“This smartass skog really is something, Gretchen,” Shima growled, again angered.
Ind’dni’s face flickered in response to the pejorative. “Please not to delay testing, doctor. There is time urgency. ‘The Assyrian came down like the wolf on the fold.’ For ‘Assyrian’ read the Hundred-Hander Golem. Of course you will make redress to victims of your escapades. My staff will assist.”
“How?” Shima demanded. “With money?”
“With knowledge.” Ind’dni arose to escort them out. “What then, doctor? You are unacquainted with scandal of Mount Everest ski lift?”
“Certainly I’m acquainted. It collapsed.”
“Plunging fifty misfortunates to injury and death. That was not the scandal I refer to. When rescuers arrived at scene of disaster there were not fifty, there were one hundred and five victims, in quotes, writhing in the snow crying for medical and legal. That was the scandal and it must not happen to you.”
Ind’dni opened the door, smiled them out with a soft, “Opbless,” and closed the door. He pressed a button and called to no one, “Please to resume recording and send in Mr. Droney Lafferty.”
15
Ah yes, the first wild Opsday of Ops Week, traditional Opalia (the Women’s Movement counter to Saturnalia) dedicated to reckless entertainment… as if the Guff needed any additional excuse for madness. Ops, wife of Saturn, Earth Goddess of Plenty, (she gave her name to “opulent”) in whose honor one touched earth instead of wood for luck, gave earthenware gifts, and fraternized regardless of rank or clout.
No schools, no disciplines, no punishments, no status dress or speech or courtesies; just free-for-all fun, and the best way to begin the carnival was to entertain a woman with her butt firmly pressed against earth, as Blaise Shima had just done.
“Opbless,” Gretchen gasped.
“Opbless, love.”
“But this gravel is killing my back.”
“Gravel? For shame, Gretchen. It’s earth, imported all the way from la belle France. We grudge no expense.”
“Then French-type love is too pebbly. You might at least have sifted it through a screen or something.”
“But I did, through a passoire, French for a colander. Our loving made it lumpy again.”
“And I thank you for that. Opbless. Make me a mattress, please.”
“Climb on top.”
“Ah! That’s better. Thank you again, sir.”
Two minutes, or perhaps twenty, slid by while they drifted and murmured on the terrace.
“You have the nicest bumps, love…”
“Yours is the greatest…”
“Not no more.”
“He’ll be back… That boy’s got strent.”
“The only thing about me that has…”
“Don’t put yourself down.”
“Just facing up to le pauvre petit. I wish I had your strength, Gretchen.”
“I’m no stronger than you.”
“Ten times as.”
“Never.”
“Five times as?”
“No.”
“Two and a half?”
“You’ve got your own kind of power, Blaise.”
“Not me. I feel as soft as Ind’dni.”
“Don’t underestimate him. There’s iron in that man. I can feel it.”
“So long as you don’t feel him…”
“Blaise! You can’t possibly be jealous?”
“Well… Sometimes I catch you looking at him kind of funny-like.”
“Just sizing him up… Feeling for his design. He’s got controlled violence in him, Blaise. If he ever loses control—Look out!”
“That bearded Hindu skog? Never!”
“Funny you should say that, because you’re like Ind’dni.”
“Me!”
“Oh yes. There’s violence in you… Only yours is attack-escape.”
“You’re putting me on.”
“No way. Either you’re le pauvre petit, hiding from tough situations in your lab, or you attempt to escape from a crise by attacking it. And when you do—Look out for Mr. Wish!”
“I couldn’t agree less. I’ve never wanted to hurt anybody or anything. There must be another explanation for the Wish lunacy.”
“Maybe you’re right. I’m too happy to argue. Let’s just go on drifting…”
“Too comfy, you mean.”
“And sleepy. Do we have to do anything today except enjoy Ops?”
“Pay off for our pranks. The Subadar gave me a list of legit claims.”
“Oh… Yes… We’ll split it up.” Gretchen’s yawn tickled his ear. “That shouldn’t take long. My place afterward?”
“Not long for you, maybe. Me, I’ve got another something else to do.”
“My! Aren’t we busy, busy, busy…”
“I’ve got to find a location where I can check out your senses.”
“Oh that. Can’t you do it in a lab?”
“No. It’s got to be a locale completely insulated from all externals.”
“Like empty outer space?”
“Space is far from empty, but that’s the idea. Some place deep and isolated with a power source… It won’t be easy to find…”
“For a genius-type like you? Go on!”
“Opthanks, lady. Would you mind getting off’n me?”
“But I’m so comfy…”
“Off… Off… Off…”
Gretchen got to her feet, grudgingly, and looked around through Shima’s eyes. “I’ll sweep the terrace.”
“Leave it for the end of Ops Week. We’ve too much to do today. What are you going to wear?”
“Plain white coveralls. Nothing fancy. You?”
“Coveralls, too, only blue work-denim.”
“So… Luck, man, and Opbless.”
“Luck, lady, and Opbless.”
* * *
The giant boardroom of CCC was jam-packed with freeloaders in tattered clothes, all shouting, singing, drinking, guzzling. A long trestle stretched the fifty-foot length of one wall. It was heaped with food, drink, and squeams, and behind it stood the eleven distinguished directors of CCC, wearing stained chefs’ costumes, and cheerfully serving all comers. Opsday.
Shima squirmed through the mob and reached the trestle at last. “Opbless, senator, I—”
“It’s Jimmy J. today, Blaise. Opbless. What can I serve you?”
“I’m looking for the chairman, Jimmy J.”
“You mean Mills? I think he’s handling the Squeamwich department. Down the road apiece.”
Shima fought down the trestle. “Opbless, general.”
“It’s Georgie, Blaise baby. Opbless. Say, I’ve got some ninety-caliber squeams and morwiches. What’ll it be? White? Rye? Fiber? Glass? Poly?”
“I thought the chairman was handling this concession.”
“Millsie? Not now, baby. He’s shifted over to the rotgut counter.”
Shima struggled again. “Opbless, governor.”
“It’s Nelly today, Blaise. Good old reliable Nelly. Say, I got something for you, son. Just what the doctor ordered. That’s a joke, son. It’s my own invention, The Earache. It sends, fella, it sends.”
“How, govern—Nelly?”
The governor pointed to half a dozen grinning supines jumbled in a corner. “All sent by Nelly’s elixir, The Earache.”
“What’s so special about it?”
“You don’t drink it, son. You drop it. In your ear and you have ignition. Now here’s a dropperful and—”
“Not just now, sir—I mean Nelly. I’m really looking for the chairman. I was told he was here.”
“Mills? Oh. No, Millypooh’s taken over soup.”
In his bedraggled chef’s costume the chairman was ranting like a sideshow pitchman, “HURRY! HURRY! HURRY” In one hand he held a soup tureen, in the other an enema bag. “HURRY! HURRY! HURRY! COME ONE! COME ALL! MEET THE BELLYWHOPPER! IT MEETS IN THE MIDDLE! THE ONLY SOUP THAT TASTES FROM THE INSIDE OUT! Hi, Blaise. Opbless.”