"Sweetheart, you can't kill off a serial! It's unconstitutional."
"I know. Anyhow, they took up the option and waved too much money under my nose. And we needed the money; we were living in space then and a spacecraft, even a little family job, is expensive."
"I've never quite had the courage to write a serial against deadlines. Oh, I've written episodes on assignment, using a show's bible, but not on my own and under the gun."
"We didn't use a bible; Buster and I just whipped 'em up as we went along."
"'Buster'?"
"My grandson. The one who is now chief surgeon at Ceres General. For eleven years we wrote them together, frustrating the Galactic Overlord at every turn-"
"'The Galactic Overlord!' The best villain in the creepies. Honey, I wish there were really a Galactic Overlord."
"Why, you young whippersnapper, how dare you throw doubt on the authenticity of the Galactic Overlord? What do you know about it?"
"Sorry. I apologize. He's as real as Luna City. Or John Sterling would not have had anyone to frustrate ... and I certainly believe in Captain John Sterling of the Star Patrol."
"That's better."
"That time Captain Sterling was lost in the Horsehead Nebula with the radiation worms after him: How did he get out? That was one of the times I was being punished and not allowed to watch."
"As I recall- Mind you, this was some years back. I seem to recall that he jury-rigged his Doppler radar to fry them with polarized beams."
"No, that was what he used on the space entities."
"Richard, are you sure? I don't think he encountered the space entities until after he escaped from the Horsehead Nebula. When he had to make a temporary truce with the Galactic Overlord to save the Galaxy."
I thought about it. How old was I at the time? What year in school? "Hon, I do believe you're right. I was upset that he would join forces with the Overlord even to save the Galaxy. I-"
"But he had to, Richard! He couldn't let billions of innocent people die just to keep from soiling his hands through cooperating with the Overlord. But I can see your point. Buster and I fought over that episode-Buster wanted to take advantage of the temporary truce to do the Overlord in, once the space entities were destroyed-"
"No, Captain Sterling would never break his word."
'True. But Buster was always the pragmatist. His solution to almost any problem was to cut somebody's throat."
"Well, it's a convincing argument," I admitted.
"But. Richard, you have to go easy in killing off characters in a serial; you must always leave something for the next episode. But you tell me you've never handled a series all on your own."
"I haven't but I do know that; I watched enough of them, back when. Hazel, why did you let me fill you with a lot of guff about the life of a writer?"
"You called me 'Hazel'!"
"Sweetheart-Hazel my darling-I'm not interested in blood types or in thumbprints. You are undeniably the author of history's greatest creepie The Scourge of the Spdceways. It said on the credits, week after week, year after year: 'Written by Hazel Stone.' Then, sadly, it began to read: 'Based on characters created by Hazel Stone-'"
"It did? Those later credits should have included Roger; he created the show. Not me. Those nogoodniks."
"It didn't matter. Because the characters grew anemic and died. Without you the show was never the same."
"I had to quit; Buster grew up. I supplied the twists; he supplied the gore. Sometimes I got soft-hearted; Buster never did."
"Hazel? Why don't we revive it? We'll plot it together; you write it; I'll do the cooking and housekeeping." I stopped and looked at her. "What in the world are you crying about?"
"I'll cry if I want to! You call me 'Hazel'-you believe me!"
"I have to believe you. Anybody could trick me about blood types or thumbprints. But not about commercial fiction. Not this old hack writer. You're the real McCoy, my love, the authentic scourge of the spaceways. But you're still my sweaty little nymphomaniac-I find I don't mind that you are a couple of centuries old."
"I am not either two centuries old! I won't be for years and years."
"But you're still my sweaty little nymphomaniac?"
"If you'll let me."
I grinned at her. "Do I have any say in the matter? Get your clothes off and let's do some plotting."
"'Plotting'?"
"All the best writing is done with the gonads, Hazel my lusty bride-didn't you know that? Battle stations! Here comes the Galactic Overlord!"
"Oh, Richard!"
XVIII
"When it comes to a choice between kindness and honesty, my vote is for kindness, every time-giving or receiving."
IRA JOHNSON 1854-1941
"Hazel my ancient love-"
"Richard, would you like a broken arm?"
"I don't think you can manage it just now."
"Want to bet?"
"Ouch! Stop that! Don't do it again ... or I'll toss you back into the creek and marry Gretchen. She is not ancient."
"Keep right on teasing me. My third husband was a tease. Everybody remarked on how well he looked at his funeral... and what a shame it was he died so young." Hazel-Gwen smiled up at me. "But he turned out to be heavily insured, which does comfort a widow. Marrying Gretchen is a good idea, darling;
I would enjoy bringing her up. Teaching her to shoot, helping her with the first baby, coaching her in how to handle a knife, working out with her in martial arts, all the homey domestic skills a girl needs in this modem world."
"Hummph! My darling girl, you are as little and cute and pretty and harmless as a coral snake. I think Jinx has already trained Gretchen."
"More likely Ingrid. But I can still put a polish on her. As you pointed out, I'm experienced. What was that word you used? 'Ancient,' that was it."
"Ouch!"
"Oh, that didn't hurt. Sissy."
"The hell it didn't. I'm going to enter a monastery."
"Not till you've entered Gretchen. I've just decided, Richard; we're going to marry Gretchen."
I treated this ridiculous statement with the neglect it deserved-I got up and hopped into the refresher.
Shortly she followed me in. I cowered away from her. "Help! Don't hit me again!"
"Oh, spit. I haven't hit you once, as yet."
"I surrender. You're not ancient; you're just well marinated. Hazel my love, what makes you so feisty?"
"I'm not feisty. But when you're as small as I am and female, if you don't stand up for your rights, you're sure to be pushed around by big, hairy, smelly men with delusions about male superiority. Don't yelp, dear; I haven't hurt you, not once. I haven't drawn blood-now have I?"
"I'm afraid to look. Mother never warned me that married life could be like this! Sweetheart, you were about to tell me why you had to recruit me and for what purpose when we got distracted."
She was slow in answering. "Richard, you had trouble believing that I am more than twice your age."
"You convinced me. I don't understand it, but I've had to accept it."
"You're going to find other things I must tell you much harder to accept. Much!"
"Then I probably won't accept them. Hazel-Gwen honey, I'm a hard case. I don't believe in table-tapping, astrology, virgin birth-"
"Virgin birth isn't difficult."
"I mean, in the theological sense; I'm not talking about genetics laboratories. -virgin birth, numerology, a literal hell, magic, witchcraft, and campaign promises. You tell me something that runs contrary to horse sense; I'll be at least as hard to sell as I was about your ancient years. You'll need the Galactic Overlord as a confirming witness."
"Okay. Slip this one on for size. From one standpoint I'm even more ancient than you suspect. More than two centuries."
"Hold it. You won't be two hundred until Christmas Day 2263. A good many years yet, as you pointed out."