This was hardly surprising, since the described relationship did not obtain at the moment. Madame Vesant had not had time to compute a new horoscope and was improvising. But she was untroubled by it; she was speaking a “higher truth,” giving good advice and helping her friends. To be able to help two friends at once made Becky Vesey especially happy. “Dear, you really do understand it, you have born talent for it. You are Venus, as always, and Mars is reinforced, being both your husband and that young man Smith for the duration of this crisis. Mercury is Dr. Harshaw. To offset the imbalance caused by the reinforcement of Mars, Venus must sustain Mercury until the crisis is past. But you have very little time for it; Venus waxes in influence until reaching meridian, only seven minutes from now—after that your influence will decline. You must act quickly.”

“You should have warned me sooner.”

“My dear, I have been waiting here by my phone all day, ready to act instantly. The Stars tell us the nature of each crisis; they never tell us the details. But there is still time. I have Dr. Harshaw waiting on the telephone here; all that is necessary is to bring them face to face—if possible before Venus reaches meridian.”

“Well— All right, Allie. I’ve got to dig Joseph out of some silly conference but I’ll get him. Keep this line open. Give me the number of the phone you have this Doctor Rackshaw on—or can you transfer the call there?”

“I can switch it over here. Just get Mr. Douglas. Hurry, dear.”

“I will.”

When Agnes Douglas’ face left the screen, Becky went to still another phone. Her profession required ample phone service; it was her largest single business expense. Humming happily she called her broker.



17

As Madame Vesant left the screen Jubal Harshaw leaned back from his phone. “Front,” he said.

“Okay, Boss,” Miriam acknowledged.

“This is one for the ‘Real-Experiences’ group. Specify on the cover sheet that I want the narrator to have a sexy contralto voice—”

“Maybe I should try out for it.”

“Not that sexy. Shut up. Dig out that list of null surnames we got from the Census Bureau, pick one and put an innocent, mammalian first name with it, for the pen name. A girl’s name ending in ‘a’—that always suggests a ‘C’ cup.”

“Huh! And not one of us with a name ending in ‘a.’ Why, you louse!”

“Flat-chested bunch, aren’t you? ‘Angela.’ Her name is ‘Angela.’ Title: ‘I Married a Martian.’ Start: All my life I had longed to become an astronaut. Paragraph. When I was just a tiny thing, with freckles on my nose and stars in my eyes, I saved box tops just as my brothers did—and cried when Mummy wouldn’t let me wear my Space Cadet helmet to bed. Paragraph. In those carefree childhood days I did not dream to what strange, bittersweet fate my tomboy ambition would—”

“Boss!”

“Yes, Dorcas?”

“Here come two more loads.”

Jubal got up from the telephone chair. “Hold for continuation. Miriam, sit down at the phone.” He went to the window, saw the two air cars Dorcas had spotted, decided that they could be squad cars, and might be about to land on his property. “Larry, bolt the door to this room. Anne, put on your robe. Watch them but stand back from the window; I want them to think the house is empty. Jill, you stick close to Mike and don’t let him make any hasty moves. Mike, you do what Jill tells you to.”

“Yes, Jubal. I will do.”

“Jill, don’t turn him loose unless you have to. To keep one of us from being shot, I mean. If they bust down doors, let them—I rather hope they do. Jill, if it comes to scratch, I’d much rather he snatched just the guns and not the men.”

“Yes, Jubal.”

“Make sure he understands. This indiscriminate elimination of cops has got to stop.”

“Telephone, Boss!”

“Coming.” Jubal went unhurriedly back to the phone. “All of you stay out of pickup. Doreas, you can take a nap. Miriam, note down another title for later: ‘I Married a Human.’” He slid into the seat as Miriam vacated it and said, “Yes?”

A blandly handsome man looked back at him. “Doctor Harshaw?”

“Yes.”

“Please hold on. The Secretary General will speak with you.” The tone implied that a genuflection was in order.

“Okay.”

The screen flickered, then rebuilt in the tousled image of His Excellency the Honorable Joseph Edgerton Douglas, Secretary General of the World Federation of Free Nations. “Dr. Harshaw? Understand you need to speak with me. Shoot.”