Minerva helped me up from the bed and put my right arm around her shoulders, steadied me while Galahad fetched my cane, then both of them took me to the refresher. We were not in Xia's rooms; the refresher had moved to the other side of the bedroom and was larger, as was the bedroom.
And I learned something else about Tertius: The equipment of a refresher was of a complexity and variety that made the sort of plumbing I was used to, in Golden Rule and Luna City and so forth, look as primitive as the occasional back country backhouse one can still find in remote parts of Iowa.
Neither Minerva nor Galahad let me feel embarrassed over never having been checked out on Tertian plumbing. When I was about to pick the wrong fixture for my most pressing need, she simply said, "Galahad, you had better demonstrate for Richard; I'm not equipped to." So he did. Well, I'm forced to admit that I'm not equipped the way Galahad is, either. Visualize Michelangelo's David (Galahad is fully that pretty) but equip this image with coupling gear three times as large as Michelangelo gave David; that describes Galahad.
I have never understood why Michelangelo-in view of his known bias-invariably shortchanged his male creations.
When we three had completed after-sleep refreshment, we came out into the bedroom together and I was again surprised- without yet having worked up my nerve to inquire where we were, how we got there, and what had become of others- especially my necessary one... who, when last heard, was tossing around galaxies in reckless gambling. Or gamboling.
Or both.
One wall had vanished from that bedroom, the bed had become a couch, the missing wall framed a gorgeous garden- and, seated on the couch, playing with the kitten, was a man I had met briefly in Iowa two thousand years ago. Or so everyone said; I still was unsure about that two-thousand-year figure;
I was having trouble enough with Gretchen's having aged five years. Or six. Or something.
I stared. "Dr. Hubert." "Howdy." Dr. Hubert put the kitten aside. "Over here. Show me that foot."
"Um-" Damn his arrogance. "You must speak to my doctor first."
He looked at me abruptly. "Goodness. Aren't we regulation? Very well."
From behind me Galahad said quietly, "Please let him examine your transplant, Richard. If you will."
"If you say so." I lifted my new foot and shoved it right into Hubert's face, missing his big nose by a centimeter.
He failed to flinch, so my gesture was wasted. Unhurriedly he leaned his head a little to the left. "Rest it on my knee, if you will. That will be more convenient for both of us."
"Right. Go ahead." Braced with my cane, I was steady enough.
Galahad and Minerva kept quiet and out of the way while Dr. Hubert looked over that foot, by sight and touch, but doing nothing that struck me as really professional-I mean, he had no instruments; he used bare eyes and bare lingers, pinching the skin, rubbing it, looking closely at the healed scar, and at last scratching the sole of that foot hard and suddenly with a thumbnail. What is that reflex? Are your toes supposed to curl or the reverse? I have always suspected that doctors do that one out of spite.
Dr. Hubert lifted my foot, indicated that I could put it back on the floor, which I did. "Good job," he said to Galahad.
"Thank you. Doctor."
"Siddown, Colonel. Have you folks had breakfast? I did but I'm ready for some more. Minerva, would you shout for us; that's a good girl. Colonel, I want to get you signed up at once. What rank do you expect? Let me point out that it doesn't matter as the pay is the same and, no matter what rank you select, Hazel is going to be one rank higher; I want her in charge, not the other way around."
"Hold it. Sign me up for what? And what makes you think I want to sign up for anything?"
"The Time Corps, of course. Just as your wife is. For the purpose of rescuing the computer person known as 'Adam Selene,' also of course. Look, Colonel, don't be so dumed obtuse;
I know Hazel has discussed it with you; I know that you are committed to helping her." He pointed at my foot. "Why do you think that transplant was done? Now that you have both feet you need some other things. Refresher training. Orientation with weapons you haven't used. Rejuvenation. And all of these things cost money and the simple way to pay for them is to sign you up in the Corps. That foot alone would be too expensive for a stranger from a primitive era... but not for a member of the Corps. You can see that. How long do you need to think over anything so obvious? Ten minutes? Fifteen?" (This fast-talker ought to sell used campaign promises.)
"Not that long. I've thought it over."
He grinned. "Good. Put up your right hand. Repeat after me-" "No."
"'No' what?"
"Just 'No.' I didn't order this foot." "So? Your wife did. Don't you think you ought to pay for it?"
"And since I did not order it and do not choose to be pushed around by you-" I again shoved that foot in his face, just barely missing that ugly nose. "Cut it off."
"Huh?" "You heard me. Cut it off; put it back in stock. Teena. Are you there?"
"Sure thing, Richard." "Where is Hazel? How can I find her? Or will you tell her where I am?"
"I've told her. She says to wait."
"Thank you, Teena." Hubert and I sat, saying nothing, ignoring each other. Minerva had disappeared; Galahad was pretending to be alone. But in scant seconds my darting came bursting in-luckily that wall was open.
"Lazarus! God damn your lousy soul to hell! What do you mean by interfering?"
XXIV
'The optimist proclaims that we live in the best of all possible worlds, and the pessimist fears that this is true."
JAMES BRANCH CABELL 1879-1958
"Now, Hazel-"
"'Now, Hazel' my tired arse! Answer me! What are you doing, messing around in my bailiwick? I told you to lay off, I warned you. I said that it was a delicate negotiation. But the first minute I turn my back-leaving him safe in the arms of Minerva with Galahad to back her up-I leave to run an errand ... and what do I find? You! Butting in, thumb-fingered and ham-handed as usual, destroying my careful groundwork."
"Now, Sadie-"
"Bloody! Lazarus, what is this compulsion that makes you lie and cheat? Why can't you be honest most of the time? And where do you get this nasty itch to interfere? Not from Maureen;
that's certain. Answer me. God damn it!- before I tear off your head and stuff it down your throat!"
"Gwen, I was simply trying to clear the-"
My darling interrupted with such a blast of colorful and imaginative profanity that I hesitate to try to record it because I can't do it justice; my memory is not perfect. It was somewhat like "Change the Sacred Name of Arkansas" but more lyrical. She did this in a high chant that minded me of some pagan priestess praying at sacrifice-human sacrifice with Dr. Hubert the victim.
While Hazel was sounding off, three women came in through that open wall. (More than that number of men looked in but backed away hastily; I suspect that they did not want to be present while Dr. Hubert was being scalped.) The three women were all beauties but not at all alike.
One was a blonde as tall as I am or taller, a Norse goddess so perfect as to be utterly unlikely. She listened, shook her head sorrowfully, then faded back into the garden and was gone. The next was another redhead whom I mistook at first for either Laz or Lor-then I saw that she was... not older, exactly, but more mature. She was unsmiling.
I looked at her again and felt that I had it figured out: She had to be the older sister of Laz and Lor-and Dr. Hubert was father (brother?) of all of them... which explained how Dr. Hubert was this "Lazarus" that I had heard of again and again but had not seen-except that I had, once, in Iowa.
The third was a little china doll-porcelain china, not Xia-type China-not much over a hundred and fifty centimeters of her and perhaps forty kilos, with the ageless beauty of Queen Nefertiti. My darling paused for breath and this little elf whistled loudly and clapped. "Great going. Hazel! I'm in your corner."