"So stand still and hold still and shut up."

"Don't tickle! Oh, that, there's the phone signal! Get it off me, dear-hurry!"

VARIATIONS ON A THEME-IV

Love

Lazarus lounged in his hammock and scratched his chest.

"Hamadryad," he said, "that's not an easy question. At seventeen I was certain I was in love. But it was merely excess hormones and self-delusion. It was most of a thousand years later before I experienced the real thing-and didn't recognize the condition for years, as I had quit using that word."

Ira Weatheral's "pretty daughter" looked puzzled, while Lazarus thought again that Ira had been wrong: Hamadryad was not pretty; she was so startling beautiful that she would have fetched top premium prices at auction on Fatima, with hard-eyed Iskandrian factors outbidding each other in the belief that she was a sound speculation. If the Protector of the Faith had not preempted her for himself- Hamadryad did not seem to know that her appearance was exceptional. But Ishtar did. The first ten days that Ira's daughter had been part of Lazarus' "family" (so he thought of them-a good enough term as Ira, Hamadryad, Ishtar, and Galahad were all his descendants and now privileged to call him "Grandfather" as long as they did not overdo it)-those first days Ishtar had shown a childish tendency to try to place herself between Hamadryad and Lazarus, and also between Hamadryad and Galahad, even when this required being two places at once.

Lazarus had watched this barnyard dance with amusement and had wondered if Ishtar knew that she was doing it. Probably not, he decided. His rejuvenation supervisor was all duty and no sense of humor and would have been shocked had she known that she had reverted to adolescence.

But it did not last. It was impossible not to like Hamadryad because she remained quietly friendly no matter what. Lazarus wondered if it was a behavior pattern consciously developed to protect herself against her less-endowed sisters-or was it simply her nature? He had not tried to find out. But Ishtar now tended to sit by Hamadryad, or even to make room between herself and Galahad for Hamadryad, and let her help in serving meals and such-assistant "housewife" de facto.

"If I must wait a thousand years to understand that word," Hamadryad replied, "then I probably never will. Minerva says that it cannot be defined in Galacta and even when I speak Classic English, I find that I think in Galacta, which means that I do not really grasp English. Since the word 'love' occurs so frequently in ancient English literature, I thought my failure to understand that word might be the block that keeps me from thinking in English."

"Well, let's shift to Galacta and take a swing at it. In the first place, very little thinking was ever done in English; it is not a language suited to logical thought. Instead, it's an emotive lingo beautifully adapted to concealing fallacies. A rationalizing language, not a rational one. But most people who spoke English had no more idea of the meaning of the word 'love' than you have, even though they used it all the time."

Lazarus added, "Minerva! We're going to take another hack at the word 'love.' Want to join in? If so, shift to your personal mode."

"Thank you, Lazarus. Hello, Ira-Ishtar-Hamadryad-Galahad," the disembodied contralto voice answered. "I am and have been in personal mode, and usually am, now that you have given me permission to use my judgment. You're looking well, Lazarus-younger every day."

"I feel younger. But, dear, when you go to personal mode, you should tell us."

"I'm sorry, Grandfather!"

"Don't sound so humble. Just say, 'Howdy, I'm here,' that's all. If you could manage to tell me, or Ira, just once, to go to hell, it 'ud be good for you. Clean your circuits."

"But I have no wish to say that to either of you."

"That's what's wrong. If you hang around Dora, you'll learn to. Have you spoken to her today?"

"I'm speaking with Dora now, Lazarus. We're playing fairy chess in five dimensions, and she's teaching me songs you taught her. She teaches me a song, then I sing a tenor lead while she harmonizes in soprano. We're doing this in real time because we're outing through the speakers in your control room and listening to ourselves. Right now we're singing the story of One-Ball Riley. Would you care to hear us?"

Lazarus flinched. "No, no, not that one."

"We've practiced several others. 'Rangy Lil' and 'The Ballad of Yukon Jake' and 'Barnacle Bill'-I sing the story on that one while Dora does soprano and bass. Or perhaps 'Four Whores Came Down from Canada'-that one is fun."

"No, Minerva. I'm sorry, Ira; my computer is corrupting your computer." Lazarus sighed. "I didn't plan it that way; I just wanted Minerva to baby-sit for me. Since I've got the only retarded ship in this sector."

"Lazarus," Minerva said reproachfully, "I don't think it is correct to say that Dora is retarded. She's quite intelligent, I think. I do not understand why you say that she is corrupting me."

Ira had been lying on the grass, sunbathing with a kerchief over his eyes. He rolled to one elbow. "Nor I, Lazarus. That last one I'd like to hear. I recall where Canada is-was. North of the country you were born in."

Lazarus counted silently, then said, "Ira, I know I have prejudices ridiculous to a civilized modern man such as yourself. I can't help it; I'm canalized by early childhood, imprinted like a baby duckling. If you want to hear bawdy songs from a barbaric era, please listen to them in your apartments-not up here. Minerva, Dora doesn't understand those songs; to her they are nursery rhymes."

"Nor do I understand them, sir, other than theoretically. But they are jolly, and I have enjoyed being taught to sing."

"Well- All right. Has Dora been behaving herself otherwise?"

"She's been a good girl, Grandfather Lazarus, and I think she is contented with my company. She pouted a little at not having her bedtime story last night. But I told her that you were very tired and already asleep; and told her a story myself."

"But- Ishtar! Did I miss a day?"

"Yes, sir."

"Surgery? I didn't notice any new healed places."

The Master Chief Technician hesitated. "Grandfather, I will discuss procedures only if you insist. It does a client no good to be reminded of such things. I hope that you will not insist. I do hope so, sir."

"Um. All right, all right. But next time you chop out a day-or a week, or whatever-warn me. So that I can leave a bedtime story on file with Minerva. No, that won't do; you don't want me to know. Okay, I'll keep stories on file with Minerva and you warn her, instead."

"I will, Grandfather. It does help when the client cooperates, especially by paying as little attention to what we do as possible." Ishtar smiled briefly. "The client we dread is another rejuvenator. Worries and tries to run things."

"Small wonder. I know, dear, I have that horrid habit of trying to run things myself. The only way I can keep from it is by staying out of the control room. So when I get too nosy, tell me to shut up. But how are we doing? How much longer do I have to go?"

Ishtar answered hesitantly, "Perhaps this is a time when I should tell you to...'shut up.'"

"That's it! But firmer, dear. 'Get out of my control room, you custard-headed dolt, and stay out! Make him realize that, if he doesn't jump, you'll toss him into the brig. Now try it again."

Ishtar grinned widely. "Grandfather, you're an old fraud."

"So I've long suspected. I was hoping it didn't show. All right, the subject is 'love.' Minerva, the Hamadarling says you told her that it can't be defined in Galacta. Got anything to add to that?"