “Am I interrupting something?”

“Not really,” I answered, getting to my feet and going to her.

I took her in my arms. As our faces closed, I whispered, “Don’t swallow,” and shoved in another mouthful. I released her immediately. To Cleaver it must have resembled a pro-forma peck. She regarded me in wonder, lips pressed together.

“We’ve got places to go,” I remarked in an offhand manner. “Give Harrison a kiss for his hospitality.”

He surged to his feet, protesting, “Tim, you must always consider my house your home away ―” Rosalind, who was in fact slightly taller than he, pulled him against her and kissed him thoroughly and lingeringly. I saw his larynx bob.

She released him lazily. “Harrison, that was a wonderful evening.”

He smiled quickly. “For both of us, sweetie.” Then he frowned and made tasting motions.

She looked at me with a twinkle. “Men are easy to please.”

“Which is why …” Cleaver began. He shook his head dizzily. “Which is why women hate to do it. Whoa!” He took a deep breath and looked at the girl. “What … what was it you asked me, dear?”

She backed away from him and turned to me inquiringly.

“Time to go,” I said, spinning toward the exit.

“My god, sir! Who are … You must be related to ― No!” He struck his forehead with the heel of his hand. “I know who you are. You’re Timothy Kimball, grown up in three months!”

“It’s been fun, Harrison,” I told him. “You’ll want to think about what we discussed. Come along, Ros.”

“But, but …” He stared after me with open mouth.

I led her out into the well deck. A burly man stood at the top of the companionway, glaring down at us. He looked familiar. His fists clenched and unclenched.

Behind us Cleaver said haltingly, “I really can’t … let you run like this. We need to go over … Go over what?”

Rosalind leaned against me, gesturing upward with her chin. “He’s the guy who grabbed me.”

At the foot of the stairs I growled up at him, “Get out of the way.”

“Make me,” he responded with a sneer.

“Stand back,” I told Rosalind.

God, I’m fast these days! My hand flicked out, caught one of his widespread ankles and pulled it toward me off the edge of the deck. Down he came, his back striking the companionway rails. I stepped back, shoving the slowly reacting girl with my shoulder, and let him collapse on the well deck with a whoosh of expelled air.

While he got falteringly to his feet, I propelled Ros up the companionway by her well-padded buttocks. I turned to face him. “Do we need to discuss this any further?”

Apparently we did. He took a swing. I saw the whole buildup as if in slow motion and let his arm pass over my shoulder. Bracing a leg behind me, I sank my fist into his belly ― not very far; this was a muscular specimen in good shape. But he had swung precipitously without recovering his balance. He back-pedaled into the open-mouthed Cleaver. Both of them disappeared into the relatively dark salon.

I was up the companionway in two steps. “Come on.” I herded my woman up the gangway. The man in the forward well watched me but didn’t rise. I took Rosalind’s hand and we walked up the dock toward the ramp. The limousine had disappeared. Large yachts were moored on either side, some with crews working at one task or another. No one paid us any attention.

“Tim … What happened back there?”

“You saw it.”

“Will they … just let us go?”

“If they don’t they’ll wish they had.”

We reached the ramp without incident. At the top I looked around among the many parked cars. “Come on out to the street. We’ll flag a taxi.”

“Tim,” she murmured, now holding to my hand as we walked, “did Harrison forget what we did last night? What did you tell him?”

“I answered all his questions without lying. But it’s all right. He’s forgotten everything that happened in the last 24 hours.”

“Because I kissed him?”

“Because you shoved my saliva into his mouth. Thank you, dear. You were quick on the uptake.”

“But why didn’t it make me forget?”

“It was tuned to recognize your DNA but not his, of course.” I chuckled. “Be careful whom you kiss until you take a good long drink.”

“My … DNA? What’s that?”

“It’s the code that determines who you are. Even by my time they had mostly figured it out. Clara’s people have it cold.”

“‘The code that …’” Her voice faltered.

I explained the basics of cellular DNA, ending with, “Each person has the same unique code in each of his cells. It identifies him absolutely, among other attributes.”

She sighed. “He laughed when I mentioned time travel. But you truly are from the future, aren’t you, Tim ― and Alice and Clara?”

“Partly. It’s complicated, Rosalind. Your computer will be activated next week. Then you’ll begin to understand.”

“My computer? Alice mentioned that. What is it?”

“We each have one built into us. It will make a big difference to you. You’ll see. For the time being, please stay away from Cleaver, will you?”

“You see him as dangerous?”

“Presumptuous and overbearing. Yes, he would have become dangerous.”

I flagged down a taxi. On the way home Rosalind dropped her bombshell.

“Do you know about wire recorders?”

“Yes, of course. Tape recorders will soon replace them.”

“Here’s something I think you ought to hear. I didn’t know about the lavatory on my stateroom, so when I woke up about nine o’clock, I went across the hall to Cleaver’s. He had two wire recorders in his stateroom and one of them was recording ― I mean, the reels were turning. I heard his voice clearly through the machine, talking to someone in the salon.”

I straightened up in alarm. “Good god!”

“So he won’t forget everything after all,” she continued, studying me.

I leaned forward, hand on the front seat, preparing to order the driver to return. But destroying those recorders would probably result in someone’s death. What had I actually admitted? Too much, of course. But hadn’t he assumed that the government was sponsoring my spaceship factory? I resolved to wait for Clara’s record.

“At least he won’t remember what he did to you,” I mused.

“Well, I remember it, up until I got dizzy.” She twisted in the seat uncomfortably. “My bottom really remembers.”

* * *

Clara copied my record out into a viewer and I went over it a few times. Apparently my memory was good. Fernworks was not at hazard, not so long as Cleaver believed Truman to be my sponsor. But my implicit admission that Clara’s medical programs might be effective for the whole world ― in particular for him, would cause us future grief, I felt confident, as he aged and lost confidence in mid-century medicine. His realization that I had made him forget his meeting with Rosalind and myself would only add to his appreciation of it.

The answer to him and the government was the same: a full disconnect. We would have to move it up.