“I was still testing her.”

“Then no doubt you have been angelically pleased to note that Supreme Bishop Short, after giving her a most thorough examination himself—oh, very thorough; I told you he would measure up—has passed her and she now enjoys the wider Happiness she deserves. Mmmm, a shepherd should take joy in his work . . . but when he’s promoted, he should take joy in that, too. Now it just happens I know there is a spot open for a Guardian-in-Training in a new sector being opened up—a job under your nominal rank, I concede, but good angelic experience. This planet—well, you can think of it as a planet; you’ll see—is occupied by a race of tripolarity instead of bipolarity and I have it on High Authority that Don Juan himself could not manage to take Earthly interest in any of their three polarities . . . that’s not an opinion; he was borrowed as a test. He screamed, and prayed to be returned to the solitary hell he has created for himself.”

“Going to send me out to Flatbush, huh? So I won’t interfere!”

“Tut, tut! You can’t interfere—the one Impossibility that permits all else to be possible; I tried to tell you that when you arrived. But don’t let it fret you; you are eternally permitted to try. Your orders will include a loop so that you will check back at here-now without any loss of temporality. Now fly away and get cracking; I have work to do.” Foster turned back to where he had been interrupted. Oh, yes, a poor soul temporally designated as “Alice Douglas”—to be a goad was a hard assignment at best and she had met it unflaggingly. But her job was complete and now she would need rest and rehabilitation from the inescapable battle fatigue . . . she’d be kicking and screaming and foaming ectoplasm at all orifices.

Oh, she would need a thorough exorcism after a job that rough! But they were all rough; they couldn’t be anything else. And “Alice Douglas” was an utterly reliable field operative; she could take any left-hand assignment as long as it was essentially virginal—burn her at the stake or put her in a nunnery; she always delivered.

Not that he cared much for virgins, other than with professional respect for any job well done. Foster sneaked a quick last look at Mrs. Paiwonski. There was a fellow worker he could appreciate. Darling little Patricia! What a blessed, lusty benison—



29

As the door of their suite closed itself behind Patricia Paiwonski, Jill said, “What now, Mike?”

“We’re leaving. Jill, you’ve read some abnormal psychology.”

“Yes, of course. In training. Not as much as you have, I know.”

“Do you know the symbolism of tattooing? And snakes?”

“Of course. I knew that about Patty as soon as I met her. I had been hoping that you would find a way.”

“I couldn’t, until we were water brothers. Sex is necessary, sex is a helpful goodness—but only if it is sharing and growing closer. I grok that if I did it without growing closer—well, I’m not sure.”

“I grok that you would learn that you couldn’t, Mike. That is one of the reasons—one of the many reasons—I love you.”

He looked worried. “I still don’t grok ‘love.’ Jill, I don’t grok ‘people.’ Not even you. But I didn’t want to send Pat away.”

“Stop her. Keep her with us.”

(“Waiting is, Jill.”)

(“I know.”)

He added aloud, “Besides, I doubt if I could give her all she needs. She wants to give herself all the time, to everybody. Even her Happiness meetings and her snakes and the marks aren’t enough for Pat. She wants to offer herself on an altar to everybody in the world, always—and make them happy. This New Revelation . . . I grok that it is a lot of other things to other people. But that is what it is to Pat.”

“Yes, Mike. Dear Mike.”

“Time to leave. Pick the dress you want to wear and get your purse. I’ll dispose of the rest of the trash.”

Jill thought somewhat sadly that she would like, sometimes, to take along just one or two things. But Mike always moved on with just the clothes on his back—and seemed to grok that she preferred it that way, too. “I’ll wear that pretty blue one.”

It floated out to her, poised itself over her, wriggled down onto her as she held up her hands; the zipper closed. Shoes to suit it walked toward her, waited while she stepped into them. “I’m ready, Mike.”

Mike had caught the wistful flavor of her thought, but not the concept; it was too alien to Martian ideas. “Jill? Do you want to stop and get married?”

She thought about it. “We couldn’t, today, Mike. It’s Sunday, We couldn’t get a license.”