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at the window. Save me a seat."
She didn't bother to recite her own litany of
tasks; she had already dismissed the matter and
was deeply engaged in a rather tricky attempt to
hack her way into NASA and sniff out
information regarding the first live guitar
jam the first musical interaction ever to be
performed in space (scheduled, according to
rumor, to occur aboard Mir, during the next visit
by the shuttle Atlantis; a Canadian and a Russian
trading off on acoustic and electric). It was her
intention to obtain the best possible recording of
the event, and play it at VanCon, the annual
Vancouver science fiction convention she and
Wally helped run.
He was editing his column, and she had just
settled on a promising line of attack, when they
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Robinson, Spider - The Mind 3 - Lifehouse
heard the wail.
It came clearly through the window behind
them: the unformed sound of a baby in distress.
Odd that they both thought "baby" the instant
they heard it for both the volume and pitch of
the sound were unmistakably adult (though the
gender was indeterminate). But that cry was not
even an attempt at a word.
"There is a baby the size of a football player in
our alley," Wally said calmly, fingers poised
over his keyboard, "on Halloween night."
Moira caught herself trying to use her own
keyboard as a breed of Ouija board. "One of us
should really look out the window."
He began to tap his keys without quite typing
them, a nervous mannerism she was sure she
would learn to accept in no more than another
decade at most. "That's the requisite number," he
agreed, and poked a key tentatively.
Her face clouded up ... then smoothed over.
"And babies are my department. I see." She
disconnected from the net, treating her mouse
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with elaborate gentleness, and rose from her
seat.
Although their workstation was large by most
home standards, so were Wally and Moira; she
could not move her chair out of her way unless
he got up too, so the only way she could get a
look out the window was to kneel up on the
chair and lean forward until her cheek pressed
against the chilly pane. She did so.
Several seconds passed. Wally typed, but his
heart clearly wasn't in it.
"What do you see?" he asked finally.
"Bad news," she replied slowly. "I think I'm
getting a zit."
"Oh, for " He got hold of himself, and saved
his changes. "Right. Sorry. You're quite right:
we do have to take up the tacks before we can
take up the carpet." He darkened both monitor
screens, extinguished both gooseneck lamps,
levered himself up out of his own chair and went
to dial the overhead light down. He waited there
by the rheostat, in near darkness, watching his
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wife look out the window and down into the
alley. "It's Captain Kirk, right?" he said.
More seconds passed.
He was beginning to become irritated by the
time she stirred slightly and spoke his name; but
then his irritation vanished at once, for there was
something wrong with her voice. "Yes, Moira?"
"We've spoken of my ongoing ambiguity with
regard to certain of the so-called assigned
gender roles, right?"
"Yes, dear. And I am sworn not to break your
stones about it."
"Thank you. With all due respect to sisterhood, I
think this is one of those times when a Y
chromosome is called for. He's naked, and he
looks dead, and he's bald so for all I know he
is Captain Kirk, but this is definitely not my
department, okay?"
"Our side of the fence, or Gorskys?"
"Our side."
His pidgin, then. He sighed. "Wait here in the
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cave. Now, where did I leave that stone ax . . . ?"
She turned away from the window. "Wally,
seriously "
He halted in the doorway. "Woman, you have
invoked the Y chromosome now run for cover
and get the bandages ready. No, better yet, go to
the phone, dial nine one, and wait for my
scream." He grinned and left the room, feeling
like a Heinlein hero. A Secret Master of Fandom
and Permanent Secretary of the Lower Mainland
Science Fiction Society had, after all, certain
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