"Most unlikely, Mr. Barnes, but if you will look at ‘Appendix G,' you will see how my lawyer handled it. A small trust to buy tip any such claim, with a fifty-year conversion of any remainder to a named charity."

"Uh, let me find it. Mmm, Mrs. Salomon, do you call ten million dollars ‘small'?"

"Yes."

"Mmm. Perhaps I had better look closely at the other financial provisions. Have you been advised that, even though the Commission claims only half of your fortune, the other half cannot be used to buy you anything on the Moon? In other words, poor or rich, on the Moon out-migrants start off equal."

"I know that, Mr. Barnes. Believe me, my attorney, Mr. Train, is most careful. He searched the law and made certain that I knew the consequences of my acts—because he did not approve of them. To put it briefly Alec Train said that anyone who goes to the Moon to live must be out of his head. So he tried to talk me out of what he regards as my folly. You'll find four other possible heirs in ‘Appendix F'—my granddaughters. It is to their advantage to accept what is offered there... as they are told bluntly how much worse off they will be if they wait for me to die. A poor bet for them in any case; I am now physiologically younger than they are; I'll probably outlive all of them."

"That could be true. Especially on the Moon, one could add. I wish I could out-migrate myself. But I can't afford to pay for it the way you can and lawyers are not in demand there. Well, your Mr. Train seems to have thought of most aspects. Let's look at your balance sheet."

"One moment, sir. I have asked for one small measure of special treatment."

"Eh? All out-migrants are treated alike. Must be."

"A very small thing, Mr. Barnes. My baby will be born not long after I arrive on Luna. I've asked to have Dr.

Garcia continue to attend me through that time."

"I can't promise that, Madam. Sorry. Policy."

She started slowly to get up. "Then I'm not going through with it."

"Uh—good God! Is this really your net worth?"

She shrugged. "What is the worth of one pregnant woman, sir? I suppose it depends on your values."

"I didn't mean that. This balance sheet— If it's correct, you're not just wealthy—I knew that—you're a billionaire!"

"Possibly. I haven't added it. That summary was prepared through Chase Manhattan with the assistance of accountancy firms listed there. I suppose it's correct, unless some computer got the hiccups. But give it back to me...since the Commission can't promise me Dr. Garcia to deliver my baby."

"Please, Madam. I have certain latitude in these matters. I simply don't exercise it—ordinarily. Policy."

"Whose policy, Mr. Barnes? The Commission's? Or yours?"

"Eh? Why, mine. I said so."

"Then quit wasting my time, you damned idiot!"

(‘That's telling him, Fat Lady!') (Eunice, this is one fat lady who isn't going to take any more nonsense. My back aches.)

The blast almost caused Mr. Barnes to fall out of his swivel chair. He recovered his balance, said: "Please, Madam Salomon!"

"Young man, let's have no more nonsense! I'm far gone in pregnancy, as you cart see. You've lectured me about the dangers of childbirth—and you aren't a doctor. You've pried into personal matters with the gall of a kinsey. You've tried to tell me I can't have my own doctor when he is going in the same ship—and now it turns out that it was not a Commission regulation but merely petty tyranny on your part. Bullying. All through this nonsense—although I've appeared with a complete and carefully prepared proposal—you've kept me sitting on a hard uncomfortable chair. My back aches. On how many poor helpless applicants have you fattened your ego? But I am neither ‘poor' nor ‘helpless'. You spoke of a ‘chill breeze.' It's an icy blast now. I bloody well mean to have your job!"

"Please, Madam! I said you could have your own doctor. And I am required to review each applicant's proposal."

"Then get your lazy arse out of that comfortable chair and give it to me! You come sit in this ducking stool."

"Very well, Ma'am." They exchanged chairs. Shortly he said, "I see that you are putting almost all of the other fifty percent of your fortune into starship research and development."

"It's none of your business what I do with it."

"I didn't say it was. It just struck me as...unusual."

"Why? My child may want to go in a starship. I want that research to move. Mr. Barnes, you've had time to look at that proposal; if you hadn't talked so much, you could have it memorized by now. Do whatever it is you do. Mark your X, or stamp your chop. Or hand it back and let me out of here. Now! Not five minutes from now—but now. My back still hurts. You're a pain in the back, Mr. Barnes, you and your petty ‘policy' and your worthless talk."

He signed it. "Through that door, Madam Salomon."

"Thank you." She started toward it.

"You're barely welcome-you ancient bitch!"

Joan Eunice stopped, turned back, and smiled her best golden-sunrise smile. "Why, thank you, dear! That's the best thing you've said to me. Because it is utterly honest. Of course I'm not welcome, the way I've stormed at you—and answered your bullying with worse bullying. And I am indeed both a bitch and ancient."

"I shouldn't have said that."

"Oh, but you should have. I richly deserved it, but I would never have tried to get your job—truly, I'm not that petty. That was just backache bad temper talking. I admire your spunk in telling me off. What is your first name?"

"Uh, ‘Matthew.'"

"A good name, Matthew. A strong name." Joan Eunice came back, stood close to him. "Matthew, I'm going to the Moon. I'll never be back this way again. Will you forgive this ancient bitch and let us part friends? Will you kiss me good-bye? I've no one to see me off, Matthew—will you kiss me good-bye as I leave for the Moon?"

"Uh—"

"Please, Matthew. Uh, mind the big belly; turn me a little sideways—that's better." She wet her lips, lifted her face, and closed her eyes.

Presently she sighed and nestled closer. "Matthew? Will you let me love you? Oh, I don't mean seduce you, it's too late for that, I'm about benched. Just tell me that I may think of you with love as I go to the Moon. It's a long way off and I'm a little scared—and I lived too long without love and want to love everyone who will let me... any who will love me back even a little. Will you, dear? Or is this bitch too ancient?"

"Uh, Madam Salomon—"

"'Eunice,' Matthew."

"Eunice. Eunice, you're a sparky little bitch, you really are. But I kept you sitting there—even before I realized who you are——because I like looking at you. Hell, honey, my wife says I can love any woman I want to—ten percent of what I love her."

"Ten percent is a good return on any investment, Matthew. All right, please love me that ten percent—and I'll love you ten percent of what I loved—still love!— my darling husband. Is there enough love in that ten percent for a second kiss? It's a long way to the Moon—they must keep me warm all the way." She closed her eyes and waited.

(Hey, twin, lover boy is doing better this time.) (Don't bother me now, I'm busy!)

Presently Mr. Barnes murmured, "Lovely."

"All swollen and fat now, that's why I wear styles that cover them. But you should have seen Eunice—the first Eunice, my benefactrix—at her lovely best... in styles to show it."

"I still say they're lovely. I guess we had better stop this, I've got a roomful of people waiting out there. And you have almost four hours of processing before you go on to quarantine. If you want to go to Andes Port with your own doctor, you had better go now."

"Yes, Matthew. I love you—ten percent—and I'll still be loving you on the Moon. At compound interest. Through that door?"