(Never had any in stock, dearie. Oh, there are lots of other loving things you can do without getting pregnant—if you can shake off your early training and be twenty-first century—) (Look, infant, 1 knew about—and used—every one of those other things in high school. I keep telling you: You kids did not invent sex.) (You didn't let me finish, Boss. Those are emergency measures. A girl who depends on them alone is going to add to the population explosion. Joan, I looked into it carefully, when I turned eighteen and was licensed and settled on one of the oldest methods. A diaphragm. They are still available; any physician will fit them. I wore one six days every month, even at the office—because, as the doctor who fitted me pointed out, most diaphragm failures result from leaving them at home while you run out for a pound of sugar, be right back.)

(I suspect he's right, Eunice.) (I'm sure of it, Joan. I never liked them—I never liked any contraception; I seemed to have a deep instinct that told me to get pregnant. Boss... the thing—the only thing—that I really mind about being dead... is that I always wanted to have a baby by you. And that's silly, as you were already too old—or maybe almost too old—when I first met you. But I would have tried, if you had offered.)

(Darling, darling!)

(Oh, I'm happy with what I have. Om Mani Padme Hum. I'm not kicking about my karma. I'm not just content, I'm happy. ...o be half of Joan Eunice.)

(Eunice, would you still be willing to have a baby by me?)

(What? Boss, don't joke about it. Don't mock me.)

(I'm not joking, beloved.)

(But, Boss, the necessary part of you is gone. Pickled in alcohol, or something.)

(They use formalin, I think. Or deep freeze. I'm not talking about that old wreck we discarded. We can go down and get an implant.)

(Huh? I don't understand.)

(Do you remember a tax-deductible called the Johanna Mueller Schmidt Memorial Eugenics Foundation?)

(Of course. I wrote a check for it every quarter.)

(Eunice, despite the purposes set out in its charter, the only real purpose does not appear in the fine print. When my son was killed I was already fairly old. But I was still virile—potent—and tests showed that I was fertile. So I got married—I think I told you—to have another son. Didn't work. But I had my bet hedged and never told anyone. Sperm bank deposit. In the cryogenic vault of the Foundation is a little piece of Johann. Hundreds of millions of extremely little pieces, that is. Presumably they are not dead, just asleep. That's what. I meant by an implant. With a syringe. Or however they do it.

(Eunice? Are you still there?) (I'm crying, Boss. Can't a girl cry happy? Yes!)

(Tomorrow morning, then. You can change your mind up till the last minute.)

(I'll never change my mind. I hope you won't.)

(Beloved.)

Next morning Joan found that Jake had left the house before she woke; there was a note on her tray:

"Dear Joan Eunice,

"I slept like a baby and feel ready to fight wildcats—thanks to you and Winnie. Please extend my thanks to her and say (to both of you) that I will most gratefully join your prayer meetings any time 1 am invited—especially if I've had a tiring day.

"1 will not be back until late—treasure hunting, locating links of evidence. Alec is off to Washington for one link. If you need me, call my answering service or Judge McCampbell's chambers.

"I've instructed Jefferson Billings to let you draw against your petty expenditures account—about four hundred thousand in it, 1 believe—on your old signature and new thumb print. He'll pay drafts and hold them and I'll countersign until you make out a new signature & thumbprint card—he says he knew Eunice Branca by sight, no problem. If you wish, he will call on you with a new sig­print card—we assume that your signature is now somewhat changed."

(Boss, I guess Jake doesn't know that I sign your signature better than you do.) (I don't think anyone knows, dearest. I don't know how that would figure in court—for us, or against us?)

"If you need more pocket money, let me make you a personal loan rather than have it show in my conservator's report. Your ‘Brother Mac' is most helpful, but the financial end of this nonsense should appear ultra­conservative until such time as he can, with full justification, relieve me as your conservator. Caesar's wife, you know.

"Speaking of Caesar's wife, I told you a chuckle about two of our friends. This morning I phoned one of them and the other answered and, after the usual query as to sight & security, they seemed unworried about what I saw or heard or might infer. I was flattered. Little imp, if you must misbehave, you can trust them—for they have your welfare at heart. Sorry I was stuffy yesterday."

(I'm glad to learn that, Boss.) (Eunice, I can't see that it's our business what Alec and Mac do in their spare time. Jake shouldn't gossip about them, even to us.) (No, no, Boss! Jake is telling you that he was being a cube yesterday—and he's sorry—and now he's granting you absolution in advance. We had best marry Jake—never­theless I've fretted that Jake might be jealous. Possessive. His age, his background. Could be doom, twin—as you are a tart at heart and we both know it.)

(Oh, nonsense, Eunice! I would never rub Jake's nose in it—and anyhow you're wrong. A smart man—which Jake is—doesn't get excited over a go on the tiles; what worries him is fear of losing a wife he values. If Jake marries us, I will never let him worry about losing us.) (I hope you can make that stick, Boss honey.) (With your help I'm sure I can. Let's finish his letter—)

"Don't count on me for dinner, as what I must do today is urgent—more urgent than something that seemed dreadfully urgent yesterday. And was. And will be, I hope.

"This was meant to be a love letter but I've had to mention other matters—and other people, so I must urge you to tear it up and flush it down the W.C. It is no accident that 1 am thumbprinting the seal and will hand it to Cunningham with a promise to have his head on a platter if it leaves his person before it reaches you. I've learned to like Cunningham; he's an ‘honest thief.'

"My love to you, dearest, and the biggest kiss possible—so big that you can break off a piece and deliver it to Winnie when you thank her for me. She's a charming girl, and I'm pleased that she's mothering you so well.

"J"

(Why, the horny old bastard. Joan, Jake has his eye on Winnie's pretty tail while he's patting ours.) (She'll have to stand in line!) (Jealous, twin?) (No. But I repeat—I'm going to scalp him first. Darn it, Eunice, I had him all set yesterday—and it's been a long struggle. Not the Whim­Wham-Thankee-Ma'am you managed with him. And all it got me was a spanking. I do hope he comes home tonight.)

(Three hurdles even if he does, twin.) (Three?) (Hubert... and Winnie... and that ‘implant.' Boss darling? You're not going to do me out of having your baby by letting Jake get at you first—are you?) (Of course not, little stupid. I was coping with intrigues without getting shot long before your grandmother was born. Mmm—I'll need cash.)