Free Job: A Comedy of Justice by Robert A. Heinlein Page A

I’m terribly sorry. But that is the truth.”

VII
    Now therefore be content, look upon me;
for it is evident unto you if I lie.
    Job 6:28
    Margrethe is both a warm comfort and a civilized adult. Never once did she gasp, or expostulate, or say, “Oh, no!” or “I can’t believe it!” At my first statement she held very still, waited, then said quietly, “I do not understand.”
    “I don’t understand it either,” I told her. “Something happened when I walked through that fire pit. The world changed. This ship—” I pounded the bulkhead beside us. “—is not the ship I was in before. And people call me ‘Graham’…when I know that my name is Alexander Hergensheimer. But it’s not just me and this ship; it’s the whole world. Different history. Different countries. No airships here.”
    “Alec, what is an airship?”
    “Uh, up in the air, like a balloon. It is a balloon, in a way. But it goes very fast, over a hundred knots.”
    She considered it soberly. “I think that I would find that frightening.”
    “Not at all; it’s the best way to travel. I flew down here in one, the Count von Zeppelin of North American Airlines. But this world doesn’t have airships. That was the point that finally convinced me that-this really is a different world—and not just some complicated hoax that someone had played on me. Air travel is so major a part of the economy of the world I knew that it changes everything else not to have it. Take—Look, do you believe me?”
    She answered slowly and carefully, “I believe that you are telling the truth as you see it. But the truth I see is very different.”
    “I know and that’s what makes it so hard. I—See here, if you don’t hurry, you’re going to miss dinner, right?”
    “It does not matter.”
    “Yes, it does; you must not miss meals just because I made a stupid mistake and hurt your feelings. And if I don’t show up, Inga will send somebody up to find out whether I’m ill or asleep or whatever; I’ve seen her do it with others at my table. Margrethe—my very dear!—I’ve wanted to tell you. I’ve waited to tell you. I’ve needed to tell you. And now I can and I must. But I can’t do it in five minutes standing up. After you turn down beds tonight can you take time to listen to me?”
    “Alec, I will always take all the time for you that you need.”
    “All right. You go down and eat, and I’ll go down and touch base at least—get Inga off my neck—and I’ll meet you here after you turn down beds. All right?”
    She looked thoughtful. “All right. Alec—Will you kiss me again?”
    That’s how I knew she believed me. Or wanted to believe me. I quit worrying. I even ate a good dinner, although I hurried.
    She was waiting for me when I returned, and stood up as I came in. I took her in my arms, pecked her on the nose, picked her up by her elbows and sat her on my bunk; then I sat down in the only chair. “Dear one, do you think I’m crazy?”
    “Alec, I don’t know what to tink.” (Yes, she said “tink.” Once in a long while, under stress of emotion, Margrethe would lose the use of the theta sound. Otherwise her English accent was far better than my tall-corn accent, harsh as a rusty saw.)
    “I know,” I agreed. “I had the same problem. Only two ways to look at it. Either something incredible did happen when I walked through the fire, something that changed my whole world. Or I’m as crazy as a pet ’coon. I’ve spent days checking the facts…and the world has changed. Not just airships. Kaiser Wilhelm the Fourth is missing and some silly president named ‘Schmidt’ is in his place. Things like that.”
    “I would not call Herr Schmidt ‘silly.’ He is quite a good president as German presidents go.”
    “That’s my point, dear. To me, any German president looks silly, as Germany is—in my world—one of the last western monarchies effectively unlimited. Even the Tsar is not as powerful.”
    “And that has to be my