The Cat Who Walks Through Walls (32 page)

(Uh—) “This is Captain Midnight. Tell him I’m at the old Raffles. Call me.”

“Don’t switch off! Captain Midnight?”

“He’ll know.”

“And so do I. He went to city hall to put up bail for you know who. Or do you?”

“Xia?”

“Too right! I’ve got to get back to my scopes but I’ll tell him. Off!”

“What now, Richard?”

“Gallop in all directions.”

“Do be serious!”

“Can you think of anything better? The queue is gone from Mom’s Diner; let’s eat lunch.”

“Eat lunch while our friends are in danger?”

“Sweetheart, even if we went back to Kongville—and thereby shoved our heads in the lion’s mouth—we would have no way to find them. There is nothing we can do until Choy-Mu calls us. That might be five minutes from now, or five hours. One thing I learned in combat: Never skip a chance to eat, sleep, or pee; another chance may be a long time coming.”

I recommend Mom’s cherry pie with ice cream. Hazel ordered the same but, by the time I was chasing my last bite with a spoon, she had merely toyed with hers. I said, “Young lady, you sit right there until you have eaten everything on your plate.”

“Richard, I can’t.”

“I don’t like to beat you in public—”

“So don’t.”

“So I won’t. Instead I will sit right here until you have eaten that all up, even if it means that I must sleep in this chair tonight.”

Hazel expressed obscenely unfavorable opinions of me, of Jefferson Mao, and of cherry pie, then ate the cherry pie. By thirteen-twenty we were at the door of the computer area in the Complex. There a youngster at a wicket sold us two tickets for two crowns forty, told us that the next tour would start in a few minutes, and let us into an enclosure, a waiting lounge with benches and opportunities to gamble against machines. Ten or a dozen tourists were waiting; most of the males wore fezzes.

When at last we started, an hour later, there were nineteen or twenty of us, herded by a uniformed guide—or guard; he wore a cop’s shield. We made a long circuit on foot of that enormous complex, a dull and endless trip. At each pause our guide gave a memorized spiel—perhaps not too well memorized, as I could spot errors, even though I am not a communications-control engineer.

But I did not jump on these slips. Instead I made a nuisance of myself in accordance with earlier coaching by my fellow conspirator.

At one stop our guide explained that engineering control was decentralized all over Luna both geographically and by functions—air, sewage, communications, fresh water, transportation, et cetera—but was monitored from here by the technicians you see at those consoles. I interrupted him.

“My good man, I think you must be new on this job. The
Encyclopœdia Britannica
explains clearly how one giant computer handles everything on the Moon. That’s what we’ve come to see. Not backs of necks of junior clerks sitting at monitors. So let’s see it. The giant computer. The Holmes IV.”

The guide let his professional smile slip and looked at me with the natural contempt of a Loonie for an earthworm. “You’ve been misinformed. True, it used to be that way, but you’re over fifty years out of date. Today we are modernized and decentralized.”

“Young man, are you trying to contradict the
Britannica?
”

“I’m telling you the simple truth. Now let’s move on and—”

“What became of that giant computer? Since it’s no longer used. Or so you say.”

“Huh? Look behind you. See that door? It’s behind that door.”

“Come, then let’s see it! That’s what I paid to see.”

“Not on your bloody drum and fife. It’s an historical antique, a symbol of our great history. You want to look at it, you go to the Chancellor of Galileo U. and show your credentials. He’ll send you packing! Nan then let’s all move along to the next gallery—”

Hazel did not move on with us, but (following instructions) I always had something ahead to point to and to ask a silly question about, whenever our guide seemed about to have a free moment to look around. But when, at long last, we had made the full circle and were back at the lounge. Hazel was there ahead of us.

I kept quiet until we were out of the Complex and waiting at the tube station. There I moved us out of earshot of others before I spoke. “How did it go?”

“No trouble. The lock on that door was a type I’ve dealt with before. Thanks for keeping them all distracted while I coped with it. Good show, love!”

“You got what you were after?”

“I think so. I’ll know more after Papa Mannie looks over my photographs. It’s just a big lonely room, Richard, crowded with old-fashioned electronics equipment. I shot it from about twenty angles, and stereoed each shot by hand-held offset—not perfect but I’ve practiced it.”

“That’s all? This visit?”

“Yes. Well, mostly.”

Her voice was choked; I looked at her, saw that her eyes were filled with tears about to overflow. “Why, darling! What’s the matter?”

“N- n- nothing.”

“Tell me.”

“Richard, he’s in there!”

“Huh?”

“He’s asleep in there. I know, I could feel him. Adam Selene.”

The tube capsule slammed into the station about then, to my relief—there are subjects for which words are useless. The capsule was packed full; we could not talk en route. By the time we were back in L-City my darling had quieted down and I could avoid the subject. The crowds in the corridors made talk difficult anyhow. Luna City is crowded at any time; on Saturdays half the Loonies from other warrens come in to shop; this Saturday the usual weekend crowd was augmented by Shriners and their wives from all over North America and elsewhere.

As we came down out of Tube Station West into pressure two at outer ring, we faced Sears Montgomery. I was about to swing left to the Causeway when Hazel stopped me. “Uh? What, dear?”

“Your trousers.”

“Is my fly open? No, it’s not.”

“We’re going to cremate your trousers; it’s too late for burial. And that shirtjacket.”

“I thought you were itchy to get to the Raffles?”

“I am but it will take me only five minutes to put you into a new siren suit.”

(Reasonable. My trousers were so dirty that I was beginning to risk being cited as a menace to public health. And Hazel did know what I preferred for everyday clothing, as I had explained to her that I would not wear shorts even if every other adult male in Luna City was in shorts—as most of them were. I’m not morbidly self-conscious about my missing foot…but I do want full-length trousers to conceal my prosthesis. It’s my private problem; I do not choose to exhibit it.)

“All right.” I agreed. “But let’s buy the one nearest the door.”

Hazel did get us in and out in ten minutes, buying me three two-piece rumpus suits all alike save for color. The price was right, as first she dickered it down to an acceptable amount, then rolled double or nothing, and won. She thanked the clerk and tipped him the price of a drink, then exited looking cheerful.

She said to me, “You look smart, dear.”

I thought so, too. Those three suits were lime green, powder pink, and lavender. I had chosen to wear the lavender; I think it suits my complexion. I went strutting along, swinging my cane, with my best girl on my arm, feeling great.

But when we turned onto the Causeway there was no room to swing a cane and barely room to walk. We backed out, dropped straight down to Bottom Alley, then across town and up Five Aces chain lift to pressure six—much farther but today much faster.

Even the side tunnel to the Raffles was crowded. A cluster of fez-topped men were just outside our hotel.

I glanced at one of them, then took a better look.

I let him have it with my cane, reverse moulinet up into his crotch. At the same time or a split second ahead of me. Hazel threw her package (my suits) into the face of the man next to him and slugged one beyond him with her handbag. He went down as my man screamed and joined him. As my cane swung back, I took it with both hands horizontally, and used the sideways short jabs intended for moving through a rioting crowd—but used the jabs more personally, getting one man in the belly, another in a kidney, and kicking each to quiet him as he went down.

Hazel had taken care of the man she had slowed up with the package, I did not see how. But he was down and not moving. A (sixth?) man was about to cool her with a cosh, so I stabbed him in the face with my cane. He grabbed at it; I moved forward with it to keep him from exposing the stiletto, while giving him three fingers to his solar plexus, lefthanded. I fell on top of him.

And was picked up and carried into the Raffles at a trot, with my head down and dragging my cane after me.

The next few seconds I had to sort out later, perhaps imperfectly. I did not see Gretchen standing at the registration desk, but she was there, having just arrived. I heard Hazel snap, “Gretchen! Room L, straight back on the right!” as she dumped me on Gretchen. On Luna I weigh thirteen kilos, give or take a few grams—not much load for a country girl used to hard work. But I’m much bigger than Gretchen and twice as big as Hazel—a big unwieldy bundle. I squawked to be put down; Gretchen paid no attention. That silly desk clerk was yelping but no one was paying attention to him, either.

Our door opened as Gretchen reached it and I heard another familiar voice sing out, “Bojemoi! He’s
hurt
.” Then I was face up on my own bed and Xia was working on me.

“I’m not hurt,” I told her. “Just shaken up.”

“Yeah, sure. Hold still while I get your trousers off. Does one of you gentlemen have a knife?”

I was about to tell her not to cut my new trousers, when I heard a shot. It was my bride, crouching inside the open doorway and peering cautiously out to the left, her head close to the floor. She fired again, scooted back inside, closed and locked the door.

She glanced around and snapped, “Move Richard into the ’fresher. Pile the bed and everything else against the outer door; they’ll be shooting or breaking it down or both.” She sat down on the floor with her back toward me and paid no attention to anyone. But everyone jumped to carry out her orders.

“Everyone” included Gretchen, Xia, Choy-Mu, Father Schultz, and Reb Ezra. I did not have time to be astonished, especially as Xia with Gretchen’s help moved me into the refresher, put me on the floor, and resumed taking my pants off. What did astonish me was to find that my good leg, the one with a meat-and-bone foot on it, was bleeding heavily. I noticed it first from seeing that Gretchen had big blood stains on the left shoulder of her white coverall. Then I saw where the blood was coming from, whereupon that leg started to hurt.

I don’t like blood, especially mine. So I turned my face away and looked out the ’fresher door. Hazel was still sitting on the floor and had taken something out of her handbag that seemed to be bigger than the handbag. She was talking into it:

“Tee Aitch Queue! Major Lipschitz calling Tee Aitch Queue! Answer me. God damn it! Wake up! Mayday, mayday!
Hey, Rube!
”

“If anyone doubts my veracity, I can only say that I pity his lack of faith.”

BARON MUNCHAUSEN
1737-1794

Xia added, “Gretchen, hand me a clean towel. We’ll make do just with a pressure pack until later.”

“Ouch!”

“Sorry, Richard.”

“Mayday, Mayday! Hail, Mary, I’m up the crick without a paddle!
Answer me!
”

“We read you. Major Lipschitz. Report local fix, planet, system, and universe.” It was a machine voice with a typical uninflected brassiness that sets my teeth on edge.

“Now let’s tape it tightly.”

“Hell with procedures! I need T-shift pickup and I need it
now!
Check my assignment and slam it! Switch point: ‘One small step’ by Armstrong. Local fix: Hotel Raffles, room L. Time tick, now!”

I went on looking out the ’fresher door to avoid watching the unpleasant things Xia and Gretchen were doing to me. I could hear shouts and people running; something crashed against the corridor door. Then in the rock wall on my right a new door dilated.

I say “door” for lack of a precise word. What I saw was a circular locus of silver gray, floor to ceiling, and more. Inside this locus was an ordinary door for a vehicle. What sort of vehicle I could not tell; its door was all I could see.

It swung open; someone inside called out, “Grandma!” as the corridor door crashed in and a man fell into the room. Hazel shot him. A second man was right behind him; she shot him, too.

I reached for my cane—beyond Xia, damn it! “Hand me my cane!
Hurry!
”

“Now, now! You lie back down.”

“Give it to me!” Hazel had one round left, or maybe none. Either way, it was time I backed her up.

I heard more shots. With bitter certainty that nothing was left but to avenge her, I made a long arm, got my stick, and turned.

No more fighting—Those last shots had been fired by Rabbi Ezra. (Why was I surprised that a wheelchair cripple chose to go armed?) Hazel was shouting, “Everybody get aboard!
Move it!
”

And we did. I was confused again, as an endless crowd of young people, male and female and all of them redheaded, poured out of that vehicle and carried out Hazel’s orders. Two of them carried Reb Ezra inside while a third folded his wheel-chair flat and handed it in to a fourth. Choy-Mu and Gretchen were hustled in, followed by Father Schultz. Xia was shoved after them when she tried to insist on handling me. Then two redheads, a man and a woman, carried me in; my blood-stained pants were chucked after me. I clung to my cane.

I saw only a little of the vehicle. Its door opened into a four-place pilot-and-passenger compartment of what might be a spaceplane. Or might not be; the controls were strange and I was in no position to judge how it worked. I was lugged between seats and shoved through a door behind them into a cargo space and wound up on top of the Rabbi’s folded wheelchair.

Was I going to be treated as cargo? No, I lay there only briefly, then was turned ninety degrees and passed through a larger door, turned another ninety degrees and placed on a floor.

And glad to stay there!