XIII

Being too close to a fireball can worry a man-

Zeb:

            Not being able to phone from my car was my most frustrating experience since a night I spent in jail through mistake (I made the mistake). I considered grounding to phone-but the ground did not seem healthy. Even if all of us were presumed dead, nullifying our comcredit cards so quickly seemed unfriendly; all of us had high credit ratings.

            Canceling Sharpie's comcredit without proof of death was more than unfriendly; it was outrageous as she used the predeposit method.

            I was forced to the decision that it was my duty to make a military report; I radioed NORAD, stated name, rank, reserve commission serial number, and asked for scramble for a crash priority report.

            -and ran into "correct" procedure that causes instant ulcers. What was my clearance? What led me to think that I had crash priority intelligence? By what authority did I demand a scramble code? Do you know how many screwball calls come in here every day? Get off this frequency; it's for official traffic only. One more word out of you and I shall alert the civil sky patrol to pick you up.

            I said one more word after I chopped off. Deety and her father ignored it; Hilda said, "My sentiments exactly!"

            I tried the Federal Rangers Kaibab Barracks at Jacob Lake, then the office at Littlefieldand back to Kaibab. Littlefield didn't answer; Jacob Lake answered: "This is a recording. Routine messages may be recorded during beep tone. Emergency reports should be transmitted to Flagstaff HQ. Stand by for beep tone.. . Beep!. . . Beep!. . . Beep!. .

            I was about to tell Gay to zip my tape-when the whole world was lighted by the brightest light imaginable.

            Luckily we were cruising south with that light behind us. I goosed Gay to flank speed while telling her to tuck in her wings. Not one of my partners asked a foolish question, although I suspect that none had ever seen a fireball or mushroom cloud.

            "Smart Girl."

            "Here, Boss."

            "DR problem. Record true bearing light beacon relative bearing astern. Record radar range and bearing same beacon. Solve latitude longitude beacon. Compare solution with fixes in perms. Confirm."

            "Program confirmed."

            "Execute."

            "Roger Wilco, Zeb. Heard any new ones lately?" She added at once, "Solution. True bearing identical with fix execute-coded 'Gay Deceiver take us home.' True range identical plus-minus zero point six klicks."

            "You're a smart girl, Gay."

            "Flattery will get you anywhere, Zeb. Over."

            "Roger and out. Hang onto your hats, folks; we're going straight up." I had outraced the shock wave but we were close to the Mexican border; either side might send sprint birds homing on us. "Copilot!"

            "Captain."

            "Move us! Out of this space!"

            "Where, Captain?"

            "Anywhere! Fast!"

            "Uh, can you ease the acceleration? I can't lift my arms."

            Cursing myself, I cut power, let Gay Deceiver climb free. Those vernier controls should have been mounted on arm rests. (Designs that look perfect on the drawing board can kill test pilots.)

            "Translation complete, Captain."

            "Roger, Copilot. Thank you." I glanced at the board: six-plus klicks heightabove-ground and rising-thin 6ut enough air to bite. "Hang onto our lunch, Sharpie!" I leaned us backwards while doing an Immelman into level flight, course north, power still off. I told Gay to stretch the glide, then tell me when we had dropped to three klicks H-above-G.

            What should be Phoenix was off to the right; another city-Flagstaff?- farther away, north and a bit east; we appeared to be headed home. There was no glowing cloud on the horizon. "Jake, where are we?"

            "Captain, I've never been in this universe. We translated ten quanta positive Tau axis. So we should be in analogous space close to ours-ten minimum intervals or quanta."

            "This looks like Arizona."

            "I would expect it to, Captain. You recall that one-quantum translation on this axis was so very like our own world that Deety and I confused it with our own, until she picked up a dictionary."

            "Phone book, Pop."

            "Irrelevant, dear. Until she missed the letter 'J' in an alphabetical list. Ten quanta should not change geological features appreciably and placement of cities is largely controlled by geography."

"Approaching three klicks, Boss."     -

            "Thanks, Gay. Hold course and H-above-G. Correction! Hold course and absolute altitude. Confirm and execute."

            "Roger Wilco, Zeb."

            I had forgotten that the Grand Canyon lay ahead-or should. "Smart Girl" is smart, but she's literal-minded. She would have held height-above-ground precisely and given us the wildest roller-coaster ride in history. She is very flexible but the "garbage-in-garbage-out" law applies. She had many extra fail-safes-because I make mistakes. Gay can't; anything she does wrong is my mistake. Since I've been making mistakes all my life, I surrounded her with all the safeguards I could think of. But she had no program against wild rides-she was beefed up to accept them. Violent evasive tactics had saved our lives two weeks ago, and tonight as well. Being too close to a fireball can worry a man-to death.

            "Gay, display map, please."

            The map showed Arizona-our Arizona; Gay does not have in her gizzards any strange universes. I changed course to cause us to pass over our cabin site-its analog for this space-time. (Didn't dare tell her: "Gay, take us home!"-for reasons left as an exercise for the class.) "Deety, how long ago did that bomb go off?"

            "Six minutes twenty-three seconds. Zebadiah, was that really an A-bomb?"

            "Pony bomb, perhaps. Maybe two kilotons. Gay Deceiver."

            "I'm all ears, Zeb."

            "Report time interval since radar-ranging beacon."

            "Five minutes forty-four seconds, Zeb."

            Deety gasped. "Was I that far off?"

            "No, darling. You reported time since flash. I didn't ask Gay to range until after we were hypersonic."

            "Oh. I feel better."

            "Captain," inquired Jake, "how did Gay range an atomic explosion? I would expect radiation to make it impossible. Does she have instrumentation of which I am not aware?"

            "Copilot, she has several gadgets I have not shown you. I have not been holding out-any more than you held out in not telling me about guns and ammo you-"

            "My apologies, sir!"

            "Oh, stuff it, Jake. Neither of us held out; we've been running under the whip. Deety, how long has it been since we killed that fake ranger?"

            "That was seventeen fourteen. It is now twenty-two twenty. Five hours six minutes,"

            I glanced at the board; Deety's "circadian clock" apparently couldn't be

jarred by anything; Gay's clock showed 0520 (Greenwich) with "ZONE PLUS SEVEN" display. "Call it five hours-feels like five weeks. We need a vacation."

            "Loud cheers!" agreed Sharpie.

            "Check. Jake, I didn't know that Gay could range an atomic blast. Light 'beacon' means a visible light to her just as 'radar beacon' means to her a navigational radar beacon. I told her to get a bearing on the light beacon directly aft; she selected the brightest light with that bearing. Then I told her to take radar range and bearing on it-spun my prayer wheel and prayed.

            "There was 'white noise' possibly blanketing her radar frequency. But her own radar bursts are tagged; it would take a very high noise level at the same frequency to keep her from recognizing echoes with her signature. Clearly she had trouble for she reported 'plus-minus' of six hundred meters. Nevertheless range and bearing matched a fix in her permanents and told us our cabin had been bombed. Bad news. But the aliens got there too late to bomb us. Good news."

            "Captain, I decline to grieve over material loss. We are alive."

            "I agree-although I'll remember Snug Harbor as the happiest home I've ever had. But there is no point in trying to warn Earth-our Earth-about aliens. That blast destroyed the clincher: that alien's cadaver. And papers and drawings you were going to turn over to your Finnish friend. I'm not sure we can go home again."

            "Oh, that's no problem, Captain. Two seconds to set the verniers. Not to mention the 'deadman switch' and the program in Gay's permanents."

            "Jake, I wish you would knock off 'Captain' other than for command conditions."

            "Zeb, I like calling you 'Captain."

            "So do I!-my Captain."

            "Me, too, Cap'n Zebbie!"

            "Don't overdo it. Jake, I didn't mean that you can't pilot us home; I mean we should not risk it. We've lost our last lead on the aliens. But they know who we are and have shown dismaying skill in tracking us down. I'd like to live to see two babies born and grown up."

            "Amen!" said Sharpie. "This might be the place for it. Out of a million billion zillion earths this one may be vermin-free. Highly likely."

            "Hilda my dear, there are no data on which to base any assumption."

            "Jacob, there is one datum."

            "Eh? What did I miss, dear?"

            "That we do know that our native planet is infested. So I don't want to raise kids on it. If this isn't the place we're looking for, let's keep looking."

            "Mmm, logical. Yes. Cap- Zeb?"

            "I agree. But we can't tell much before morning. Jake, I'm unclear on a key point. If we translated back to our own earth now, where would we find ourselves? And when?"

            "Pop, may I answer that?"

            "Go ahead, Deety."

            "The time Pop and I translated to the place with no 'J' we thought we had failed. Pop stayed in our car, trying to figure it out. I went inside, intending to fix lunch. Everything looked normal. But the phone book was on the kitchen counter and doesn't belong there. That book had a toll area map on its back cover. My eye happened to land on 'Juab County'-and it was spelled 'luab'- and I thought, 'What a funny misprint!' Then I looked inside and couldn't find any 'J's' and dropped the book and went running for Pop."

            "I thought Deety was hysterical. But when I checked a dictionary and the Britannica we got out in a hurry."

            "This is the point, Zebadiah. When we flipped back, I dashed into the house. The phone book was where it belonged. The alphabet was back the way it ought to be. The clock in my head said that we had been gone twenty-seven minutes. The kitchen clock confirmed it and it agreed with the clock in the car. Does that answer you, sir?"

            "I think so. In a translation, duration just keeps chugging along. I wondered because I'd like to check that crater after it has had time to cool down. What about that one rotation?"

            "Harder to figure, Zebadiah. We weren't in that other space-time but a few seconds and we both passed out. Indeterminate."

            "I'm convinced. But, Jake, what about Earth's proper motions? Rotation, revolution around the Sun, sidereal motion, and so forth."

            "A theoretical answer calls for mathematics you tell me are outside your scope of study, uh-Zeb."

            "Beyond my capacity, you mean."

            "As you will, sir. An excursion elsewhere-and-elsewhen. . . and return. . . brings you back to where you would have been had you experienced that duration on earth. But 'when' requires further definition. As we were discussing, uh. . . earlier this afternoon but it seems longer, we can adjust the controls to reenter any axis at any point with permanent change of interval. For planetary engineering. Or other purposes. Including reentry reversed against the entropy arrow. But I suspect that would cause death."

            "Why, Pop? Why wouldn't it just reverse your memory?"

            "Memory is tied to entropy increase, my darling daughter. Death might be preferable to amnesia combined with prophetic knowledge. Uncertainty may be the factor that makes life tolerable. Hope is what keeps us going. Captain!"

            "Copilot."

            "We have just passed over North Rim."

            "Thank you, Copilot." I placed my hands lightly on the controls.

            "Pop, our cabin is still there. Lights in it, too."

            "So I see. They've added a wing on the west."

            "Yes. Where we discussed adding a library."

            I said, "Family, I'm not going closer. Your analogs in this world seem to be holding a party. Flood lights show four cars on the grounding flat." I started Gay into a wide circle. "I'm not going to hover; it could draw attention. A call to their sky cops- Hell's bells, I don't even know that they speak English."

            "Captain, we've seen all we need. It's not our cabin."

            "Recommendation?"

            "Sir, I suggest maximum altitude. Discuss what to do while we get there."

            "Gay Deceiver."

            "On deck, Captain Ahab."

            "One gee, vertical."

            "Aye aye, sir." (How many answers had Deety taped?)

            "Anybody want a sandwich?" asked Sharpie. "I do-I'm a pregnant mother."

            I suddenly realized that I had had nothing but a piece of pie since noon. As we climbed we finished what was left of supper.

            "Zat Marsh?"

            "Don't talk with your mouth full, Sharpie."

            "Zebbie you brute, I said, 'Is that Mars?' Over there."

            "That's Antares. Mars is- Look left about thirty degrees. See it? Same color as Antares but brighter."

            "Got it. Jacob darling, let's take that vacation on Barsoom!"

            "Hilda dearest, Mars is uninhabitable. The Mars Expedition used pressure suits. We have no pressure suits."

            I added, "Even if we did, they would get in the way of a honeymoon."

            Hilda answered, "I read a jingle about 'A Space Suit Built for Two.' Anyhow, let's go to Barsoom! Jacob, you did tell me we could go anywhere in Zip- nothing flat."

            "Quite true."

            "So let's go to Barsoom."

            I decided to flank her. "Hilda, we can't go to Barsoom. Mors Kajak and John Carter don't have their swords."

            "Want to bet?" Deety said sweetly.

            "Huh?"

            "Sir, you left it to me to pick baggage for that unassigned space. If you'll check that long, narrow stowage under the instrument board, you'll find the sword and saber, with belts. With socks and underwear crammed in to keep them from rattling."

            I said soberly, "My Princess, I couldn't moan about my sword when your father took the loss of his house so calmly-but thank you, with all my heart."

            "Let me add my thanks, Deety. I set much store by that old saber, unnecessary as it is."

            "Father, it was quite necessary this afternoon."

            "Hi ho! Hi ho! It's to Barsoom we go!"

            "Captain, we could use the hours till dawn for a quick jaunt to Mars. Uh- Oh, dear, I have to know its present distance-I don't."

            "No problem," I said. "Gay gobbles the Aerospace Almanac each year."

            "Indeed! I'm impressed."

            "Gay Deceiver."

            "You again? I was thinking."

            "So think about this. Calculation program. Data address, Aerospace Almanac. Running calculation, line-of-sight distance to planet Mars. Report current answers on demand. Execute."

            "Program running."

            "Report."

            "Klicks two-two-four-zero-nine-zero-eight-two-seven point plus-minus nineeight-zero."

            "Display running report."

            Gay did so. "You're a smart girl, Gay."

            "I can do card tricks, too. Program continuing."

            "Jake, how do we this?"

            "Align 'L' axis with your gun sight. Isn't that easiest?"

            "By far!" I aimed at Mars as if to shoot her out of the sky-then got cold feet. "Jake? A little Tennessee windage? I think those figures are from centerof-gravity to center-of-gravity. Half a mil would place us a safe distance away. Over a hundred thousand klicks."

            "A hundred and twelve thousand," Jake agreed, watching the display.

            I offset one half mil. "Copilot."

            "Captain."

            "Transit when ready. Execute."

            Mars in half phase, big and round and ruddy and beautiful, was swimming off our starboard side.

XIV

"Quit worrying and enjoy the ride."

Deety:

            Aunt Hilda said softly, "Barsoom. Dead sea bottoms. Green giants." I just gulped.

            "Mars. Hilda darling." Pop gently corrected her. "Barsoom is a myth."

            "Barsoom." she repeated firmly. "It's not a myth, it's there. Who says its name is Mars? A bunch of long-dead Romans. Aren't the natives entitled to name it? Barsoom."

            "My dearest, there are no natives. Names are assigned by an international committee sponsored by Harvard Observatory. They confirmed the traditional name.

            "Pooh! They don't have any more right to name it than I have. Deety, isn't that right?"

            I think Aunt Hilda had the best argument but I don't argue with Pop unless necessary; he gets emotional. My husband saved me.

            "Copilot, astrogation problem. How are we going to figure distance and vector? I would like to put this wagon into orbit. But Gay is no spaceship; I don't have instruments. Not even a sextant!"

            'Mmm, suppose we try it one piece at a time, Captain. We don't seem to be f~Iling fast and-alp!"

            ~What's the trouble, Jake!"

            Pop turned pale, sweat broke out, he clenched his jaws, swallowed and reswallowed. Then his lips barely opened.           "M'sheashick."

            'No, you're space sick. Deetv!"

            "Yessir!"

            "Emergency kit, back of my seat. Unzip it, get Bonine. One pill-don't let the others get loose."

            I got at the first-aid kit, found a tube marked Bonine. A second pill did get loose but I snatched it out of the air. Free fall is funny-you don't know whether you are standing on your head or floating sideways. "Here, Captain."

            Pop said, "Mall righ' now. Jus' took all over queer a moment."

            "Sure, you're all right. You can take this pill-or you can have it pushed down your throat with my dirty, calloused finger. Which?"

            "Uh, Captain, I'd have to have water to swallow it-and I don't think I can."

            "Doesn't take water, pal. Chew it. Tastes good, raspberry flavor. Then keep gulping your saliva. Here." Zebadiah pinched Pop's nostrils. "Open up."

            I became aware of a strangled sound beside me. Aunt Hilda had a hanky pressed to her mouth and her eyes were streaming tears-she was split seconds from adding potato salad and used sandwich to the cabin air.

            Good thing I was still clutching that wayward pill. Aunt Hilda struggled but she's a little bitty. I treated her the way my husband had treated her husband, then clamped my hand over her mouth. I don't understand seasickness (or free-fall nausea); I can walk on bulkheads with a sandwich in one hand and a drink in the other and enjoy it.

            But the victims really are sick and somewhat out of their heads. So I held her mouth closed and whispered into her ear. "Chew it, Aunty darling, and swallow it, or I'm going to spank you with a club."

            Shortly I could feel her chewing. After several minutes she relaxed. I asked her, "Is it safe for me to ungag you?"

            She nodded. I took my hand away. She smiled wanly and patted my hand. "Thanks, Deety." She added, "You wouldn't really beat Aunt Sharpie."

            "I sure would, darling. I'd cry and cry and wallop you and wallop you. I'm glad I don't have to."

            "I'm glad, too. Can we kiss and make up-or is my breath sour?"

            It wasn't but I wouldn't have let that stop me. I loosened my chest strap and hers, and put both arms around her. I have two ways of kissing: one is suitable for faculty teas; the other way I mean it. I never got a chance to pick; Aunt Hilda apparently never found out about the faculty-tea sort. No, her breath wasn't sour-just a slight taste of raspberry.

            Me, I'm the wholesome type; if it weren't for those advertisements on my chest, men wouldn't give me a second glance. Hilda is a miniature Messalina, pure sex in a small package. Funny how a person can grow up never really believing that the adults you grow up with have sex-just gender. Now my saintly father turns out to be an insatiable goat, and Aunt Hilda, who had babied me and changed my diapers, is sexy enough for a platoon of Marines.

            I let her go while thinking pleasant thoughts about teaching my husband technique I had learned-unless Hilda had taught him in the past. No, or he would have taught me-and he hadn't shown her style of virtuosity. Zebadiah, just wait till I get you alone!

            Which might not be too soon. Gay Deceiver is wonderful but no honeymoon cottage. There was space back of the bulkhead behind my head-like a big phone booth on its side-where Zebadiah kept a sleeping bag and (he says) sometimes sacked out. But it had the space-time twister in it and nineteen dozen other things. Hilda and I were going to have to repress our primary imperative until our men found us a pied-a-terre on some planet in some universe, somewhere, somewhen.

            Mars-Barsoom seemed to have grown while I was curing Aunt Hilda's space sickness. Our men were talking astrogation. My husband was saying, "Sorry, but at extreme range Gay's radar can see a thousand kilos. You tell me our distance is about a hundred times that."

            "About. We're falling toward Mars. Captain, we must do it by triangulation."

            "Not even a protractor where I can get at it. How?"

            "Hmmmm- If the Captain pleases, recall how you worked that 'Tennessee windage."

            My darling looked like a school boy caught making a silly answer. "Jake, if you don't quit being polite when I'm stupid, I'm going to space you and put Deety in the copilot's seat. No, we need you to get us home. I'd better resign and you take over."

            "Zeb, a captain can't resign while his ship is underway. That's universal."

            "This is another universe."

            "Transuniversal. As long as you are alive, you are stuck with it. Let's attempt that triangulation."

            "Stand by to record." Zebadiah settled into his seat, pressed his head against its rest. "Copilot."

            "Ready to record, sir."

            "Damn!"

            "Trouble, Captain?"

            "Some. This reflectosight is scaled fifteen mils on a side, concentric circles crossed at center point horizontally and vertically. Normal to deck and parallel to deck, I mean. When I center the fifteen-mil ring on Mars, I have a border around it. I'm going to have to guesstimate. Uh, the border looks to be about eighteen mils wide. So double that and add thirty."

            "Sixty-six mils."

            "And a mil is one-to-one-thousand. One-to-one-thousand-and-eighteen and a whisker, actually-but one-to-a-thousand is good enough. Wait a halfi I've got two sharp high lights near the meridian-if the polar caps mark the meridian. Le'me tilt this buggy and put a line crossing them-then I'll yaw and what we can't measure in one jump, we'll catch in three."

            I saw the larger "upper" polar cap (north? south? well, it felt north) roll gently about eighty degrees, while my husband fiddled with Gay's manual controls. "Twenty-nine point five, maybe. . . plus eighteen point seven. . . plus sixteen point three. Add."

            My father answered, "Sixty-four and a half" while I said, six four point five in my mind and kept quiet.

            "Who knows the diameter of Mars? Or shall I ask Gay?"

            Hilda answered, "Six thousand seven hundred fifty kilometers, near enough."

            Plenty near enough for Zebadiah's estimates. Zebadiah said, "Sharpie! How did you happen to know that?"

            "I read comic books. You know-'Zap! Polaris is missing."

            "I don't read comic books."

            "Lots of interesting things in comic books, Zebbie. I thought the Aerospace Force used comic-book instruction manuals."

            My darling's ears turned red. "Some are," he admitted, "but they are edited for technical accuracy. Hmm- Maybe I had better check that figure with Gay."

            I love my husband but sometimes women must stick together. "Don't bother, Zebadiah," I said in chilly tones. "Aunt Hilda is correct. The polar diameter of Mars is six seven five two point eight plus. But surely three significant figures is enough for your data."

            Zebadiah did not answer.. . but did not ask his computer. Instead he said, "Copilot, will you run it off on your pocket calculator? We can treat it as a tangent at this distance."

            This time I didn't even try to keep still. Zebadiah's surprise that Hilda knew anything about astronomy caused me pique. "Our height above surface is one hundred four thousand six hundred and seventy-two kilometers plus or minus the error of the data supplied. That assumes that Mars is spherical and ignores the edge effect or horizon bulge.. . negligible for the quality of your data."

            Zebadiah answered so gently that I was sorry that I had shown off: "Thank you, Deety. Would you care to calculate the time to fall to surface from rest at this point?"

            "That's an unsmooth integral, sir. I can approximate it but Gay can do it faster and more accurately. Why not ask her? But it will be many hours."

            "I had hoped to take a better look. Jake, Gay has enough juice to put us into a tight orbit, I think. . . but I don't know where or when I'll be able to juice her again. If we simply fall, the air will get stale and we'll need the panic button-or some maneuver-without ever seeing the surface close up."

            "Captain, would it suit you to read the diameter again? I don't think we've simply been falling."

            Pop and Zebadiah got busy again. I let them alone, and they ran even the simplest computations through Gay. Presently, Pop said, "Over twenty-four kilometers per second! Captain, at that rate we'll be there in a little over an hour."

            "Except that we'll scram before that. But, ladies, you'll get your closer look. Dead sea bottoms and green giants. If any."

            "Zebadiah, twenty-four kilometers per second is Mars' orbital speed."

            My father answered, "Eh? Why, so it is!" He looked very puzzled, then said, "Captain-I confess to a foolish mistake."

            "Not one that will keep us from getting home, I hope."

            "No, sir. I'm still learning what our continua craft can do. Captain, we did not aim for Mars."

            "I know. I was chicken."

            "No, sir, you were properly cautious. We aimed for a specific point in empty space. We transited to that point. . . but not with Mars' proper motion. With that of the Solar System, yes. With Earth's motions subtracted; that is in the program. But we are a short distance ahead of Mars in its orbit. . . so it is rushing toward us."

            "Does that mean we can never land on any planet but Earth?"

            "Not at all. Any vector can be included in the program-either before or after transition, translation or rotation. Any subsequent change in motion is taken into account by the inertial integrator. But I am learning that we still have things to learn."

            "Jake, that is true even of a bicycle. Quit worrying and enjoy the ride. Brother, what a view!"

            "Jake, that doesn't look like the photographs the Mars Expedition brought back."

            "Of course not," said Aunt Hilda. "I said it was Barsoom."

            I kept my mouth shut. Ever since Dr. Sagan's photographs anyone who reads The National Geographic-or anything-knows what Mars looks like. But when it involves changing male minds, it is better to let men reach their own decisions; they become somewhat less pig-headed. That planet rushing toward us was not the Mars of our native sky. White clouds at the caps, big green areas that had to be forest or crops, one deep blue area that almost certainly was water-all this against ruddy shades that dominated much of the planet.

            What was lacking were the rugged mountains and craters and canyons of "our" planet Mars. There were mountains-but nothing like the Devil's Junkyard known to science.

            I heard Zebadiah say, "Copilot, are you certain you took us to Mars?"

            "Captain, I took us to Mars-ten, via plus on Tau axis. Either that or I'm a patient in a locked ward."

            "Take it easy, Jake. It doesn't resemble Mars as much as Earth-ten resembles Earth."

            "Uh, may I point out that we saw just a bit of Earth-ten, on a moonless night?"

            "Meaning we didn't see it. Conceded."

            Aunt Hilda said, "I told you it was Barsoom. You wouldn't listen."

            "Hilda, I apologize. 'Barsoom.' Copilot, log it. New planet, 'Barsoom,' named by right of discovery by Hilda Corners Burroughs, Science Officer of Continua Craft Gay Deceiver. We'll all witness: Z. J. Carter, Commanding-Jacob J. Burroughs, Chief Officer-D. T. B. Carter, uh, Astrogator. I'll send certified copies to Harvard Observatory as soon as possible."

            "I'm not astrogator, Zebadiah!"

            "Mutiny. Who reprogrammed this cloud buster into a continua craft? I'm pilot until I can train all of you in Gay's little quirks. Jake is copilot until he can train more copilots in setting the verniers. You are astrogator because nobody else can acquire your special knowledge of programming and skill at calculation. None of your lip, young woman, and don't fight the Law of Space. Sharpie is chief of science because of her breadth of knowledge. She not only recognized a new planet as not being Mars quicker than anyone else but carved up that double-joined alien with the skill of a born butcher. Right, Jake?"

            "Sure thing!" agreed Pop.

            "Cap'n Zebbie," Aunt Hilda drawled, "I'm science officer if you say so. But I had better be ship's cook, too. And cabin boy."

            "Certainly, we all have to wear more than one hat. Log it, Copilot. 'Here's to our jolly cabin girl, the plucky little nipper-'"

            "Don't finish it. Zebbie," Aunt Hilda cut in, "I don't like the way the plot develops."

'-she carves fake ranger,

Dubs planet stranger,

And dazzles crew and skipper."

            Aunt Hilda looked thoughtful. "That's not the classic version. I like the sentiment better. . . though the scansion limps."

            "Sharpie darling, you are a floccinaucinihilipilificatrix." "Is that a compliment?"

            'Certainly! Means you're so sharp you spot the slightest flaw."

I kept quiet. It was possible that Zebadiah meant it as a compliment. Just barely- "Maybe I'd better check it in a dictionary."

            "By all means, dear-after you are off watch." (I dismissed the matter. Merriam Microfilm was all we had aboard and Aunt Hilda would not find that word in anything less than the O.E.D.)

            "Copilot, got it logged?"

            "Captain, I didn't know we had a log."

            "No log? Even Vanderdecken keeps a log. Deety, the log falls in your department. Take your father's notes, get what you need from Gay, and let's have a taut ship. First time we pass a Woolworth's we'll pick up a journal and you can transcribe it-notes taken now are your rough log."

            "Aye aye, sir. Tyrant."

            "Tyrant,' sir, please. Meanwhile let's share the binoculars and see if we can spot any colorful exotic natives in colorful exotic costumes singing colorful exotic songs with their colorful exotic hands out for baksheesh. First one to spot evidence of intelligent life gets to wash the dishes."

XV

"We'll hit so hard we'll hardly notice it."

Hilda:

            I was so flattered by Cap'n Zebbie's crediting me with "discovering" Barsoom that I pretended not to understand the jibe he added. It was unlikely that Deety would know such a useless word, or my beloved Jacob. It was gallant of Zeb to give in all the way, once he realized that this planet was unlike its analog in "our" universe. Zebbie is a funny one-he wears rudeness like a Hallowe'en mask, afraid that someone will discover the Galahad underneath.

            I knew that "my" Barsoom was not the planet of the classic romances. But there are precedents: The first nuclear submarine was named for an imaginary undersea vessel made famous by Jules Verne; an aircraft carrier of the Second Global War had been named "Shangri La" for a land as nonexistent as "Erewhon"; the first space freighter had been named for a starship that existed only in the hearts of its millions of fans-the list is endless. Nature copies art.

            Or as Deety put it: "Truth is more fantastic than reality."

            During that hour Barsoom rushed at us. It began to swell and swell, so rapidly that binoculars were a nuisance-and my heart swelled with it, in childlike joy. Deety and I unstrapped so that we could see better, floating just "above" and behind our husbands while steadying ourselves on their headrests,

            We were seeing it in half phase, one half dark, the other in sunlight-ocher and umber and olive green and brown and all of it beautiful.

            Our pilot and copilot did not sightsee; Zebbie kept taking sights, kept Jacob busy calculating. At last he said, "Copilot, if our approximations are correct,

at the height at which we will get our first radar range, we will be only a bit over half a minute from crashing. Check?"

            "To the accuracy of our data, Captain."

            "Too close. I don't fancy arriving like a meteor. Is it time to hit the panic button? Advise, please-but bear in mind that puts us-should put us-two klicks over a hot, new crater.. . possibly in the middle of a radioactive cloud. Ideas?"

            "Captain, we can do that just before crashing-and it either works or it doesn't. If it works, that radioactive cloud will have had more time to blow away. If it doesn't work-"

            "We'll hit so hard we'll hardly notice it. Gay Deceiver isn't built to reenter at twenty-four klicks per second. She's beefed up-but she's still a Ford, not a reentry vehicle."

            "Captain, I can try to subtract the planet's orbital speed. We've time to make the attempt."

            "Fasten seat belts and report! Move it, gals!"

            Free fall is funny stuff. I was over that deathly sickness-was enjoying weightlessness, but didn't know how to move in it. Nor did Deety. We floundered the way one does the first time on ice skates-only worse.

TReport, damn it!"

            Deety got a hand on something, grabbed me. We started getting into seats- she in mine, I in hers. "Strapping down, Captain!" she called out, while frantically trying to loosen my belts to fit her. (I was doing the same in reverse.)

            "Speed it up!"

            Deety reported, "Seat belts fastened," while still getting her chest belt buckled-by squeezing out all her breath. I reached over and helped her loosen it.

            "Copilot."

            "Captain!"

            "Along 'L' axis, subtract vector twenty-four klicks per second-and for God's sake don't get the signs reversed."

            "I won't!"

            "Execute."

            Seconds later Jacob reported, "That does it, Captain. I hope."

            "Let's check. Two readings, ten seconds apart. I'll call the first, you call the end of ten seconds. Mark!"

            Zeb added, "One point two. Record."

            After what seemed a terribly long time Jacob said, "Seven seconds. . . eight seconds. . . nine seconds.. . mark!"

            Our men conferred, then Jacob said, "Captain, we are still falling too fast."

            "Of course," said Deety. "We've been accelerating from gravity. Escape speed for Mars is five klicks per second. If Barsoom has the same mass as Mars-"

            "Thank you, Astrogator. Jake, can you trim off, uh, four klicks per second?"

            "Sure!"

            "Do it."

            "Uh.. . done! How does she look?"

            "Uh.. . distance slowly closing. Hello, Gay."

            "Howdy, Zeb."

            "Program. Radar. Target dead ahead. Range."

            "No reading."

            "Continue ranging. Report first reading. Add program. Display running radar ranges to target."

            "Program running. Who blacked your eye?"

            "You're a Smart Girl, Gay."

            "I'm sexy, too. Over."

            "Continue program." Zeb sighed, then said, "Copilot, there's atmosphere down there. I plan to attempt to ground. Comment? Advice?"

            "Captain, those are words I hoped to hear. Let's go!"

            "Barsoom-here we come!"

XVI

-a maiden knight, eager to break a lance-

Jake:

            My beloved bride was no more eager than I to visit "Barsoom." I had been afraid that our captain would do the sensible thing: establish orbit, take pictures, then return to our own space-time before our air was stale. We were not prepared to explore strange planets. Gay Deceiver was a bachelor's sports car. We had a little water, less food, enough air for about three hours. Our craft refreshed its air by the scoop method. If she made a "high jump," her scoop valves sealed from internal pressure just as did commercial ballistichypersonic intercontinental liners-but "high jump" is not space travel.

            True, we could go from point to point in our own or any universe in null time, but how many heavenly bodies have breathable atmospheres? Countless billions-but a small fraction of one percent from a practical viewpoint-and no publication lists their whereabouts. We had no spectroscope, no star catalogs, no atmosphere testing equipment, no radiation instruments, no means of detecting dangerous organisms. Columbus with his cockleshells was better equipped than we.

            None of this worried me.

            Reckless? Do you pause to shop for an elephant gun while an elephant is chasing you?

            Three times we had escaped death by seconds. We had evaded our killers by going to earth-and that safety had not lasted. So again we fled like rabbits.

            At least once every human should have to run for his life, to teach him that milk does not come from supermarkets, that safety does not come from p0-

licemen, that "news" is not something that happens to other people. He might learn how his ancestors lived and that he himself is no different-in the crunch his life depends on his agility, alertness, and personal resourcefulness.

            I was not distressed. I felt more alive than I had felt since the death of my first wife.

            Underneath the persona each shows the world lies a being different from the masque. My own persona was a professorial archetype. Underneath? Would you believe a maiden knight, eager to break a lance? I could have avoided military service-married, a father, protected profession. But I spent three weeks in basic training, sweating with the rest, cursing drill instructors-and loving it! Then they took my rifle, told me I was an officer, gave me a swivel chair and a useless job. I never forgave them for that.

            Hilda, until we married, I knew not at all. I had valued her as a link to my lost love but I had thought her a lightweight, a social butterfly. Then I found myself married to her and learned that I had unnecessarily suffered lonely years. Hilda was what I needed, I was what she needed-Jane had known it and blessed us when at last we knew it. But I still did not realize the diamondhard quality of my tiny darling until I saw her dissecting that pseudo "ranger." Killing that alien was easy. But what Hilda did-I almost lost my supper.

            Hilda is small and weak; I'll protect her with my life. But I won't underrate her again!

            Zeb is the only one of us who looks the part of intrepid explorer-tall, broadshouldered, strongly muscled, skilled with machines and with weapons, and (sine qua non!) cool-headed in crisis and gifted with the "voice of command."

            One night I had been forced to reason with my darling; Hilda felt that I should lead our little band. I was oldest, I was inventor of the time-space "distorter"-it was all right for Zeb to pilot-but I must command. In her eyes Zeb was somewhere between an overage adolescent and an affectionate Saint Bernard. She pointed out that Zeb claimed to be a "coward by trade" and did not want responsibility.

            I told her that no born leader seeks command; the mantle descends on him, he wears the burden because he must. Hilda could not see it-she was willing to take orders from me but not from her pet youngster "Zebbie."

            I had to be firm: Either accept Zeb as commander or tomorrow Zeb and I would dismount my apparatus from Zeb's car so that Mr. and Mrs. Carter could go elsewhere. Where? Not my business or yours, Hilda. I turned over and pretended to sleep.

            When I heard sobs, I turned again and held her. But I did not budge. No need to record what was said; Hilda promised to take any orders Zeb might give-once we left.

            But her capitulation was merely coerced until the gory incident at the pool. Zeb's instantaneous attack changed her attitude. From then on my darling carried out Zeb's orders without argument-and between times kidded and ragged him as always. Hilda's spirit wasn't broken; instead she placed her indomitable spirit subject to the decisions of our captain. Discipline-self-discipline; there is no other sort.

            Zeb is indeed a "coward by trade"-he avoids trouble whenever possible- a most commendable trait in a leader. If a captain worries about the safety of his command, those under him need not worry.

            Barsoom continued to swell. At last Gay's voice said, "Ranging, Boss" as she displayed "1000 km," and flicked at once to "999 km." I started timing when Zeb made it unnecessary: "Smart Girl!"

            "Here, Zeb."

            "Continue range display. Show as H-above-G. Add dive rate."

            "Null program."

            "Correction. Add program. Display dive rate soonest."

            "New program dive rate stored. Display starts H-above-G six hundred klicks."

            "You're a smart girl, Gay."

            "Smartest little girl in the County, Oh! Daddy and Mommy told me so!' Over."

            "Continue programs."

            Height-above-ground seemed to drop both quickly and with stomach-tensing slowness. No one said a word; I barely breathed. As "600 km" appeared the figures were suddenly backed by a grid; on it was a steep curve, height-againsttime, and a new figure flashed underneath the H-above-G figure: 1968 km/ hr. As the figure changed, a bright abscissa lowered down on the grid.

            Our captain let out a sigh. "We can handle that. But I'd give fifty cents and a double-dip ice-cream cone for a parachute brake."

            "What flavor?"

            "Your choice, Sharpie. Don't worry, folks; I can stand her on her tail and blast. But it's an expensive way to slow up. Gay Deceiver."

            "Busy, Boss."

            "I keep forgetting that I can't ask her to display too many data at once. Anybody know the sea level-I mean 'surface' atmospheric pressure of Mars? Don't all speak at once."

            My darling said hesitantly, "It averages about five millibars. But, Captain- this isn't Mars."

            "Huh? So it isn't-and from the looks of that green stuff, Barsoom must have lots more atmosphere than Mars." Zeb took the controls, overrode the computer, cautiously waggled her elevons. "Can't feel bite. Sharpie, how come you bone astronomy? Girl Scout?"

            "Never got past tenderfoot. I audited a course, then subscribed to 'Astronomy' and 'Sky and Telescope.' It's sort o' fun."

            "Chief of Science, you have again justified my faith in you. Copilot, as soon as I have air bite, I'm going to ease to the east. We're headed too close to the terminator. I want to ground in daylight. Keep an eye out for level ground. I'll hover at the last-but I don't want to ground in forest. Or in badlands."

            "Aye aye, sir."

            "Astrogator."

            "Yessir!"

            "Deety darling, search to port-and forward, as much as you can see around me. Jake can favor the starboard side."

            "Captain-I'm on the starboard side. Behind Pop."

            "Huh? How did you gals get swapped around?"

            "Well. . . you hurried us, sir-any old seat in a storm."

            "Two demerits for wrong seat-and no syrup on the hot cakes we're going to have for breakfast as soon as we're grounded."

            "Uh, I don't believe hot cakes are possible."

            "I can dream, can't I? Chief Science Officer, watch my side."

            "Yes, Cap'n."

            "While Deety backs up Jake. Any cow pasture."

            "Hey! I feel air! She bites!"

            I held my breath while Zeb slowly brought the ship out of dive, easing her east. "Gay Deceiver."

            "How now, Brown Cow?"

            "Cancel display programs. Execute."

            "Inshallâh, ya sayyid."

            The displays faded. Zeb held her just short of stalling. We were still high, about six klicks, still hypersonic.

            Zeb slowly started spreading her wings as air speed and altitude dropped. After we dropped below speed of sound, he opened her wings full for maximum lift. "Did anyone remember to bring a canary?"

            "A canary!" said Deety. "What for, Boss Man?"

            "My gentle way of reminding everyone that we have no way to test atmosphere. Copilot."

            "Captain," I acknowledged.

            "Uncover deadman switch. Hold it closed while you remove clamp. Hold it high where we all can see it. Once you report switch ready to operate, I'm going to crack the air scoops. If you pass out, your hand will relax and the switch will get us home. I hope. But-All hands!-if anyone feels dizzy or woozy or faint. . . or sees any of us start to slump, don't wait! Give the order orally. Deety, spell the order I mean. Don't say it-spell it."

            "G, A, Y, D, E, C, I, E, V, E, R, T, A, K, E, U, S, H, 0, M, E."

            "You misspelled it."

            "I did not!"

            "You did so; "i" before "e" except after "c." You reversed 'em."

            "Well. . . maybe I did. That diphthong has always given me trouble. Floccinaucinihilipilificator!"

            "So you understood it? From now on, on Barsoom, 'i' comes before 'e' at all times. By order of John Carter, Warlord. I have spoken. Copilot?"

            "Deadman switch ready, Captain," I answered.

            "You gals hold your breaths or breathe, as you wish. Pilot and copilot will breathe. I am about to open air scoops."

            I tried to breathe normally and wondered if my hand would relax if I passed out.

            The cabin got suddenly chilly, then the heaters picked up. I felt normal. Cabin pressure slightly higher, I thought, under ram effect.

            "Everybody feel right? Does everybody look right? Copilot?"

            "I feel fine. You look okay. So does Hilda. I can't see Deety."

            "Science Officer?"

            "Deety looks normal. I feel fine."

            "Deety. Speak up."

            "Golly, I had forgotten what fresh air smells like!"

            "Copilot, carefully-most carefully!-put the clamp back on the switch, then rack and cover it. Report completion."

            A few seconds later I reported, "Deadman switch secured, Captain."

            "Good. I see a golf course; we'll ground." Zeb switched to powered flight; Gay responded, felt alive. We spiraled, hovered briefly, grounded with a gentle bump. "Grounded on Barsoom. Log it, Astrogator. Time and date."

            "Huh?"

            "On the instrument board."

            "But that says oh-eight-oh-three and it's just after dawn here."

            "Log it Greenwich. With it, log estimated local time and Barsoom day one." Zeb yawned. "I wish they wouldn't hold mornings so early."

            "Too sleepy for hot cakes?" my wife inquired.

            "Never that sleepy."

            "Aunt Hilda!"

            "Deety, I stowed Aunt Jemima mix. And powdered milk. And butter. Zebbie, no syrup-sorry. But there is grape jelly in a tube. And freeze-dried coffee. If one of you will undog this bulkhead door, we'll have breakfast in a few minutes."

            "Chief Science Officer, you have a duty to perform."

            "I do? But- Yes, Captain?"

            "Put your dainty toe to the ground. It's your planet, your privilege. Starboard side of the car, under the wing, is the ladies' powder room-portside is the men's jakes. Ladies may have armed escort on request."

            I was glad Zeb remembered that. The car had a "honey bucket" under the cushion of the port rear seat, and, with it, plastic liners. I did not ever want to have to use it.

            Gay Deceiver was wonderful but, as a spaceship, she left much to be desired. However, she had brought us safely to Barsoom.

            Barsoom! Visions of thoats and beautiful princesses-

XVII

The world wobbled-

Deety:

            We spent our first hour on "Barsoom" getting oriented. Aunt Hilda stepped outside, then stayed out. "Isn't cold," she told us. "Going to be hot later."

            "Watch where you step!" my husband warned her. "Might be snakes or anything." He hurried after her-and went head over heels.

            Zebadiah was not hurt; the ground was padded, a greenish-yellow mat somewhat like "ice plant" but looking more like clover. He got up carefully, then swayed as if walking on a rubber mattress. "I don't understand it," he complained. "This gravity ought to be twice that of Luna. But I feel lighter."

            Aunt Hillbilly sat down on the turf. "On the Moon you were carrying pressure suit and tanks and equipment." She unfastened her shoes. "Here you aren't."

            "Yeah, so I was," agreed my husband. "What are you doing?"

            "Taking off my shoes. When were you on the Moon? Cap'n Zebbie, you're a fraud."

            "Don't take off your shoes! You don't know what's in this grass."

            The Hillbilly stopped, one shoe off. "If they bite me, I bite 'em back. Captain, in Gay Deceiver you are absolute boss. But doesn't your crew have any free will? I'll play it either way: free citizen. . . or your thrall who dassn't even take off a shoe without permission. Just tell me."

            "If you try to make all decisions, all the time, you're going to get as hysterical as a hen raising ducklings. Even Deety can be notional. But I won't even pee without permission. Shall I put this back on? Or take the other off?"

            "Aunt Hilda, quit teasing my husband!" (I was annoyed!)

            "Dejah Thoris, I am not teasing your husband; I am asking our captain for instructions."

            Zebadiah sighed. "Sometimes I wish I'd stayed in Australia."

            I said, "Is it all right for Pop and me to come out?"

            "Oh. Certainly. Watch your step; it's tricky."

            I jumped down, then jumped high and wide, with entrechats as I floated- landed sur les pointes. "Oh, boy! What a wonderful place for ballet!" I added, "Shouldn't do that on a full bladder. Aunt Hilda, let's see if that powder room is unoccupied."

            "I was about to, dear, but I must get a ruling from our captain."

            "You're teasing him."

            "No, Deety; Hilda is right; doctrine has to be clear. Jake? How about taking charge on the ground?"

            "No, Captain. Druther be a Balkan general, given my druthers."

            Aunt Hilda stood up, shoe in hand, reached high with her other hand, patted my husband's cheek. "Zebbie, you are a dear. You worry about us all-me especially, because you think I'm a featherhead. Remember how we did at Snug Harbor? Each one did what she could do best and there was no friction. If that worked there, it ought to work here."

            "Well. . . all right. But will you gals please be careful?"

            "We'll be careful. How's your E.S.P.? Any feeling?"

            Zebadiah wrinkled his forehead. "No. But I don't get advance warning. Just barely enough."

            "Just barely' is enough. Before we had to leave, you were about to program Gay to listen at high gain. Would that change 'just barely' to 'ample'?"

            "Yes! Sharpie, I'll put you in charge, on the ground."

            "In your hat, Buster. Ole Massa done freed us slaves. Zebbie, the quicker you quit dodging, the sooner you get those hot cakes. Spread my cape down and put the hot plate on the step."

            We ate breakfast in basic Barsoomian dress: skin. Aunt Hilda pointed out that laundries seemed scarce, and the car's water tanks had to be saved for drinking and cooking. "Deety, I have just this dress you gave me; I'll air it and let the wrinkles hang out. Panties, too. An air bath is better than no bath. I know you'll divvy with me but you are no closer to a laundry than I am."

            My jump suit joined Hilda's dress. "Aunt Hilda, you could skip bathing a week. Me, right after a bath I have a body odor but not too bad. In twentyfour hours I'm whiff. Forty-eight and I smell like a skunk. An air bath may help."

            The same reasoning caused our men to spread their used clothing on the port wing, and caused Zebadiah to pick up Hilda's cape. "Sharpie, you can't get fur Hollanderized in this universe. Jake, you stowed some tarps?"

            After dishes were "washed" (scoured with turf, placed in the sun) we were sleepy. Zebadiah wanted us to sleep inside, doors locked. Aunt Hilda and I wanted to nap on a tarpaulin in the shade of the car. I pointed out that moving rear seats aft in refitting had made it impossible to recline them.

            Zebadiah offered to give up his seat to either of us women. I snapped, "Don't be silly, dear! You barely fit into a rear seat and it brings your knees so far forward that the seat in front can't be reclined."

            Pop intervened. "Hold it! Daughter, I'm disappointed-snapping at your husband. But, Zeb, we've got to rest. If I sleep sitting up, I get swollen ankles, half crippled, not good for much."

            "I was trying to keep us safe," Zebadiah said plaintively.

            "I know, Son; you've been doing so-and a smart job, or we all would be dead three times over. Deety knows it, I know it, Hilda knows it-"

            "I sure do, Zebbie!"

            "My Captain, I'm sorry I snapped at you."

            "We'll need you later. Flesh has its limits-even yours. If necessary, we would bed you down and stand guard over you-"

            "No!"

            "We sure would, Zebbie!"

            "We will, my Captain."

            "But I doubt that it's necessary. When we sat on the ground to eat, did anyone get chigger bites or anything?"

            My husband shook his head.

            "Not me," Aunt Hilda agreed.

            I added, "I saw some little beasties but they didn't bother me."

            "~pparently," Pop went on, "they don't like our taste. A ferocious-looking dingus sniffed at my ankle-but it scurried away. Zeb, Gay can hear better than we can?"

            "Oh, much better!"

            "Can her radar be programmed to warn us?"

            Zebadiah looked thoughtful. "Uh.. . anti-collision alarm would wake the dead. If I pulled it in to minimum range, then- No, the display would be cluttered with 'grass.' We're on the ground. False returns."

            I said, "Subtract static display, Zebadiah."

            "Eh? How, Deety?"

            "Gay can do it. Shall I try?"

            "Deety, if you switch on radar, we have to sleep inside. Microwaves cook your brains."

            "I know, sir. Gay has sidelookers, eyes fore and aft, belly, and umbrella- has she not?"

            "Yes. That's why-"

            "Switch off her belly eye. Can sidelookers hurt us if we sleep under her?" His eyes widened. "Astrogator, you know more about my car than I do. I'd better sign her over to you."

            "My Captain, you have already endowed me with all your worldly goods. I don't know more about Gay; I know more about programming."

            We made a bed under the car by opening Zebadiah's sleeping bag out flat, a tarpaulin on each side. Aunt Hilda dug out sheets: "In case anyone gets chilly."

            "Unlikely," Pop told her. "Hot now, not a cloud and no breeze."

            "Keep it by you, dearest. Here's one for Zebbie." She dropped two more on the sleeping bag, lay down on it. "Down flat, gentlemen"-waited for them to comply, then called to me: 'Deety! Everybody's down."

            From inside I called back, 'Right with you!"-then said, "Hello, Gay."

            "Hi, Deety!"

            "Retrieve newest program. Execute."

            Five scopes lighted, faded to dimness; the belly eye remained blank. I told her, "You're a good girl, Gay."

            "I like you, too, Deety. Over."

            "Roger and out, sister." I scrunched down, got at the stowage under the instrument board, pulled out padding and removed saber and sword, each with belt. These I placed at the door by a pie tin used at breakfast. I slithered head first out the door, turned without rising, got swords and pie plate, and crawled toward the pallet, left arm cluttered with hardware.

            I stopped. "Your sword, Captain."

            "Deety! Do I need a sword to nap?"

            "No, sir. I shall sleep soundly knowing that my captain has his sword."

            "Hmm-" Zebadiah withdrew it a span, returned it with a click. "Silly. . . but I feel comforted by it, too."

            "I see nothing silly, sir. Ten hours ago you killed a thing with it that would have killed me."

            "I stand-sprawl-corrected, my Princess. Dejah Thoris is always correct."

            "I hope my Chieftain will always think so."

            "He will. Give me a big kiss. What's the pie pan for?"

            "Radar alarm test."

            Having delivered the kiss, I crawled past Hilda and handed Pop his saber. He grinned at me. "Deety hon, you're a one! Just the security blanket I need. How did you know?"

            "Because Aunt Hilda and I need it. With our warriors armed, we will sleep soundly." I kissed Pop, crawled out from under. "Cover your ears!"

            I got to my knees, sailed that pan far and high, dropped flat and covered my ears. As the pan sailed into the zone of microwave radiation, a horrid clamor sounded inside the car, kept up until the pan struck the ground and stopped rolling-chopped off. "Somebody remind me to recover that. Good night, all!"

            I crawled back, stretched out by Hilda, kissed her goodnight, set the clock in my head for six hours, went to sleep.

            The sun was saying that it was fourteen instead of fourteen-fifteen and I decided that my circadian did not fit Barsoom. Would the clock in my head "slow" to match a day forty minutes longer? Would it give me trouble? Not likely-I've always been able to sleep anytime. I felt grand and ready for anything.

            I crept off the pallet, snaked up into the car's cabin, and stretched. Felt good!

            I crawled through the bulkhead door back of th~ rp~r ~ ~rM

and my jewelry case, went forward into the space between seats and instrument board.

            I tried tying a filmy green scarf as a bikini bottom, but it looked like a diaper. I took it off, folded it corner to corner, pinned it at my left hip with a jeweled brooch. Lots better! "Indecently decent" Pop Would say.

            I looped a rope of imitation pearls around my hips, arranged strands to drape with the cloth, fastened them at the brooch. I hung around my neck a pendant of pearls and cabochon emeralds-from my father the day I received the title doctor of philosophy.

            I was adding bracelets and rings when I heard "Psst!"-looked down and saw the Hillbilly's head and hands at the doorsill. Hilda put a finger to her lips. I nodded, gave her a hand up, whispered, "Still asleep?"

            "Like babies."

            "Let's get you dressed. . . 'Princess Thuvia."

Aunt Hilda giggled. "Thank you. . . 'Princess' Dejah Thoris." "Want anything but jewelry?"

            "Just something to anchor it. That old-gold scarf if you can spare it."

            "Course I can! Nothing's too good for my Aunt Thuvia and that scarf is durn near nothing. Baby doll, we're going to deck you out for the auction block. Will you do my hair?"

            "And you mine. Deety-I mean 'Dejah Thoris'-I miss a three-way mirror."

            "We'll be mirrors for each other," I told her. "I don't mind camping out. My great-great-great-grandmother had two babies in a sod house. Except"-I ducked my head, sniffed my armpit-"we'd better find a stream." I added, "Hold still. Or shall I pin it through your skin?"

            "Either way, dear. We'll find water-all this ground cover."

            "Ground cover doesn't prove running water. This place may be a 'dead sea bottom of Barsoom."

            "Doesn't look dead," Aunt Hilda countered. "It's pretty."

            "Yes, but this looks like a dead sea bottom. Which gave me an idea. Hold up your hair; I want to arrange your necklaces."

            "What idea?" Aunt Hilda demanded.

            "Zebadiah told me to figure a third escape program. The first two-I'll paraphrase, Gay is awake. One tells her to take us back to a height over Snug Harbor; the other tells her to scoot back to where she was before she was last given the first order."

            "I thought that one told her to place us over the Grand Canyon?"

            "It does, at present. But if she got the first Order now, that would change the second order. Instead of over the Grand Canyon, we would be back here quicker'n a frog could wink its eye."

            "Okay if you say so."

            "She's programmed that way. Hit the panic button and we are over our cabin site. Suppose we arrive there and find trouble, then use the 'C' order. She takes us back to wherever she last got the 7' order. Dangerous or we would not have left in a rush. So we need a third escape program, to take us to a safe place. This looks safe."

            "It's peaceful."

            "Seems so. There!-more doodads than a Christmas tree and you look nakeder than ever."

            "That's the effect we want, isn't it? Sit down in the copilot's seat; I'll do your hair."

            "Want shoes?" I asked.

            "On Barsoom? Dejah Thoris, thank you for your little-girl shoes. But they pinch my toes. You're going to wear shoes?"

            "Not bleedin' likely, Aunt Nanny Goat. I toughened my feet for karate-I can break a four-by-nine with my feet and get nary a bruise. Or run on sharp gravel. What's a good escape phrase? I plan to store in Gay an emergency signal for every spot we visit that looks like a safe hidey-hole. So give me a phrase."

            "Your mudder chaws terbacker!"

            "Nanny Goat! A code-phrase should have a built-in mnemonic."

            "'Bug Out'?"

            "A horrid expression and just what we need. 'Bug Out' will mean to take us to this exact spot. I'll program it. And post it and others on the instrument board so that, if anyone forgets, she can read it."

            "And so could any outsider, if she got in."

            "Fat lot of good it would do her! Gay ignores an order not in our voices. Hello, Gay."

            "Hello, Deety!"

            "Retrieve present location. Report."

            "Null program."

            "Are we lost?"

            "Not at all, Aunt Hilda. I was sloppy. Gay, program check. Define 'Home."

            "Cancel any-all transitions translations rotations inertials. Return to zerodesignated latitude longitude two kiicks above ground level hovering."

            "Search memory reversed-real-time for last order execute-coded Gay Deceiver take us home."

            "Retrieved."

            "From time of retrieved order integrate to time-present all transitions translations rotations inertials."

            "Integrated."

            "Test check. Report summary of integration."

            "Origin 'Home.' Countermarch program executed. Complex maneuver inertials. Translation Tau axis ten minimals positive. Complex maneuver inertials. Translation Eli axis two-two-four-zero-nine-zero-eight-two-seven point zero klicks. Negative vector Eli axis twenty-four klicks per sec. Negative vector Ell axis four klicks per sec. Complex manuever inertials. Grounded here-then oh-eight-oh-two-forty-nine. Grounded inertials continuing eight hours three minutes nineteen seconds mark! Grounded inertials continue running realtime."

            "New program. Here-now grounded inertial location real-time running to reai-time new execute order equals code-phrase bug-out. Report new program."

            Gay answered: "New program code-phrase bug-out: Definition: Here-now grounded inertials running real-time to future-time execute order code-phrase bug-out."

            "Gay, I tell you three times."

            "Deety, I hear you three times."

            "New program. Execute-coded Gay Deceiver Bug Out.. At execute-code move to location coded 'bug-out.' I tell you three times."

            "I hear you three times."

            "Gay Deceiver, you're a smart girl."

            "Deety, why don't you leave that big ape and live with me? Over."

            "Good night, Gay. Roger and out. Hillbilly, I didn't give you that answer." I tried to look fierce.

            "Why, Deety, how could you say such a thing?"

            "I know I didn't. Well?"

            "I 'fess up, Deetikins. A few days ago while you and I were working, you were called away. While I waited, I stuck that in. Want it erased?"

            I don't know how to look fierce; I snickered. "No. Maybe Zebadiah will be around the next time it pops up. I wish our men would wake, I do."

            "They need rest, dear."

            "I know. But I want to check that new program."

            "It sounded complex."

            "Can be, by voice. I'd rather work on paper. A computer doesn't accept excuses. A mistake can be anything from 'null program' to disaster. This one has features I've never tried. I don't really understand what Pop does. NonEuclidean n-dimensional geometry is way out in left field."

            "To me it's not in the ball park."

            "So I'm itchy."

            "Let's talk about something else."

            "Did I show you our micro walky-talkies?"

            "Jacob gave me one."

            "There's one for each. Tiny but amazingly long-ranged. Uses less power than a hand calculator and weighs less-under two hundred grams. Mass, I mean-weight here is much less. Today I thought of a new use. Gay can accept their frequency."

            "That's nice. How do you plan to use this?"

            "This car can be remote-controlled."

            "Deety, who would you want to do that?"

            I admitted that I did not know. "But Gay can be preprogrammed to do almost anything. For example, we could go outside and tell Gay, via walkytalky, to carry out two programs in succession: H, 0, M, E, followed by B, U,G, 0, U, T. Imagine Zebadiah's face when he wakes up from sun in his eyes- because his car has vanished-then his expression two hours later when it pops back into existence."

            "Deety, go stand in the corner for thinking such an unfunny joke!" Then Aunt Hilda looked thoughtful. "Why would it take two hours? I thought Gay could go anywhere in no time."

            "Depends on your postulates, Princess Thuvia. We took a couple of hours to get here because we fiddled. Gay would have to follow that route in reverse because it's the only one she knows. Then-" I stopped, suddenly confused. "Or would it be four hours? No, vectors would cancel and- But that would make it instantaneous; we would never know that she had left. Or would we? Aunt Hilda, I don't know! Oh, I wish our men would wake up, I do!" The world wobbled and I felt scared.

            "I'm awake," Pop answered, his head just showing above the doorsill. "What's this debate?" He gave Aunt Hilda a lecherous leer. "Little girl, if you'll come up to my room, I'll give you some candy."

            "Get away from me, you old wolf!"

            "Hilda my love, I could sell you down to Rio and retire on the proceeds. You look like expensive stuff."

            "I'm very expensive stuff, darling wolf. All I want is every cent a man has and constant pampering-then a fat estate when he dies."

            "I'll try to die with plenty of money in the bank, dearest."

            "Instead we're both dead and our bank accounts have gone Heaven knows where and I haven't a rag to my back-and I'm wonderfully happy. Come inside-mind the radar!-and kiss me, you old wolf; you don't have to buy me candy."

            "Pop," I asked, "is Zebadiah asleep?"

            "Just woke up."

            I spoke to Gay, then to Pop: "Will you tell Zebadiah radar is off? He can stand up without getting his ears fried."

            "Sure." Pop ducked down and yelled, "Zeb, it's safe; her husband left."

            "Coming!" Zebadiah's voice rumbled back. "Tell Deety to put the steaks on." My darling appeared wearing sword, carrying pie pan and sheets. "Are the steaks ready?" he asked, then kissed me.

            "Not quite, sir," I told him. "First, go shoot a thoat. Or will you settle for peanut butter sandwiches?"

            "Don't talk dirty. Did you say 'thoat'?"

            "Yes. This is Barsoom."

            "I thoat that was what you said."

            "If that's a pun, you can eat it for supper. With peanut butter."

            Zebadiah shuddered. "I'd rather cut my thoat."

            Pop said, "Don't do it, Zeb. A man can't eat with his thoat cut. He can't even talk clearly."

            Aunt Hilda said mildly, "If you three will cease those atrocities, I'll see what I can scrape up for dinner."

            "I'll help," I told her, "but can we run my test first? I'm itchy."

            "Certainly, Deety. It will be a scratch meal."

            Pop looked at Aunt Hilda reproachfully. "And you told us to stop."

            "What test?" demanded my husband.

            I explained the Bug-Out program. "I think I programmed it correctly. But here is a test. Road the car a hundred meters. If my program works-fine! If

it tests null, no harm done but you and Pop will have to teach me more about the twister before I'll risk new programming."

            "I don't want to road the car, Deety; I'm stingy with every erg until I know when and where I can juice Gay. However- Jake, what's your minimum transition?"

            "Ten kilometers. Can't use spatial quanta for transitions-too small. But the scale goes up fast-logarithmic. That's short range. Middle range is in light~years-lOgarithmic again."

            "What's long range, Jake?"

            "Gravitic radiation versus time. We won't use that one."

            "Why not, Jacob?" asked Aunt Hilda.

            Pop looked sheepish. "I'm scared of it, dearest. There are three major theories concerning gravitic propagation. At the time I machined those controls, one theory seemed proved. Since then other physicists have reported not being able to reproduce the data. So I blocked off long range." Pop smiled sourly. "I know the gun is loaded but not what it will do. So I spiked it."

            "Sensible," agreed my husband. "Russian roulette lacks appeal. Jake, do you have any guess as to what options you shut off?"

            "Better than a guess, Zeb. It reduces the number of universes accessible to us on this axis from the sixth power of six-to-the-sixth-power to a mere six to the sixth power. Forty-six thousand, six hundred, fifty-six."

            "Gee, that's tough!"

            "I didn't mean it as a joke, Zeb."

            "Jake, I was laughing at me. I've been looking forward to a lifetime exploring universes-and now I learn that I'm limited to a fiddlin' forty-six thousand and some. Suppose I have a half century of exploration left in me. Assume that I take off no time for eating, sleeping, or teasing the cat, how much time can I spend in each universe?"

            "About nine hours twenty minutes per universe," I told him. "Nine hours, twenty-three minutes, thirty-eight point seven-two-two seconds, plus, to be more nearly accurate."

            "Deety, let's do be accurate," Zebadiah said solemnly. "If we stayed a minute too long in each universe, we would miss nearly a hundred universes."

            I was getting into the spirit. "Let's hurry instead. If we work at it, we can do three universes a day for fifty years-one of us on watch, one on standby, two off duty-and still squeeze in maintenance, plus a few hours on the ground, once a year. If we hurry."

            "We haven't a second to lose!" Zebadiah answered. "All hands!-places! Stand by to lift! Move!"

            I was startled but hurried to my seat. Pop's chin dropped but he took his place. Aunt Hilda hesitated a split second before diving for her seat, but, as she strapped herself in, wailed, "Captain? Are we really leaving Barsoom?"

            "Quiet, please. Gay Deceiver, close doors! Report seat belts. Copilot, check starboard door seal."

            "Seat belt fastened," I reported with no expression.

            "Mine's fastened. Oh, dear!"

            "Copilot, by low range, 'H' axis upward, minimum transition."

            "Set, Captain."

            "Execute."

            Sky outside was dark, the ground far below. "Ten klicks exactly," my husband approved. "Astrogator, take the conn, test your new program. Science Officer observe."

            "Yessir. Gay Deceiver-Bug Out!" We were parked on the ground.

            "Science Officer-report," Zebadiah ordered. ~Report what?" Aunt Hilda demanded.

            "We tested a new program. Did it pass test?"

            "Uh, we seem to be back where we were. We were weightless maybe ten seconds. I guess the test was okay, Except-"

            "Except' what?"

            "Captain Zebbie, you're the worst tease on Earth! And Barsoom! You did so put lime Jello in my pool!"

            "I was in Africa."

            "Then you arranged it!"

            "Hilda-please! I never said we were leaving Barsoom. I said that we haven't a second to waste. We don't, with so much to explore."

            "Excuses. What about my clothes? All on the starboard wing. Where are they now? Floating up in the stratosphere? Coming down where? I'll never find them."

            "I thought you preferred to dress Barsoomian style?"

            "Doesn't mean I want to be forced to! Besides, Deety lent them to me. I'm sorry, Deety."

            I patted her hand. "S'all right, Aunt Hilda. I'll lend you more. Give them, I mean." I hesitated, then said firmly, "Zebadiah, you should apologize to Aunt Hilda."

            "Oh, for the love of- Sharpie? Sharpie darling."

            "Yes, Zebbie?"

            "I'm sorry I let you think that we were leaving Barsoom. I'll buy you clothes that fit. We'll make a quick trip back to Earth-"

            "Don't want to go back to Earth! Aliens! They scare me."

            "They scare me, too. I started to say: 'Earth-without-a-J.' It's so much like our own that I can probably use U.S. money. If not, I have gold. Or I can barter. For you, Sharpie, I'll steal clothes. We'll go to Phoenix-without-a-J- tomorrow-today we take a walk and see some of this planet-your planet- and we'll stay on your planet until you get tired of it. Is that enough? Or must I confess putting Jello into your pool when I didn't?"

            "You really didn't?"

            "Cross my heart."

            "Be darned. Actually I thought it was funny. I wonder who did it? Aliens, maybe?"

            "They play rougher than that. Sharpie darling, I'm not the only weirdo in your stable-not by dozens."

            "Guess maybe. Zebbie? Will you kiss Sharpie and make up?"

            On the ground, under the starboard wing, we found nur travel clothes, and under the port wing, those of our husbands. Zebadiah looked bemused. "Jake? I thought Hilda was right. It had slipped my mind that we had clothing on the wings."

"Use your head, Son." "I'm not sure I have one."

            "I don't understand it either, darling," Aunt Hilda added.

            "Daughter?" Pop said.

            "Pop, I think I know. But- I pass!"

            "Zeb, the car never moved. Instead-"

            Aunt Hilda interrupted, "Jacob, are you saying that we did not go straight up? We were there-five minutes ago."

            "Yes, my darling. But we didn't move there. Motion has a definable meaning:

A duration of changing locations. But no duration was involved. We did not successively occupy loci between here-then and there-then."

            Aunt Hilda shook her head. "I don't understand. We went whoosh! up into the sky. . . then whoosh! back where we started."

            "My darling, we didn't whoosh! Deety! Don't be reticent."

            I sighed. "Pop, I'm not sure there exists a symbol for the referent. Aunt Hilda. Zebadiah. A discontinuity. The car-"

            "Got it!" said Zebadiah.

            'I didn't," Aunt Hilda persisted.

            "Like this, Sharpie," my husband went on. "My car is here. Spung!-it vanishes. Our clothes fall to the ground. Ten seconds later-flip!-we're back where we started. But our clothes are on the ground. Get it now?"

            "I- I guess so. Yes."

            "I'm glad you do. . . because I don't. To me, it's magic." Zebadiah shrugged. "'Magic.'"

            "Magic," I stated, "is a symbol for any process not understood."

            "That's what I said, Deety. 'Magic.' Jake, would it have mattered if the car had been indoors?"

            "Well.. . that fretted me the first time Deety and I translated to Earthwithout-the-letter-J. So I moved our car outdoors. But now I think that only the destination matters. It should be empty-I think. But I'm too timid to experiment."

            "Might be interesting. Unmanned vehicle. Worthless target. A small asteroid. A baby sun?"

            "I don't know, Zeb. Nor do I have apparatus to spare. It took me three years to build this one."

            "So we wait a few years. Jake? Air has mass."

            "That worried me also. But any mass, other than degenerate mass, is mostly

empty space. Air-Earth sea-level air-has about a thousandth the density of the human body. The body is mostly water and water accepts air readily. I can't say that it has no effect-twice I've thought that my temperature went up a trifle at transition or translation in atmosphere but it could have been excitement. I've never experienced caisson disease from it. Has any of us felt discomfort?"

            "Not me, Jake."

            "I've felt all right, Pop," I agreed.

            "I got space sick. Till Deety cured it," Aunt Hilda added.

            "So did I, my darling. But that was into vacuo and could not involve the phenomenon."

            "Pop," I said earnestly, 'we weren't hurt; we don't have to know why. A basic proposition of epistemology, bedrock both for the three basic statements of semantics and for information theory, is that an observed fact requires no proof. It simply is, self-demonstrating. Let philosophers worry about it; they haven't anything better to do."

            "Suits me!" agreed Hilda. "You big brains had Sharpie panting. I thought we were going to take a walk?"

            "We are, dear," agreed my husband. "Right after those steaks."

XVIII

"-the whole world is alive."

            Zebadiah:

            Four Dagwoods later we were ready to start walkabout. Deety delayed by wanting to repeat her test by remote control. I put my foot down. "No!"

            "Why not, my Captain? I've taught Gay a program to take her straight up ten klicks. It's G, A, Y, B, 0, U, N, C, ~-a new fast-escape with no execution word necessary. Then I'll recall her by B, U, G, 0, U, T. If one works via walkytalky, so will the second. It can save our lives, it can!"

            "Uh-" I went on folding tarps and stowing my sleeping bag. The female

mind is too fast for me. I often can reach the same conclusion; a woman gets there first and never by the route I have to follow. Besides that, Deety is a genius.

            "You were saying, my Captain?"

            "I was thinking. Deety, do it with me aboard. I won't touch the controls. Check pilot, nothing more."

            "Then it won't be a test."

            "Yes, it will. I promise, Cub Scout honor, to let it fall sixty seconds. Or to three klicks H-above-G, whichever comes first."

            "These walky-talkies have more range than ten kilometers even between themselves. Gay's reception is much better."

            "Deety, you trust machinery; I don't. If Gay doesn't pick up your second command-sun spots, interference, open circuit, anything-I'll keep her from crashing."

            "But if something else goes wrong and you did crash, I would have killed you!" She started to cry.

            So we compromised. Her way. The exact test she had originally proposed.

I wasted juice by roading Gay Deceiver a hundred meters, got out, and we all backed off. Deety said into her walky-talky, "Gay Deceiver. . . Bug Out!"

            It's more startling to watch than it is to be inside. There was Gay Deceiver off to our right, then she was off to our left. No noise-not even an implosion splat! Magic.

            "Well, Deety? Are you satisfied?"

            "Yes, Zebadiah. Thank you, darling. But it had to be a real test. You see that-don't you?"

            I agreed, while harboring a suspicion that my test had been more stringent. "Deety, could you reverse that? Go somewhere else and tell Gay to come to you?"

            "Somewhere she's never been?"

            "Yes."

            Deety switched off her walky-talky and made sure that mine was off. "I don't want her to hear this. Zebadiah, I always feel animistic about a computer. The Pathetic Fallacy-I know. But Gay is a person to me."

            Deety sighed. "I know it's a machine. It doesn't have ears; it can't see; it doesn't have a concept of space-time. What it can do is manipulate circuitry in complex ways-complexities limited by its grammar and vocabulary. But those limits are exact. If I don't stay precisely with its grammar and vocabulary, it reports 'Null program.' I can tell it anything by radio that I can tell it by voice inside the cabin-and so can you. But I can't tell it to come look for me in a meadow beyond a canyon about twelve or thirteen klicks approximately southwest of here-now. That's a null program-five undefined terms."

            "Because you made it null. You fed 'garbage in' and expect me to be surprised at 'garbage out'-when you did it a-purpose."

            "I did not either, I didn't!"

            I kissed the end of her nose. "Deety darling, you should trust your instincts. Here's one way to tell Gay to do that without defining even one new term into her vocabulary. Tell her to expect a three-part program. First part: bounce one minimum, ten klicks. Second part: transit twelve point five klicks true course two-two-five. Third part: drop to one klick H-over-G and hover. At that point, if what you described as your location is roughly correct, you will see her and can coach her to a landing without using Jake's twister."

            "Uh. . . twelve and a half kilometers can't be done in units often kilometers. Powered flight?"

            "Waste juice? Hon, you just flunked high school geometry. Using Euclid's tools, compass and straight edge, lay out that course and distance, then lay out how to get there in ten-klick units-no fractions."

            My wife stared. Then her eyes cleared. "Transit one minimum true course one-seven-three and two thirds, then transit one minimum true course twoseven-six and one third. The mirror image solution uses the same courses in reverse. Plus endless trivial solutions using more than two minima."

            "Go to the head of the class. If you don't spot her, have her do a retreating search curve-in her perms, in an Aussie accent. Honey girl, did you actually do that Euclid style?"

            "I approximated it Euclid style-but you didn't supply compass and straight edge! Scribe circle radius twelve point five. Bisect circle horizontally by straight edge through origin; quarter it by dropping a vertical. Bisect lower left quadrant-that gives true course two-two-five or southwest. Then set compass at ten units and scribe arcs from origin and from southwest point of circle; the intersections give courses and vertices for both major roots to the accuracy of your straight edge and compass. But simply to visualize that construction-well, I got visualized angles of two-seven-five and one-seven-five. Pretty sloppy.

            "So I did it accurately by Pythagorean proposition by splitting the isosceles triangle into two right triangles. Hypotenuse is ten, one side is six and a quarter-and that gives the missing side as seven point eight-zero-six-twofour-seven plus-which gives you one course and you read off the other by the scandalous Fifth Axiom. But I did check by trig. Arc sine point seven-eightzero-six-two-four-seven----"

            "Hold it! I believe you. What other ways can you program Gay to find you, using her present vocabulary?"

            "Uh.. . burn juice?"

            "If necessary."

            "I would have her bounce a minimum, then maximize my signal. Home on me."

            "Certainly. Now do the same thing without using juice. Just Jake's twister."

            Deety looked thoughtful and about twelve years old, then suddenly said, "Drunkard's Walk'!"-added at once, "But I would place a locus around the Walk just large enough to be certain that I'm inside it. Gay should plot signal level at each vertex. Such a plot would pinpoint the signal source."

            "Which way is faster? Home straight in under power? Or Drunkard's Walk?" Deety answered, "Why, the-"-looked startled. "Those are solid-state relays."

            "Jake sets verniers by hand-but when Gay is directing herself there are no moving parts. Solid state."

            "Zebadiah, am I thinking straight? Using power, at that distance-call it twelve kilometers-Gay should be able to home on me in three or four minutes. But-Zebadiah, this can't be right!-using no power and relying on random numbers and pure chance in a Drunkard's Walk, Gay should find me in less than a second. Where did I go wrong?"

            "On the high side, Deety girl. Lost your nerve. The first fifty milliseconds should show the hot spot; in less than the second fifty she'll part your hair. All over in a tenth of a second-or less. But, honey, we still haven't talked about the best way. I said that you should trust your instincts. Gay is not an 'it.' She's a person. You'll never know how relieved I was when it turned out that you two were going to be friends. If she had been jealous of you- May the gods deliver us from a vindictive machine! But she's not; she thinks you're swell."

            "Zebadiah, you believe that?"

            "Dejah Thoris, I know that."

            Deety looked relieved. "I know it, too-despite what I said earlier."

            "Deety, to me the whole world is alive. Some parts are sleeping and some are dozing and some are awake but yawning. . . and some are bright-eyed and bushy-tailed and always ready to go. Gay is one of those."

            "Yes, she is. I'm sorry I called her an 'it.' But what is this 'best way'?"

            "Isn't it obvious? Don't tell her how-just tell her. Say to her, 'Gay, come find me!' All four words are in her vocabulary; the sentence is compatible with her grammar. She'll find you."

            "But how? Drunkard's Walk?"

            "A tenth of a second might strike her as too long-she likes you, hon. She'll look through her registers and pick the optimum solution. She might not be able to tell you how she did it, since she wipes anything she's not told to remember. I think she does; I've never been certain."

            Jake and Hilda had wandered off while Deety and I had been talking. They had turned back, so we started toward them. Sharpie called out, "Zebbie, what happened to that hike?"

            "Right away," I agreed. "Jake, we have about three hours. We ought to be buttoned up before sundown. Check?"

            "I agree. The temperature will drop rapidly at sundown."

            "Yup. We can't do real exploring today. So let's treat it as drill. Fully armed, patrol formation, radio discipline, and always alert, as if there were a 'Black Hat' behind every bush."

            "No bushes," objected Hilda.

            I pretended not to hear. "But what constitutes 'fully armed,' Jake? We each have rifles. You have that oldstyle Army automatic that will knock down anything if you're close enough but-how good a shot are you?"

            "Good enough."

            "How good is 'Good enough'?" (Most people are as accurate with a baseball as with a pistol.)

            "Skipper, I won't attempt a target more than fifty meters away. But if I intend to hit, the target will be within range and I will hit it."

            I opened my mouth. . . closed it. Fifty meters is a long range for that weapon. But hint that my father-in-law was boasting?

            Deety caught my hesitation. "Zebadiah-Pop taught me pistol in the campus R.O.T.C. range. I've seen him practice bobbing targets at thirty meters. I saw him miss one. Once."

            Jake harrumphed. "My daughter omitted to mention that I skip most surprise targets."

            "Father! 'Most' means 'more than fifty percent.' Not true!"

            "Near enough."

            "Six occasions. Four strings, twenty-eight targets on three-"

            "Hold it, honey! Jake, it's silly to argue figures with your daughter. With my police special I won't attempt anything over twenty meters-except covering fire. But I hand-load my ammo and pour my own dumdums; the result

is almost as lethal as that howitzer of yours. But if it comes to trouble, or hunting for meat, we'll use rifles, backed by Deety's shotgun. Deety, can you shoot?"

            "Throw your hat into the air."

            "I don't like the sound of that. Sharpie, we have five firearms, four people- is there one that fits you?"

            "Cap'n Zebbie, the one time I fired a gun, I went backwards, the bullet went that-a-way, and I had a sore shoulder. Better have me walk in front to trip land mines."

            "Zebadiah, she could carry my fléchette gun."

            "Sharpie, we'll put you in the middle and you carry the first-aid kit; you're medical officer-armed with Deety's purse gun for defense. Jake, it's time we stowed these swords and quit pretending to be Barsoomian warriors. Field boots. I'm going to wear that same sweaty pilot suit, about equivalent to jump suits you and Deety wore-which I suggest you wear now. We should carry water canteens and iron rations. I can't think of anything that would serve as a canteen. Damn! Jake, we aren't doing this by the book."

            "What book?" demanded Hilda.

            "Those romances about interstellar exploration. There's always a giant mother ship in orbit, loaded with everything from catheters to Coca-Cola, and scouting is by landing craft, in touch with the mother ship. Somehow, we aren't doing it that way."

            (All the more reason to conduct drill as realistically as possible. Jake or I, one of us, is honor bound to stay alive to take care of two women and unborn children; exterminating 'Black-Hat' vermin holds a poor second to that.)

            "Zebbie, why are you staring at me?"

            I hadn't known that I was. "Trying to figure how to dress you, dear. Sharpie, you look cute in jewelry and perfume. But it's not enough for a sortie in the bush. Take 'em off and put 'em away. You, too, Deety. Deety, do you have another jump suit that can be pinned up or stitched up for Hilda?"

            "A something, sure. But it would take hours to do a good job. My sewing kit isn't much."

            "Hours' will have to be another day. Today we'll make do with safety pins. But take time to do a careful job of padding her feet into your stoutest shoes. Confound it, she should have field boots. Sharpie, remind me when we make that shopping trip to Earth-without-a-J."

            "To hear is to obey, Exalted One. Is it permitted to make a parliamentary inquiry?"

            She startled me. "Hilda, what did I do to cause that frosty tone?"

            "It was what you didn't do." Suddenly she smiled, reached high and patted my cheek. "You mean well, Zebbie. But you slipped. While Gay Deceiver is on the ground, we're equal. But you've been giving orders right and left."

            I started to answer; Jake cut in. "Hilda my love, for a scouting expedition the situation becomes equivalent to a craft in motion. Again we require a captain."

            Sharpie turned toward her husband. "Conceded, sir. But may I point out that we are not yet on that hike? Zebbie has consulted you; he has not consulted Deety and me. He asked us for information-darned seldom! Aside from that he has simply laid down the law. What are we, Zebbie? Poor little female critters whose opinions are worthless?"

            Caught with your hand in the cooky jar, throw yourself on the mercy of the court.

            "Sharpie, you're right and I'm dead wrong. But before you pass sentence I claim extenuating circumstances: Youth and inexperience, plus long and faithful service."

            "You can't," put in my helpful wife. "You can plead one or the other but not both. They can't overlap."

            Sharpie stood on tiptoes and kissed my chin. "In Zebbie's case they do overlap. Do you still want to know what to use as water canteens?"

            "Certainly!"

            "Then why didn't you ask?"

            "But I did!"

            "No, Cap'n Zebbie; you did not ask and did not even give us time to volunteer the answer."

            "I'm sorry, Hilda. Too many things on my mind."

            "I know, dear; Sharpie does not mean to scold. But I had to get your attention."

            "That baseball bat?"

            "Almost. For an ersatz canteen- A hot-water bottle?"

            Again she startled me. "In the danger we were in when we left, you worried about cold feet in bed? And packed a hot-water bottle?"

            "Two," answered Deety. "Aunt Hilda fetched one. So did I."

            "Deety, you don't have cold feet and neither do I."

            Sharpie said, "Deety, is he actually that naïve?"

            "I'm afraid he is, Aunt Hilda. But he's sweet."

            "And brave," added Hilda. "But retarded in spots. They do overlap in Zebbie's case. He's unique."

            "What," I demanded, "are you talking about?"

            "Aunt Hilda means that, when you refitted Gay, you neglected to install a bidet."

            "Oh." That was the wittiest I could manage. "It's not a subject I give much thought to."

            "No reason you should, Zebbie. Although men use them, too."

            "Zebadiah does. Pop, too. Bidets, I mean. Not hot-water bottles."

            "I meant hot-water bottles, dear. As medical officer I may find it necessary to administer an enema to the Captain."

            "Oh, no!" I objected. "You're not equipped."

            "But she is, Zebadiah. We fetched both sorts of nozzles."

            "But you didn't fetch four husky orderlies to hold me down. Let's move on.

Sharpie, what was the advice you would have given if I had been bright enough to consult you?"

            "Some is not advice but a statement of fact. I'm not going for a hike on a hot day swaddled in a pinned-up jump suit eight sizes too big. While you all play Cowboys-and-Indians, I'm going to curl up in my seat and read 'The Oxford Book of English Verse.' Thank you for fetching it, Jacob."

            "Hilda beloved, I will worry."

            "No need to worry about me, Jacob. I can always tell Gay to lock her doors. But, were I to go with you, I would be a handicap. You three are trained to fight; I'm not." Sharpie turned toward me. "Captain, since I'm not going, that's all I have to say."

            What was there for me to say? "Thank you, Hilda. Deety, do you have things on your mind?"

            "Yes, sir. I go along with field boots and jump suits and so forth even though they'll be beastly hot. But I wish you would change your mind about your sword and Pop's saber. Maybe they aren't much compared with rifles but they're good for my morale."

            Hilda interjected, "Had I decided to go, Captain, I would have said the same. Possibly it is an emotional effect from what happened, uh-was it only yesterday?-but perhaps it is subconscious logic. Just yesterday bare blades defeated a man-a thing, an alien-armed with a firearm and ready to use it."

            Jake spoke up. "Captain, I didn't want to take off my saber."

            "We'll wear them." Any excuse is a good excuse to wear a sword. "Are we through? We've lost an hour and the Sun is dropping. Deety?"

            "One more thing, Zebadiah-and I expect to be outvoted. I say to cancel the hike."

            "So? Princess, you've said too much or not enough."

            "If we do this, we spend the night here-sitting up. If we chase the Sun instead- There were lights on the night side that looked like cities. There was blue on the day side that looked like a sea. I think I saw canals. But whether we find something or not, at worst we'll catch up with sunrise and be able to sleep outdoors in daylight, just as we did today."

            "Deety! Gay can overtake the Sun. Once. You want to use all her remaining juice just to sleep outdoors?"

            "Zebadiah, I wasn't planning on using any power."

            "Huh? It sounded like it."

            "Oh, no! Do transitions of three minima or more, bearing west. Aim us out of the atmosphere; we fall back in while looking for places of interest. As we reenter, we glide, but where depends on what you want to look at. When you have stretched the glide to the limit, unless you decide to ground, you do another transition. There is great flexibility, Zebadiah. You can reach sunrise line in the next few minutes. Or you could elect to stay on the day side for weeks, never land, never use any juice, and inspect the entire planet from pole to pole."

            "Maybe Gay can stay up for weeks-but not me. I'm good for several more hours. With that limitation, it sounds good, How about it? Hilda? Jake?"

            "You mean that female suffrage is permanent? I vote Yes!" Jake said, "You have a majority; no need for a male vote."     "Jacob!" his wife said reproachfully.

            "Joking, my dear. It's unanimous."

            I said, "Somebody just cancelled the election. Look there." We all looked. Deety said, "What is it? A pterodactyl?" "No, an ornithopter. A big one."