The maid appeared, then, to tell them that dinner was ready. Both Phil and Gertrude rose, and Claude joined them as they entered the dining room together.

"Tell me," Phil Harvey said to Claude. "Who is Sarapis' heir?" St. Cyr said, "A granddaughter who lives on Callisto; her name is Kathy Egmont and she's an odd one… she's about twenty years old and already she's been in jail five times, mostly for narcotics addiction. Lately, I understand, she's managed to cure herself of the drug habit and now she's a religious convert of some kind. I've never met her but I've handled volumes of correspondence passing between her and old Louis."

"And she gets the entire estate, when it's out of probate? With all the political power inherent in it?"

"Haw," St. Cyr said. "Political power can't be willed, can't be passed on. All Kathy gets is the economic syndrome. It functions, as you know, through the parent holding company licensed under the laws of the state of Delaware, Wilhelmina Securities, and that's hers, if she cares to make use of it – if she can understand what it is she's inheriting."

Phil Harvey said, "You don't sound very optimistic."

"All the correspondence from her indicates – to me at least – that she's a sick, criminal type, very eccentric and unstable. The very last sort I'd like to see inherit Louis's holdings."

On that note, they seated themselves at the dinner table.

In the night, Johnny Barefoot heard the phone, drew himself to a sitting position and fumbled until his hands touched the receiver. Beside him in the bed Sarah Belle stirred as he said gratingly, "Hello. Who the hell is it?"

A fragile female voice said, "I'm sorry, Mr. Barefoot… I didn't mean to wake you up. But I was told by my attorney to call you as soon as I arrived on Earth." She added, "This is Kathy Egmont, although actually my real name is Mrs. Kathy Sharp. Do you know who I am?"

"Yes," Johnny said, rubbing his eyes and yawning. He shivered from the cold of the room; beside him, Sarah Belle drew the covers back up over her shoulders and turned the other way. "Want me to come and pick you up? Do you have a place to stay?"

"I have no friends here on Terra," Kathy said. "But the spaceport people told me that the Severely is a good hotel, so I'm going there. I started from Callisto as soon as I heard that my grandfather had died,"

"You made good time," he said. He hadn't expected her for another twenty-four hours.

"Is there any chance -" The girl sounded timid. "Could I possibly stay with you, Mr. Barefoot? It scares me, the idea of a big hotel where no one knows me."

"I'm sorry," he said at once. "I'm married." And then he realized that such a retort was not only inappropriate… it was actually abusive. "What I mean is," he explained, "I have no spare room. You stay at the Severely tonight and tomorrow we'll find you a more acceptable apartment."

"All right," Kathy said. She sounded resigned but still anxious. "Tell me, Mr. Barefoot, what luck have you had with my grandfather's resurrection? Is he in half-life, now?"

"No," Johnny said. "It's failed, so far. They're working on it."

When he had left the mortuary, five technicians had been busy at work, trying to discover what was wrong.

Kathy said, "I thought it might work out that way."

"Why?"

"Well, my grandfather – he was so different from everyone else. I realize you know that, perhaps even better than I… after all, you were with him daily. But – I just couldn't imagine him inert, the way the half-lifers are. Passive and helpless, you know. Can you imagine him like that, after all he's done?"

Johnny said, "Let's talk tomorrow; I'll come by the hotel about nine. Okay?"

"Yes, that's fine. I'm glad to have met you, Mr. Barefoot. I hope you'll stay on with Archimedean, working for me. Goodbye." The phone clicked; she had rung off.

My new boss, Johnny said to himself. Wow.

"Who was that?" Sarah Belle murmured. "At this hour?"

"The owner of Archimedean," Johnny said. "My employer."

"Louis Sarapis?" His wife sat up at once. "Oh… you mean his granddaughter; she's here already. What's she sound like?"

"I can't tell," he said meditatively. "Frightened, mostly. It's a finite, small world she comes from, compared with Terra, here." He did not tell his wife the things he knew about Kathy, her drug addiction, her terms in jail.

"Can she take over now?" Sarah Belle asked. "Doesn't she have to wait until Louis's half-life is over?"

"Legally, he's dead. His will has come into force." And, he thought acidly, he's not in half-life anyhow; he's silent and dead in his plastic casket, in his quick-pack, which evidently wasn't quite quick enough.

"How do you think you'll get along with her?"

"I don't know," he said candidly. "I'm not even sure I'm going to try." He did not like the idea of working for a woman, especially one younger than himself. And one who was – at least according to hearsay – virtually psychopathic. But on the phone she had certainly not sounded psychopathic. He mulled that over in his mind, wide-awake now.

"She's probably very pretty," Sarah Belle said. "You'll probably fall in love with her and desert me."

"Oh no," he said. "Nothing as startling as that. I'll probably try to work for her, drag out a few miserable months, and then give up and look elsewhere." And meanwhile, he thought, WHAT ABOUT LOUIS? Are we, or are we not, going to be able to revive him? That was the really big unknown.

If the old man could be revived, he could direct his granddaughter; even though legally and physically dead, he could continue to manage his complex economic and political sphere, to some extent. But right now this was simply not working out, and the old man had planned on being revived at once, certainly before the Democratic-Republican Convention. Louis certainly knew – or rather had known – what sort of person he was willing his holdings to. Without help she surely could not function. And, Johnny thought, there's little I can do for her. Claude St. Cyr could have, but by the terms of the will he's out of the picture entirely. So what is left? We must keep trying to revive old Louis, even if we have to visit every mortuary in the United States, Cuba and Russia.

"You're thinking confused thoughts," Sarah Belle said. "I can tell by your expression." She turned on the small lamp by the bed, and was now reaching for her robe. "Don't try to solve serious matters in the middle of the night."

This must be how half-life feels, he thought groggily. He shook his head, trying to clear it, to wake up fully.

The next morning he parked his car in the underground garage of the Beverely and ascended by elevator to the lobby and the front desk where he was greeted by the smiling day clerk. It was not much of a hotel, Johnny decided. Clean, however; a respectable family hotel which probably rented many of its units by the month, some no doubt to elderly retired people. Evidently Kathy was accustomed to living modestly.

In answer to his query, the clerk pointed to the adjoining coffee shop. "You'll find her in there, eating breakfast. She said you might be calling, Mr. Barefoot."

In the coffee shop he found a good number of people having breakfast; he stopped short, wondering which was Kathy. The dark-haired girl with the stilted, frozen features, over in the far corner out of the way? He walked toward her. Her hair, he decided, was dyed. Without makeup she looked unnaturally pale; her skin had a stark quality, as if she had known a good deal of suffering, and not the sort that taught or informed one, made one into a "better" person. It had been pure pain, with no redemptive aspects, he decided as he studied her.

"Kathy?" he asked.

The girl turned her head. Her eyes, empty; her expression totally flattened. In a little voice she said, "Yes. Are you John Barefoot?" As he came up to the booth and seated himself opposite her she watched as if she imagined he would spring at her, hurl himself on her and – God forbid – sexually assault her. It's as if she's nothing more than a lone, small animal, he thought. Backed into a corner to face the entire world.