"Marj, if you will just sit tight this silly season will be over and you can then go home comfortably. If there is another flap, you can dive down the Hole. At worst you have to stay indoors. Meanwhile Georges can paint nudes of you, as Betty ordered. Okay, Georges?"
"That would be most pleasing."
"Well, Marj?"
"Ian, if I tell my boss that I couldn't come back when I was supposed to because a twenty-five-hundred kilometer stretch of border was nominally closed he simply would not believe me." (Tell them that I am a trained courier? No need to. Or not yet.)
"What are you going to do?"
"I think I have been enough trouble to you folks." (Ian dear, I think you are still in shock from seeing a man killed in your living room. Even though you straightened up afterward and behaved like a pro.) "I now know where your back door is. When you get up tomorrow morning it is possible that I won't be here. Then you can forget a disturbance in your life."
"No!"
"Jan, once this mess is over, I will call you. Then, if you want me to, I'll come back to visit just as soon as I have some vacation time. But now I must leave and get back to work. I've said so all along."
Janet simply would not hear of my setting out alone to crack the border (whereas I needed someone with me the way a snake needs shoes). But she did have a plan.
She pointed out that Georges and I could travel on their passports-I was her size, near enough, and Georges matched Ian in size and weight. Our faces did not match but the differences weren't major-and who really looks at passport pictures anyhow?
"You could use them and mail them back... but that may not be the easiest way. You could go to Vancouver, then cross into the California Confederacy simply on tourists' cards-but as us. You can go all the way to Vancouver on our credit cards. Once across the border into California you are almost certainly home free- Marj, your credit card should be good, you shouldn't have trouble phoning your employer, and the cops won't be trying to intern either one of you. Is that any help?"
"Yes," I agreed. "I think the tourist-card dodge is safer than trying to use your passports-safer for everyone. If I reach a place where my credit card is valid, my troubles should be over." (I would draw cash at once and never again let myself be caught away from home without plenty of cash-money greases anything. Especially in California, a place loaded with scams, whereas in British Canada officials are sometimes disconcertingly honest.)
I added, "I can't possibly be worse off in Bellingham than I am here-then I've got all the way down to the Lone Star Republic to try to cross if there is any holdup. Has there been any word on Texas and Chicago? Are they on speaking terms?"
"Okay so far as I've seen in the news," Ian answered. "Shall I key the computer for a search?"
"Yes, before I leave please do. If I had to, I could go through Texas to Vicksburg. One can always go up the river for cash because smugglers run so steadily."
"Before we leave," Georges corrected me gently.
"Georges, I think this route would work, for me. For you, all it would do is get you farther and farther away from Québec. Didn't you say that McGill is your other base?"
"Dear lady, I have no wish to go to McGill. Since the police are being difficult here, my true home, I can think of nothing I would
rather do than travel with you. Once we cross into Washington Province of California you can change your name from Mrs. Tormey to Mrs. Perreault, as it is certain, I think, that both my Maple Leaf card and my Credit Québec card will be accepted."
(Georges, you are a gallant darling... and when I'm trying to pull a caper I need a gallant darling the way I need an Oregon boot. And I will have to pull one, dear-despite what Janet said, I will not be home free.) "Georges, that sounds delightful. I can't tell you that you must stay home... but I must tell you that I am by profession a courier who has traveled for years by herself, all over this planet, more than once to space colonies, and to Luna. Not yet to Mars or Ceres but I may be ordered to at any time."
"You are saying that you would rather I did not accompany you."
"No, no! I am merely saying that, if you choose to go with me, it will be purely social. For your pleasure and mine. But I must add that when I enter the Imperium I must go alone, as I will be back on duty at once."
Ian said, "Marj, at least let Georges get you out of here and into territory where there is no silly talk of interning you, and where your credit card is valid."
Janet added, "It's getting free of that silly internment thing that is important. Marj, you can hang onto my Visa card as long as you wish; I'll use my Maple Leaf card instead. Just remember that you are Jan Parker."
"Parker?"
"Visa has my maiden name on it. Here, take it." I accepted it, thinking that I would use it only when someone was looking over my shoulder. When possible, I would charge things to the late Lieutenant Dickey, whose credit should remain viable for days, possibly weeks. There was more chitchat and at last I said,
"I'm leaving now. Georges, are you coming with me?"
Ian said, "Hey! Not tonight. First thing in the morning."
"Why? The tubes run all night, do they not?" (I knew that they did.)
"Yes but it's over twenty klicks to the nearest tube station. And dark as the inside of a pile of coal."
(Not the time to discuss enhanced vision.) "Ian, I can walk that
far by midnight. If a capsule leaves at midnight, I can get practically a full night's sleep in Bellingham. If the border is open between California and the Imperium, I'll report to my boss tomorrow morning. Better so, huh?"
A few minutes later we all left, by surrey. Ian was not pleased with me as I had not been the sweet, soft, amenable creature that men prefer. But he got over his annoyance and kissed me very sweetly when they dropped us at Perimeter and McPhillips across from the tube station. Georges and I crowded into the twenty-threeo'-clock capsule, then we had to stand up all the way across the continent.
But we were in Vancouver by twenty-two (Pacific Time-midnight in Winnipeg), picked up applications for tourist cards as we entered the Bellingham shuttle, filled them out en route, had them processed by the exit computer as we left the shuttle a few minutes later. The human operator didn't even look up as the machine spit out our cards. She just murmured, "Enjoy your stay," and went on reading.
At Bellingham the Vancouver Shuttle Station exits into the lower lobby of the Bellingham Hilton; facing us was a glowing sign floating in space:
THE BREAKFAST BAR
Steaks-Short Orders-Cocktails
Breakfast Served Twenty-Four Hours
Georges said, "Mrs. Tormey my love, it occurs to me that we neglected to eat dinner."
"Mr. Tormey, you are so right. Let's shoot a bear."
"Cooking in the Confederacy is not exotic, not sophisticated. But in its own robust way it can be quite satisfying-especially if one has had time to grow a real appetite. I have eaten at this establishment before. Despite its name, one may have a variety of dishes. But, if you will accept the breakfast menu and allow me to order for you, I think that I can guarantee that your hunger will be pleasantly assuaged."
"Georges-I mean 'Ian'-I have eaten your soup. You can order for me anytime!"
It was truly a bar-no tables. But the stools had backs and were padded and they came up to the bar without banging knees-comfortable. Apple-juice appetizers were placed in front of us as we sat down. Georges ordered for us, then slid out and went over to the reception desk and punched us in. When he returned, he said as he sat down again, "Now you may call me 'Georges,' and you are 'Mrs. Perreault.' For that is how I punched us in." He picked up his appetizer. "Sante, ma chère femme."