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Before succumbing to her sorrow, however, Jill had put an arrow into each of Fatima's murderers. They were not going to rise elsewhere either.
Years later, she had heard rumors of the great dirigible that was being built up-River. She did hot know if they were true or not, but there was only one way to find out.
So here she was, though it had taken a long time to get here.
11
From The Daily Leak, a five-page newspaper. owner and owner and publisher: the state of Parolando. Editor: S.C. Bagg. In the upper left-hand corner above the headline is the standard notice:
CAVEAT LECTOR
By law, the reader must place this journal in a public recycling barrel the day after receipt. In case of emergency, it may be used for toilet paper. We recommend the Letters to the Editor page as most appropriate for this purpose. First offense: a public reprimand. Second: confiscation of all booze, tobacco, and dreamgum for a week. Third: permanent exile.
Prominent in the Newcomers section:
JILL GULBIRRA
We welcome, in spite of the advice of many, our latest female candidate for citizenship. On Sunday last, this tall drink of water appeared out of the predawn fog and accosted four of our leading public figures. Despite their certain state of inebriation and possibly lecherous thoughts, two conditions leading to mental fogginess, the quartet finally comprehended that their unexpected guest had traveled approximately 32,180 kilometers (or 20,000 miles, for you dummies and dodos). She had done this alone and in a canoe (and not been raped or dunked once) and all this odyssey was performed just to make sure that our airship project proceeds on proper lines. While not exactly demanding that she be appointed commander of the dirigible when it is commissioned, she did intimate that it would be to everybody's good if she did obtain this post.
After a few snorts of the divine product of Caledonia, the quartet partially recovered from this onslaught. (One witness thus describes her appearance: "Amazonly, with a demeanor of sheer brass nerves and ironclad guts, unseemly in any woman worthy of the name.")
The famous four inquired as to her credentials. She furnished these, which, if valid, are impressive indeed. A prominent citizen interviewed on the subject by our intrepid reporter, Roger "Nellie" Bligh, affirms that she is indeed what she claims to be. Though never having met her in his Terrestrial existence, he did read about her in various periodicals and once viewed her on television (a mid-twentieth-century invention which your editor did not live long enough to see and from all accounts was fortunate to have missed).
It seems that, unless this woman bears a remarkable physical resemblance to the genuine Jill Gulbirra, she is not one of the numerous phonies that have plagued this River-valley for far too long a time.
The Office of Vital (some say Deadly) Statistics has furnished us with the following information. Gulbirra, Jill (no middle name). Female. Natal name: Johnetta Georgette Redd. Born February 12, 1953, Toowoomba, Queensland, Australia. Father: John George Redd. Mother: Marie Bronze Redd. Heredity: Scotch-Irish, French (Jewish), Australian aborigine. Unmarried on Earth. Attended schools in Canberra and Melbourne. Graduated 1973 from Massachusetts Institute of Technology, master's degree in aeronautical engineering. Commercial aviator's license, four-motor. Free balloonist's license. Engineer-navigator on West German freighter blimp serving Nigerian government, 1977-78. Blimp pilot for Goodyear, United States, 1979. Blimp pilot for the Sheik of Kuwait, 1980-81. Blimp instructor for British Airways Systems, 1982. Became in 1983 the only qualified woman airship captain in the Western world. Logged 8342 hours airship flight time.
Died April 1, 1983 A.D., automobile accident near How-den, England, just before assuming command of the newly commissioned rigid airship Willows-Goodens.
Profession: obvious from above.
Skills: flute, archery, fencing, kendo, quarterstaff, martial arts, badmouthing.
She is pretty good with her dukes, too, having slammed a distinguished citizen, Cyrano "Schnozzola" deBergeracin the breadbasket, following with a knee to the jaw, rendering him hors de combat and speechless. This phenomenon occurred as a result of his having laid hands (without permission) upon her teat. Normally, the fiery Frenchman would have challenged anyone who handled him so savagely to a duel to the death (across the Parolando boundary, of course, since dueling is illegal in our fair state). But he is so old-fashioned that he would feel, as he put it "comme un imbecile," if he were to fight a woman. Moreover, he feels that he was in the wrong for having made advances without invitation "verbal" or "ocular."
An hour after suppertime yesterday, your enterprising intrepid appeared at the door of Gulbirra's hut and knocked. There were some grunts and then a querulous voice called. "What in hell do you want?" Apparently, the would-be interviewee didn't give a hoot about the identity of her caller.
"Miss Gulbirra, I'm Roger Bligh, reporter for The Daily Leak. I'd like to interview you."
"Well, you'll have to wait. I'm on the pot."
Your journalist lit up a cigar to pass the time. He also pla
"Gladly," said your dauntless.
He found the subject seated at a chair by the table and smoking a joint. What with the cigar and maryjane and residue of the subject's recent occupation and the smoke from several fish wax candles, neither visibility nor olfactor-iness were at an optimum.
"Miss Gulbirra?"
"No. Miz." "What does the title mean?"
"Are you asking just to get my views or don't you really know? There are plenty of people of my time around. Surely, you've encountered Miz before?"
Your reporter confessed his ignorance.
Instead of enlightening Mr. Bligh, the subject said, "What is the position of women in Parolando?"
"In the daytime or at night?" Mr. Bligh said.
"Don't get smart with me," Miz Gulbirra said. "Let me put it simply so your mind can grasp exactly what I'm talking
about. Legally, that is, theoretically, women have equal
rights here. But in practice, in reality, what is the male
attitude toward females?"
"Mainly lecherous, I'm afraid," the intrepid replied.
"I'll give you one more chance,'' the subject said. "Then it'll be a question of chance and gravity which strikes the ground first outside the door, your ass or your stinking cigar."
"My apologies," the intrepid said. "But, after all, I am here to interview you, not vice versa. Why don't you ask our female citizens what they think of the male attitude toward them? Anyway, are you here to conduct a suffragette crusade or to build and to man (if I may use the word) the proposed dirigible?"
"Are you making fun of me?"
"The farthest thing from my mind," the dauntless said hastily. "We are quite modern here, even though the late-twentieth-centurians constitute only a small percentage of the population. The state is dedicated to the construction of the airship. To that goal, strict discipline during working hours is maintained. But a citizen may do what he damn well pleases on his hours off, as long as he doesn't hurt anybody else. So, let's get down to business. What is a Miz, not to be confused with amiss?"
"You aren't putting me on?"
"I'd swear by a stack of Bibles, if any existed."
"Briefly, it's a title which the members of the women's liberation movement in the sixties adopted. Miss and Mrs. were too indicative of male sexual attitudes. To be a Miss was to be unmarried, which automatically evoked contempt, consciously or unconsciously, on the part of the male, if the Miss were past marriageable age. It implied that something was lacking in the woman, and also that the Miss must be dying to be referred to as Mrs. That is, without an identity of her own, regarded as an appendage to her husband, a second-class citizen. Why should a Miss, for that matter, be known by her father's name? Why not her mother's?"