now Deputy Curator for the entire planet-wide Venus library system, was once a Senior Research Vice-President for the Taunton, Gatchweiler and Schocken Agency! She gave all that up to migrate to Venus, and now she has to prove with every word she says that she’s more Veenie than the Venusians. “Well, Mr. Tennison Tarb,” she said, leaning back against my arm to study my shiner, “looks like somebody’s husband came back when he wasn’t supposed to.”
Just a harmless jocularity, right? Wrong. Dirty Berthie’s little jokes are always nasty. It’s “How’s organized lying today?” for a hello, and, “Well, I mustn’t keep you from peddling some more poison baby food,” when she says good-by. We aren’t allowed to do that kind of thing. To be fair, most of the native Veenies don’t, either, but Bertha is the worst of both worlds. Our official policy on Bertha is smile and say nothing. That’s what I had done for all those long years, but enough was enough. I said—
Well, I can’t defend what I said. To understand it you have to know that Bertha’s husband, the one she gave up her star class job on Earth for, was a pilot on the Kathy-to-Discovery airline, who lost part of his right leg and an unspecified selection of adjacent parts in a crash the year after they were married. It’s the one thing she’s sensitive about. So I gave her a sweet, sweet smile and said, “I was just trying to do Carlos’s work as a favor to him, but I got the wrong house.”
My joke wasn’t very funny. Bertha didn’t even try for one in response. She gasped. She pushed free of my arms, stood stock-still in the middle of the dance floor and cried, loud and clear, “You bastard!” There were actual tears in her eyes—rage, I guess.
I did not have a chance to study her reaction. A beartrap grip closed on my shoulder and the Chief of Station herself said politely, “If I can borrow Tenny a moment, Bertha, there are some last-minute things we have to settle …”
Out in the corridor she squared off, head to head. “You ass, ” she hissed. Sprinkles of saliva like snake venom ate pits in my cheeks.
I tried to defend myself. “She started it! She said—”
“I heard what she said, and the whole damned room heard what you said! Jesus, Tarb!” She had let go of my shoulder, and now she looked as though she wanted to take me by the throat instead.
I backed away. “Pam, I know I was out of line, but I’m a little shook up. Don’t forget somebody nearly murdered me today!”
“It was an accident. The Embassy has officially listed it as an accident. Try to remember that. It doesn’t make sense any other way. Why would anybody bother to murder you when you’re on your way home?”
“Not me. Mitzi. Maybe there’s a double agent among the spies she’s recruited, and they know what she’s doing.”
“Tarb.” There was no snake venom this time and no hiss, not even anger. This was just an icy warning. She looked quickly around to make sure no one was nearby. Well, of course I shouldn’t have said anything like that while there were Veenies in the building—that was Rule Number One. I started to say something, and she raised her hand. “Mitsui Ku is not dead,” she said. “They’ve operated on her. I saw her myself in the hospital, an hour and a half ago. She hadn’t regained consciousness, but the prognosis is good. If they wanted her dead, they could have done it in the operating room and we never would have known it. They didn’t.”
“All the same—”
“Go back to bed, Tarb. Your injuries are more severe than we realized.” She didn’t let me interrupt, but pointed toward the private rooms. “Now. And I’ve got to get back to my guests—after I stop in my office to add some remarks to an efficiency report. Yours.” She stood there and watched me out of sight.
And that was the last I saw of the Chief of Station, and almost the last I saw of anything at all for quite a while—two years
Just a harmless jocularity, right? Wrong. Dirty Berthie’s little jokes are always nasty. It’s “How’s organized lying today?” for a hello, and, “Well, I mustn’t keep you from peddling some more poison baby food,” when she says good-by. We aren’t allowed to do that kind of thing. To be fair, most of the native Veenies don’t, either, but Bertha is the worst of both worlds. Our official policy on Bertha is smile and say nothing. That’s what I had done for all those long years, but enough was enough. I said—
Well, I can’t defend what I said. To understand it you have to know that Bertha’s husband, the one she gave up her star class job on Earth for, was a pilot on the Kathy-to-Discovery airline, who lost part of his right leg and an unspecified selection of adjacent parts in a crash the year after they were married. It’s the one thing she’s sensitive about. So I gave her a sweet, sweet smile and said, “I was just trying to do Carlos’s work as a favor to him, but I got the wrong house.”
My joke wasn’t very funny. Bertha didn’t even try for one in response. She gasped. She pushed free of my arms, stood stock-still in the middle of the dance floor and cried, loud and clear, “You bastard!” There were actual tears in her eyes—rage, I guess.
I did not have a chance to study her reaction. A beartrap grip closed on my shoulder and the Chief of Station herself said politely, “If I can borrow Tenny a moment, Bertha, there are some last-minute things we have to settle …”
Out in the corridor she squared off, head to head. “You ass, ” she hissed. Sprinkles of saliva like snake venom ate pits in my cheeks.
I tried to defend myself. “She started it! She said—”
“I heard what she said, and the whole damned room heard what you said! Jesus, Tarb!” She had let go of my shoulder, and now she looked as though she wanted to take me by the throat instead.
I backed away. “Pam, I know I was out of line, but I’m a little shook up. Don’t forget somebody nearly murdered me today!”
“It was an accident. The Embassy has officially listed it as an accident. Try to remember that. It doesn’t make sense any other way. Why would anybody bother to murder you when you’re on your way home?”
“Not me. Mitzi. Maybe there’s a double agent among the spies she’s recruited, and they know what she’s doing.”
“Tarb.” There was no snake venom this time and no hiss, not even anger. This was just an icy warning. She looked quickly around to make sure no one was nearby. Well, of course I shouldn’t have said anything like that while there were Veenies in the building—that was Rule Number One. I started to say something, and she raised her hand. “Mitsui Ku is not dead,” she said. “They’ve operated on her. I saw her myself in the hospital, an hour and a half ago. She hadn’t regained consciousness, but the prognosis is good. If they wanted her dead, they could have done it in the operating room and we never would have known it. They didn’t.”
“All the same—”
“Go back to bed, Tarb. Your injuries are more severe than we realized.” She didn’t let me interrupt, but pointed toward the private rooms. “Now. And I’ve got to get back to my guests—after I stop in my office to add some remarks to an efficiency report. Yours.” She stood there and watched me out of sight.
And that was the last I saw of the Chief of Station, and almost the last I saw of anything at all for quite a while—two years
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