weighed down by hardware did surprise him but not enough to make him forget his manners.
"Anything else you need?" he asked. "Do those shoes fit?"
"Well enough. Thanks a lot, Bud." Lazarus smoothed the borrowed kilt. It was a little too long for him but it comforted him. A loin strap was okay, he supposed-if you were on Venus. But he had never cared much for Venus customs. Damn it, a man liked to be dressed. "I feel better," he admitted. "Thanks again. By the way, what's your name?"
"Edmund Hardy, of the Foote Family."
"That so? What's your line?"
"Charles Hardy and Evelyn Foote. Edward Hardy-Alice Johnson and Terence Briggs-Eleanor Weatheral. Oliver-"
"That's enough. I sorta thought so. You're one of my great-great-grandsons."
"Why, that's interesting," commented Hardy agreeably. "Gives us a sixteenth of kinship, doesn't it-not counting convergence. May I ask your name?"
"Lazarus Long."
Hardy shook his head. "Some mistake. Not in my line."
"Try Woodrow Wilson Smith instead. It was the one I started with."
"Oh, that one! Yes, surely. But I thought you were . . . uh-"
"Dead? Well, I ain't."
"Oh, I didn't mean that at all," Hardy protested, blushing at the blunt Anglo-Saxon monosyllable. He hastily added, "I'm glad to have run across you, Gran'ther. I've always wanted to hear the straight of the story about the Families' Meeting in 2012."
"That was before you were born, Ed," Lazarus said gruffly, "and don't call me 'Gran'ther.' "
"Sorry, sir-I mean 'Sorry, Lazarus.' Is there any other service I can do for you?"
"I shouldn't have gotten shirty. No-yes, there is, too. Where can I swipe a bite of breakfast? I was sort of rushed this morning."
"Certainly." Hardy took him to the bachelors' pantry, operated the autochef for him, drew coffee for his watch mate and himself, and left. Lazarus consumed his "bite of breakfast"-about three thousand calories of sizzling sausages, eggs, jam, hot breads, coffee with cream, and ancillary items, for he worked on the assumption of always topping off his reserve tanks because you never knew how far you might have to lift before you had another chance to refuel. In due time he sat back, belched, gathered up his dishes and shoved them in the incinerator, then went looking for a newsbox.
He found one in the bachelors' library, off their lounge. The room was empty save for one man who seemed to be about the same age as that suggested by Lazarus appearance. There the resemblance stopped; the stranger was slender, mild in feature, and was topped off by finespun carroty hair quite unlike the grizzled wiry bush topping Lazarus. The stranger was bending over the news receiver with his eyes pressed to the microviewer.
Lazarus cleared his throat loudly and said, "Howdy."
The man jerked his head up and exclaimed, "Oh! Sorry-I was startled. Do y' a service?"
"I was looking for the newsbox. Mind if we throw it on the screen?"
"Not at all." The smaller man stood up, pressed the rewind button, and set the controls for projection. "Any particular subject?"
"I wanted to see," said Lazarus, "if there was any news about us-the Families."
"I've been watching for that myself. Perhaps we had better use the sound track and let it hunt."
"Okay," agreed Lazarus, stepping up and changing the setting to audio. "What's the code word?"
" 'Methuselah.' "
Lazarus punched in the setting; the machine chattered and whined as it scanned and rejected the track speeding through it then it slowed with a triumphant click. "The DAILY DATA," it announced. "The only midwest news service subscribing to every major grid. Leased videochannel to Luna City. Tri-S correspondents throughout the System. First Fast and Most! Lincoln, Nebraska-Savant Denounces Oldsters! Dr. Witwell Oscarsen, President Emeritus of Bryan Lyceum, calls for official reconsideration of the status of the kin group styling themselves the 'Howard Families.' 'It is proved,' he says, that these people have solved the age-old problem of extending,
"Anything else you need?" he asked. "Do those shoes fit?"
"Well enough. Thanks a lot, Bud." Lazarus smoothed the borrowed kilt. It was a little too long for him but it comforted him. A loin strap was okay, he supposed-if you were on Venus. But he had never cared much for Venus customs. Damn it, a man liked to be dressed. "I feel better," he admitted. "Thanks again. By the way, what's your name?"
"Edmund Hardy, of the Foote Family."
"That so? What's your line?"
"Charles Hardy and Evelyn Foote. Edward Hardy-Alice Johnson and Terence Briggs-Eleanor Weatheral. Oliver-"
"That's enough. I sorta thought so. You're one of my great-great-grandsons."
"Why, that's interesting," commented Hardy agreeably. "Gives us a sixteenth of kinship, doesn't it-not counting convergence. May I ask your name?"
"Lazarus Long."
Hardy shook his head. "Some mistake. Not in my line."
"Try Woodrow Wilson Smith instead. It was the one I started with."
"Oh, that one! Yes, surely. But I thought you were . . . uh-"
"Dead? Well, I ain't."
"Oh, I didn't mean that at all," Hardy protested, blushing at the blunt Anglo-Saxon monosyllable. He hastily added, "I'm glad to have run across you, Gran'ther. I've always wanted to hear the straight of the story about the Families' Meeting in 2012."
"That was before you were born, Ed," Lazarus said gruffly, "and don't call me 'Gran'ther.' "
"Sorry, sir-I mean 'Sorry, Lazarus.' Is there any other service I can do for you?"
"I shouldn't have gotten shirty. No-yes, there is, too. Where can I swipe a bite of breakfast? I was sort of rushed this morning."
"Certainly." Hardy took him to the bachelors' pantry, operated the autochef for him, drew coffee for his watch mate and himself, and left. Lazarus consumed his "bite of breakfast"-about three thousand calories of sizzling sausages, eggs, jam, hot breads, coffee with cream, and ancillary items, for he worked on the assumption of always topping off his reserve tanks because you never knew how far you might have to lift before you had another chance to refuel. In due time he sat back, belched, gathered up his dishes and shoved them in the incinerator, then went looking for a newsbox.
He found one in the bachelors' library, off their lounge. The room was empty save for one man who seemed to be about the same age as that suggested by Lazarus appearance. There the resemblance stopped; the stranger was slender, mild in feature, and was topped off by finespun carroty hair quite unlike the grizzled wiry bush topping Lazarus. The stranger was bending over the news receiver with his eyes pressed to the microviewer.
Lazarus cleared his throat loudly and said, "Howdy."
The man jerked his head up and exclaimed, "Oh! Sorry-I was startled. Do y' a service?"
"I was looking for the newsbox. Mind if we throw it on the screen?"
"Not at all." The smaller man stood up, pressed the rewind button, and set the controls for projection. "Any particular subject?"
"I wanted to see," said Lazarus, "if there was any news about us-the Families."
"I've been watching for that myself. Perhaps we had better use the sound track and let it hunt."
"Okay," agreed Lazarus, stepping up and changing the setting to audio. "What's the code word?"
" 'Methuselah.' "
Lazarus punched in the setting; the machine chattered and whined as it scanned and rejected the track speeding through it then it slowed with a triumphant click. "The DAILY DATA," it announced. "The only midwest news service subscribing to every major grid. Leased videochannel to Luna City. Tri-S correspondents throughout the System. First Fast and Most! Lincoln, Nebraska-Savant Denounces Oldsters! Dr. Witwell Oscarsen, President Emeritus of Bryan Lyceum, calls for official reconsideration of the status of the kin group styling themselves the 'Howard Families.' 'It is proved,' he says, that these people have solved the age-old problem of extending,
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