Operation Longlife by E. Hoffmann Price

Author:E. Hoffmann Price
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: science fiction, space opera, pulp fiction, sci-fi, libertarian
Publisher: Wildside Press
Published: 2014-11-13T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 27

Doc’s survey of the Simianoid colonies of Mars was intensely interesting, and one of the most gratifying experiences of his career: Like the Nameless Island folk, they were people who made sense. “Simianoids,” he would sum up, after a day’s tour of a dome devoted to animal husbandry or agriculture, horticulture or sericulture, “don’t worry about rights other than their own. The Three Dee programs from Terra, newscasts on riots and demonstration, strike them as hilariously slapstick.”

The only sad feature was the Sudzo commercial: Whether in a cozy Simianoid household of four husbands and their sparkling wife—who was not a bit interested in a career, or in a recreation center—there was always a reminder of Flora and that Martian honeymoon: her voice, her laundry routine, and when there was no Sudzo program, there were Simianoid clotheslines, with colorful floral triangles.

And, despite the many variants of the six basic types, the permutations and combinations of four husbands and one wife, there were reminders of Mona. No one duplicated her, but her type was widely distributed.

Doc was glad when he got the radiogram from Alexander Heflin: “Come back we need you Stop New phone number Stop Scramble only Stop Call Megapolis Alpha Stop Will relay End.”

The message spelled trouble.

The Excelsior made a fast hop to a spaceport on the Gulf of Mexico. Doc bypassed New Orleans: Without Mona and a second honeymoon, his favorite city would be flat as beer on a platter.

As of old, the local helicopter brought him to the Island, and Isaiah picked him up at the Nameless landing field. Before Doc got himself and luggage into the estate wagon, he knew that something was wrong at home as well as in Megapolis Alpha. Instead of comfortable silences broken by occasional comment on the teak forest, the farm, the fishing, or the menagerie, Isaiah kept up a steady flow of words as though rendering an account of the entire establishment. When they reached the guest house, Isaiah pulled into its driveway instead of going on some forty meters to let Doc off at headquarters and proprietors’ residence.

Of several guesses, the most likely was that Oswald had moved in with Mona and that Dot had been tactless in failing to radio in time. Sleeping with Mona would be entirely de rigueur, but moving in was a gross breach of etiquette.

Doc followed Isaiah into the billiard room.

Isaiah brought him the absinthe drip which had been in the freezer, but not yet assembled. When he set the drink at hand, the first cubic millimeter of the ninety-cubic centimeters of green goddess was flirting with finely cracked ice.

“Isaiah, there is something about this that makes it the emotional and aesthetic equivalent of the Japanese tea ceremony—somewhat simplified, of course. It’s been a long time, and it’ll take awhile for me to tell you about Mars and escape from Mars. Why don’t you mix yourself a drink and sit down. We have a lot to talk about.”

Isaiah returned with a second drip, like the first, waiting to be assembled.

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