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was plenty of Heechee stuff around that never got reported, because the people
that found it didn't want to pay royalties to the Gateway Corporation, you
know? Wan figured he was entitled to it, really, because he'd had this
unbelievable life, brought up by practically the Heechee themselves-
Without Walthers willing it, the internal question externalized itself.
"It sounds like you've been seeing a greal deal of Wan," he offered, trying to
seem casual and hearing his own voice prove he was not. Indeed he was not
casual; he was either angry or worried-more angry than worried, actually,
because it made no sense! Wan was surely not good-looking. Or good-
tempered. Of course, he was rich, and also a lot closer to
Dolly's age
"Oh, honey, don't be jealous," Dolly said in her own voice, sounding if
anything pleased-which somewhat reassured Waithers. "He's going to go pretty
soon anyway, you know. He doesn't want to be here when the transport gets in,
and right now he's off ordering supplies for his next trip. That's the only
reason he came here." She raised the puppeted hand again, and the childish
kitten voice sang, "Jun-ior's jealous of Vol-lee!"
"I am not," he said instinctively, and then admitted, "I am. Don't hold it
against me, Doll."
She moved in the bed until her lips were near his ear, and he felt her soft
breath, lisping in the kitten voice, "I promise I won't, Mr. Junior, but I'd
be awful glad if you would . . ." And as reconciliations went, it went very
well; except that right in the middle of Round Four it was zapped by the
snarling ring of the piezophone.
Walthers let it ring fifteen times, long enough to complete the task in
progress, though not nearly as well as he had intended. When he answered the
phone it was the duty officer from the airport. "Did I call you at a bad time,
Waithers?"
"Just tell me what you want," said Walthers, trying not to show that he was
still breathing hard.
"Well, rise and shine, Audee. There's a party of six down with scurvy, Grid
Seven Three Poppa, coordinates a little fuzzy but they've got a radio beacon.
That's all they've got. You're flying them a doctor, a dentist, and about a
ton of vitamin C to arrive at first light. Which means you take off in ninety
minutes tops."
"Ah, hell, Carey! Can't it wait?"
"Only if you want them DOA. They're real bad. The shepherd that found them
says there's two of them he don't think will make it anyway."
Walthers swore to himself~ looked apologetically at Dolly, and then
reluctantly began getting his gear together.
When Dolly spoke the voice was not a kitten's anymore. "Junior? Can't we go
back home?"
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"This is home," he said, trying to make it light.
"Please, Junior?" The relaxed face had tightened up, and the ivory mask was
impassive, but he could hear the strain in her voice.
"Dolly, love," he said, "there's nothing there for us. Remember? That's why
people like us come here. Now we've got a whole new planet
-why, this city by itself is going to be bigger than Tokyo, newer than New
York; they're going to have six new transports in a couple of years, you know,
and a Lufstrom loop instead of these shuttles-"
"But when? When I'm old?"
There might not have been a justifiable reason for the misery in her voice,
but the misery was there all the same. Walthers swallowed, took a deep breath,
and tried his joking best. "Sweet-pants," he said, "you won't be old even when
you're ninety." No response. "Aw, but, honey," he cajoled, "it's bound to get
better! They're sure to start a food factory out in our Oort pretty soon. It
might even be next year! And they as much as promised me a piloting job for
the construction-"
"Oh, fine! So then you'll be away a year at a time instead of just a month.
And I'll be stuck in this dump, without even any decent programs to talk to."
"They'll have programs-"
"I'll be dead first!"
He was wide awake now, the joys of the night worn away. He said, "Look. If you
don't like it here we don't have to stay. There's more on Peggys than Port
Hegramet. We can go out into the back country, clear some land, build a house-
"
"Raise strong sons, found a dynasty?" Her voice was scornful.
"Well . . . something like that, I guess."
She turned over in the bed. "Take your shower," she advised. "You smell like
fucking."
And while Audee Walthers, Jr., was in the shower, a creature that looked quite
unlike any of Dolly's puppets (though one of them was supposed to represent
him) was seeing his first foreign stars in the thirty-one true years; and
meanwhile one of the sick prospectors had stopped breathing, much to the
relief of the shepherd who was trying, head averted, to nurse him; and
meanwhile there were riots on Earth, and fifty-one dead colonists on a planet
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