XIX

Something is gained in translation-

Hilda:

            Jacob tightened his arm around me. "Zeb," he said softly, "I don't believe it." He was staring (we all were) at this mechaniwockle pteranodon coming at us over the hills in the west.

            "Neither do I;" Zebbie answered. "Wrong wing loading. Impossible articulation. There's a second one. A third! All hands! Grab your clothes! Man the ship! Prepare to lift! Move! Jake, unbuckle your saber and into your jump suit, fast!"

            Cap'n Zebbie was unhooking his sword belt and grabbing his coveralls as he yelped. I was inside first as I didn't stop to dress-grabbed Deety's baby shoes with one hand, my dress and panties with the other.

            I wiggled into panties, slid the dress over my head, slipped on Deety's Keds.

            I anticipated the order to fasten seat belts-stopped suddenly and eased my belt. I had not stopped to take off the doodads that proclaimed me a Barsoomian "princess." Now it seemed that every item of frippery was about to imprint me for life.

            Deety was cursing softly over the same problem. Deety's jump suit was harder to reach into, even when she unbelted and opened the zipper all the way. I helped readjust the hardware but cautioned her not to remove it and to close the zipper clear to her chin. "Deety, if you get holes in your hide, you'll get well. But if something loose catches our captain in the eye, the culprit will be broken on the wheel."

            I clucked-clucked at her answer but big ones do get in the way. Meanwhile our men were having problems. That space under the instrument board could not be seen by a full-sized male. The best position to reach it was impossible for Jacob, ridiculously impossible for Zebbie.

            Zebbie's profanity was louder than Deety's but not as colorful. My own darling was keeping quiet which meant that he was really in trouble. I said, "Gentlemen-"

            Zebbie grunted, "Shut up, Sharpie; we've got problems! Deety! How did you get these toadstickers into this compartment?"

            "I didn't. Aunt Hilda did."

            "Sharpie, can I apologize later? Those Martians are circling us now!"

            So they were, at least a dozen flapping monstrosities. One appeared about to ground. "Captain, I'll do it-but there is a faster way."

            "How?"

            "Unhook your scabbards, put on your sword belts. Saber and sword in scabbards fit easily if you point one right, the other left. They will rattle unless you stuff clothing around them."

            "They can bloody well rattle!" In seconds, our gallants had blades and scabbards stowed. As Cap'n Zebbie resumed sword belt and started on his seat belt he called out, "Fasten belts, prepare to lift! Sharpie, have I told you today that in addition to loving you, I admire you?"

            "I think not, Captain."

            "I do. Enormously. Report! Science Officer?"

            "Seat belt fastened. Thank you, Zebbie."

            "Seat belt fastened," reported Deety. "Bulkhead door dogged."

            "Seat belt fastened, starboard door seal checked, copilot ready, sir!"

            "Port door seal checked, pilot strapped down; we're ready-and none too soon! One has grounded and somebody is getting out. Hey! They're human!"

            "Or disguised aliens," said my darling.

            "Well. . . yes, there's that. I may lift any second. Deety-that new program:

Just G, A, Y, B, 0, U, N, C, E? No 'do-it' word?"

            "Check."

            "Good. I won't use it unless forced to. This may be that 'first contact' the world has been expecting."

            "Cap'n Zebbie, why would aliens disguise themselves when they outnumber us? I think they are human."

            "I hope you're right. Copilot, should I open the door? Advice, please."

            "Captain, you can open the door anytime. But if it is open, it takes a few seconds to close it and the ship won't lift with a door open."

            "Too right. Gay Deceiver."

            "Hi, Boss. Where did you pick up the tarts?"

            "Gay, check and report."

            "All circuits checked, all systems go, juice point seven-eight-and I'm in the mood."

            "Cast loose L-gun. Prepare to burn."

            "Done!"

            "Captain," my husband said worriedly, "are you planning to blast them?"

            "I hope not. I'd rather run than fight. I'd rather stay and get help than either. But they grounded where I can burn them-using offset."

            "Captain, don't do it!"

            "Copilot, I don't plan to. Now drop it!"

            The grounded flappy bird was about two hundred meters and a few degrees left of dead ahead. Two men-they looked like men-had disembarked and headed toward us. They were dressed alike-uniforms? They seemed vaguely familiar-but all uniforms seem vaguely familiar, do they not?

            They were less than a hundred meters from us. Cap'n Zebbie did something at his instrument board and suddenly their voices were inside, blastingly loud. He adjusted the setting and we could hear clearly. Zebbie said, "That's Russian! Isn't it, Jake?"

            "Captain, I think so. A Slavic language, in any case." Jacob added, "Do you understand it?"

            'Me? Jake, I said that I can swear in Russian; I didn't say I could speak it. I can say 'thank you' and 'please' and 'da' and 'nyet'-maybe six more. How about you?"

            "I can puzzle out a paper about mathematics with the aid of a dictionary. But speak it? Understand it? No."

            I tried to remember whether or not I had ever told Zebbie that I know Russian. My husband and Deety I had not told. Well, if Zebbie knew, he would call on me. It is not something I mention as it does not fit my persona. I started it out of curiosity; I wanted to read those great Russian novelists-Dostoievsky, Tolstoy, and so forth-in the original in order to find out why they were so celebrated. Why I had never been able to read one of those classic novels all the way through? (They had cured me of sleeping pills.)

            So I set out to learn Russian. Soon I was wearing earphones to bed, listening to Russian in my sleep, working with a tutor in the daytime. I never mastered a good accent; those six-consonants-in-a-row words tie knots in my tongue. But one cannot read a language easily unless one can "hear" the words. So I learned the spoken language along with the written.

            (Oh, yes, those "classic novels": Having invested so much effort I carried out my purpose: War and Peace, The Idiot, The Brothers Karamazov, Anna Karenina, and so forth. Would you believe it? Something is gained in translation; the originals are even more depressing and soporific than translations. I'm not sure what purpose Russian fiction has, but it can't be entertainment.)

            I decided to wait. I was not eager to be interpreter and it would not be necessary if it turned out that Zebbie or Jacob had a language in common with our visitors-and I rationalized my decision by telling myself that it might turn out to be an advantage if the strangers thought that no one of us understood Russian.

            (At that point I realized that I had been thinking in Russian. It's a wonderful language for paranoid thoughts.)

            When Zebbie switched on the outside mikes, the older was telling the Younger: "-not let Fyodor Ivanovitch get wind of such thoughts, Yevgeny. He

does not believe that (no good? stupid?) Britishers can excel us in anything. So don't refer to that curious craft as 'advanced engineering.' A 'weird assemblage of poorly organized experiments' would be better."

            "I will remember. Shall I loosen my holster and take off the safety? To guard you, sir?"

            The older man laughed. "You haven't dealt with the damned British as long as I have. Never let them suspect that you are even mildly nervous. And always be sure to insult him first. Bear in mind that the lowliest serf in Ykraina is better than their so-called King-Emperor. That serf-"

            -when Zebbie interrupted: T4rrêtez-là!"

            The younger hesitated but the older never broke stride. Instead he answered in French: "You are telling me to halt, you British swine? An officer of the Tsar on Russian soil! I spit on your mother. And your father if your mother can remember who he was. Why are you speaking French, you soiled British spy? You fool no one. Speak Russian-or, if you are uncultured, speak English."

            Zebbie thumbed a button. "What about it, Jake? Switch to English when he's so hipped on the subject of Englishmen? Or bull it through in French? My accent is better than his."

            "Maybe you can get away with it, Captain. I can't."

            Zebbie nodded and opened the mike, spoke in English: "We are not British, not spies. We are American tourists and-"

            "American'? What nonsense is this?" (He had shifted to English.) "A British colonial is still British-and a spy."

            My husband reached over, shut off the microphone. "Captain, I advise lifting. He won't listen to reason."

            "Copilot, not till I must. We don't even have enough water. I must try to parley." Zebbie thumbed the switch. "I am not a British colonial. I am Zeb Carter of California, a citizen of the United States of America; I have my passport. If we have trespassed, we regret it and apologize."

            "Spy, that is the most bold-faced bluff I have ever heard. There is no such country as the United States of America. I am placing you under arrest. In the name of His Imperial Majesty the Tsar of All the Russias, by authority delegated to me by His Viceroy for New Russia Grand Duke Fyodor Ivanovitch Romanov, I arrest you and your party for the crime of espionage. Open up!"

            By now they had reached Gay Deceiver and were at the portside door.

            Zebbie answered, "You haven't told me your name, much less identified yourself as a Russian officer. Or shown any authority over what is clearly unoccupied land."

            "What? Preposterous! I am Colonel the Count Morinosky of Novy Kiev, of the Viceroy's Imperial Guard. As for my authority, look at the sky around you!" The self-proclaimed colonel drew his pistol, reversed it, and used the butt to pound on the door. "Open up!' I said."

            Zebbie has good temper and calm judgment. Both are likely to slip if anyone abuses Gay Deceiver.

            He said softly, "Colonel, your craft on the ground ahead-is there anyone in it?"

            "Eh? Of course not. It's a two-seater, as anyone can see. My private scoutabout. Never mind that. Keep quiet and open up."

            Zebbie again switched off his microphone. "Gay Deceiver, at command 'Execute' burn one tenth of a second at point of aim, intensity four."

            "Gotcha, Boss."

            "Colonel, how can you take four prisoners in a two-seater?"

            "Simple. You and I will ride in your vehicle. The other members of your party will be hostage for your good behavior and will ride where assigned. You won't see which craft lest you get foolish ideas. My pilot will fly my craft."

            "Execute."

            The grounded ornithopter began to burn fiercely-but the colonel did not see it. We saw it-but he was looking at Zebbie. Zebbie said, "Colonel, please stand clear of the door so that I can open it."

            "Oh. Very well."

            "Colonel! Look!" The younger officer, in stepping back, caught sight of the fire-and I have rarely heard such anguish.

            Or, an instant later in the colonel's face, such astonishment switching to rage. He attempted to shoot Zebbie-with his hand still gripping the barrel of his pistol. In a moment he realized what he was doing and flipped it to catch it by the grip.

            I never saw whether or not he made the catch; Cap'n Zebbie commanded, "Gay Bounce!" and the scene blacked out while the colonel's hand was open for the catch.

            Zebbie was saying, "Jake, I lost my temper. I should not have done it; it ruined our last chance to deal with those Russians. But I hope it taught the ruddy snarf not to go around hammering dents into other people's cars."

            "Captain, you did not ruin our 'last chance'; we never had one. You ran into classic Russian xenophobia. The Commies didn't invent that attitude; it goes back at least a thousand years. Read your history." Jacob added, "I'm not sorry you burned his kite. I wish he had to walk home. Regrettably one of his craft will pick him up."

            "Jake, if I could afford to-in juice, in time-I would go back and keep him from being picked up. Harry them, not let them land. I won't. Hmm- Shall we fall a bit farther and see what they are doing? Before we get on with our interrupted schedule?"

            "Uh. . . Captain, may I have a Bonine pill?"

            I squealed, "Me, too!"

            "Deety, take care of 'em. I'll put her in dive and we'll look."

            "Captain, why not use the B, U, G, program?"

            "Deety, somebody might be on that spot. Wups! I'm biting air." Cap'n Zebbie leaned us over, placed Barsoom-I mean "Mars"-Mars-lO or whatever-dead ahead. "Should spot flappy birds in few minutes. Jake, how about binoculars?"

            Zebbie didn't want them himself while piloting. We passed them around and I spotted an ornithopter, then two more, and passed the glasses to Deety.

            "Zebadiah, there is no one where we were parked."

            "You're certain?"

            "Yessir. The colonel's scoutabout is stifl burning; there are peop'e near it, nowhere e'se. That's why I'm certain there is no one where we were. B, U, G, 0, U, T is safe"

            Zebbie was slow to answer. How about it, folks? It wou'd be an unnecessary risk. Just one squawk and I'll skip it,"

            I kept quiet and hoped the others would, too, I don't worry; I'm going to live as tong as Atropos permits-meanwhile I intend to enjoy every minute. Zebbie waited, then said, "Here we go. Gay-Bug Out!"

XX

-right theory, wrong universe.

            Zeb:

            Deety is going to force me to look like a hero because I don't have the guts to let her down. I thought my copilot would veto going back to the scene of the crime; Jake is level-headed about safety precautions. I didn't count on Sharpie; she's unpredictable. But I thought Jake would object.

            He didn't. I waited until I was certain that no one was going to get me off the spot. . . then waited some more. . . then said sadly, "Here we go," and told Gay to "BUG OUT!"

            I expected to be a mushroom cloud. Instead we were parked where we had been and the colonel's craft was burning briskly. (Someday I am going to run that experiment: a transition to attempt to cause two masses to occupy the same space. But I won't be part of the experiment. The Bug-Out program scared me, and I liked the Take-Us-Home program a lot better after we made it two klicks H-above-G instead of parked. Could the Bug-Out program be modified so that Gay sneaked up on her target, checked it by radar, before accepting it? Take it up with Deety, Zeb-stick to what you know!)

            The Russians appeared to be slow to notice our return. One ornithopter had grounded not far from the fire; there were several bystanders. I could not see whether or not my erstwhile arresting officer, Colonel Somethingsky, was in the group. I assumed that he was.

            Then I was sure: A figure broke loose and headed toward us, waving a pistol. I said briskly, "Shipmates, is there any reason to hang around?"

            I waited a short beat. "Hearing no objection-Gay Bounce!"

            That black sky looked good. I wondered how Bumpsky was going to explain to the Grand Duke. Brass Hats are notoriously reluctant to believe unlikely stories.

            "Did I bounce too quickly? Have you all seen what you wanted to see?"

            Only Deety answered. "I was checking that program. I think I see a way to avoid two masses conflicting."

            "Keep talking."

            "Gay could sneak up on the target, inspect it by radar, accept it and ground, or refuse it and bounce-with no loss of time and with the same execute code. That spot could be knee-deep in Russians and Gay would simply whoosh us to where we are now."

            (I said to leave it to Deety. You heard me.) "Good idea. Do it. Can't have too many fail-safes."

            "I'll reprogram when we stop."

            "Correction. I want that fail-safe programmed now. I might need your revised program any moment."

            "Aye, aye, Captain."

            "Captain darling,' if you please. If you must call me 'Captain.' Then review all preprograms and debug them, if necessary, with analogous fail-safes. And any new ones in the future. Now- Just put her into glide, headed west, and transit three minima?"

            "Or more. Or less. I thought that a spot check every thirty kilometers would be about right for a rapid survey."

            "What altitude will we wind up? Assuming I simply aim her at the horizon and transit tangent to the curve."

            "Oh. What altitude do you want, Captain-Captain darling? A tangent does little in three minima, just a touch over a hundred meters. Is ten kilometers about right?"

            "Ten klicks is fine. I could aim at the horizon, make transition, then at once give the B, 0, U, N, C, E order."

            "So you could, Zebadiah, but if you will use the horizon as reference and aim eighteen and a half degrees above it- Will your gunsight depress that far?"

            "No, but I'll tell Gay. No problem."

            "Three minima on that upward slant will place you ten klicks H-above-G and a couple of klicks short of three minima on the curve."

            "Plus my present altitude."

            "No, no! Visualize the triangle, Zebadiah. It makes no real difference whether you do this from ten klicks H-above-G, or parked on the ground. Do you want exact figures?"

            "You visualize triangles, Deety; that's your department. I've got air bite now; I'm going to head west; I want to see where those ornithopters came from. Meantime work out that new fail-safe." Did it really make no difference whether I started from ten thousand meters or right on deck? Didn't I have to add in- No, of course not.. . but one way was sine and the other way was tan. But which one? Hell, it didn't matter; Deety was right. She always is, on figures-but someday I'm going to work it carefully, on paper, with diagrams and tables. "Copilot."

            "Captain."

            "L axis, transit, three minima."

            "Transition, L axis, thirty kilometers-set!"

            "Gay Deceiver."

            "I'm not at home but you may record a message."

            "Change attitude to climb eighteen point five degrees and report."

            "Roger Wilco. Climbing. Ten. Twelve. Fourteen. Sixteen. Eighteen. Mark!"

            "Execute!"

            We were somewhere else with black sky. "Gay, vertical dive. Execute."

            "No trouble, Clyde; enjoy the ride."

            "Zebadiah, may I talk with Gay while you look over the terrain? To reprogram that fail-safe."

            "Sure, go ahead. Jake, want to scan with binox while I eyeball it? I'll warn before transition."

            "Zebadiah, I could give her a scouting program, automatic. Skip the verfliers, skip the climb order; just an 'execute' code word. Place her on course. . . or I could include course."

            "I'll head her manually; the rest is swell-after that fail-safe. What's the code word?"

            "'Scout'?"

            "Good. Include the 'execute' idea in the code word. Deety, I've decided that I love you for your brain. Not those irrelevant physical attributes."

            "Zebadiah, once I've had a bath you may change your mind. I've had a sudden attack of brain fever. You had better program her yourself."

            "Mutiny again. I retract and apologize. You smell yummy and should marinate another week. It's not your cortex or your character I love but your carcass-delectable! If it weren't for these seat belts, it would be rape, rape, rape, all the way to the ground. Actually you're sort o' stupid-but what a chassis!"

            "That's better. Although I'm not stupid."

            "You married me. Res ipsa loquitur! Jake, are you spotting anything?".

            "Dry hills, Captain. Might as well move on."

            "Zebadiah, will you place her in glide and hold a few minutes?"

            "Sure. See something you want to check?"

            "No, sir, But when we emerged here, we had seventy-three seconds to impact. We've used twenty-one seconds. I'd like a few moments to insert those preprograms."

            I overrode manually and started Gay into a stretched glide while I extended her wings. Then I let Deety and Gay talk to each other. Deety had both changes fully worked out; not once did Gay answer, "Null program."

            I was about to warn Deety that Gay was not a sailplane when she reported, "All done, Captain. For the 'S' program I added in an alarm for two klicks Habove-G,"

            "Good idea. So now I head west again and give her that 'S' code word-no 'Execute'?"

            "Yessir. 'Cept I'd like to try the revised B, U, G, 0, U, T program. It has been less than four minutes since we left. Someone may be in that exact spot."

            "Deety, I share your curiosity. But it's like testing a parachute the hard way. Can't we save it until we need it? Then, if there is a glitch, we'll be dead so fast we'll hardly notice it."

            Deety said nothing. I waited, then said, "Comment, please."

            "No comment, Captain." Deety's answer was toneless. "Hmm- Science Officer.. . comment, please."

            "I have no comment to offer, Captain." (A slight chill?) "Copilot, I require your advice."

            "Uh, if the Captain please. Am I privileged to ask for written orders?"

            "Well, I'll be dipped in- Gay Bounce! Is there such a thing as a 'space lawyer'? Like 'sea lawyer'? Jake, in general, anyone, save in the face of the enemy, may demand written orders. . . if he'll risk his career to 'perpetuate evidence for the court-martial he knows will follow. Did it myself once and saved my neck and cost my temporary boss fifty numbers-and I wound up senior to him and he resigned.

            "But a second-in-command is in a special position; it is his duty to advise his C.O., even if the C.O. doesn't ask for advice. So I don't see how you can demand written orders on a point already one of your duties. But I won't make an issue of it. I'll direct the Astrogator to log your request, then I can dictate my reply into the log. Then I am going to ground this go-buggy and turn command over to you. Maybe you'll have more luck chairing this debating society than I have had. I wish you luck-you'll need it!"

            "But, Captain, I did not ask for written orders."

            "Eh?" I thought back. He hadn't, quite. "It sounded as if you were about to."

            "I was stalling. I must advise you to follow the prudent course. Unofficially, I prefer to risk the test. But I should not have stalled. I'm sorry that my intransigence caused you to consider relinquishing command."

            "I didn't just consider it; I have. Resignation effective the first time we ground. You've bought it, Jake."

            "Captain-"

            "Yes, Deety?"

            "You are correct; the test I suggested is useless, and could be fatal. I should not have asked for it. I'm sorry.. . sir."

            "Me, too! I felt you were being too strict with Deety. But you weren't; you were taking care of us, as you always do, Zebbie. Captain Zebbie. Of course you shouldn't make a risky test we don't need."

            I said, "Anyone anything to add?" No one spoke up, so I added, "I'm heading west," and did so. "Gay Deceiver-Bug Out!"

            Black sky above us; that "dead sea bottom" far below. . . . I remarked, "Looks as if a Russian, or one of their flappy craft, is in our parking spot. Deety, your revised program worked perfectly."

            "But, Zebadiah-why did you risk it?" She sounded terribly distressed.

            "Because all of you wanted to, despite what you said later. Because it's my last chance to make such a decision." I added, "Jake, I'm going to tilt her over. Grab the binox and see if you can identify where we were parked. If that fire is smoking, you can use it for reference."

            "But, Captain, I'm not taking command. I won't accept it."

            "Pipe down and carry out your orders! It's this damned yack-yack and endless argument that's giving me ulcers. If you won't accept command, then it's up for grabs. But not me! Oh, I'll pilot as the new CO. orders. But I won't command. Deety, how long did Gay pause to make that radar check? At what height?"

            "H-above-G was half a klick. Duration I don't know but I can retrieve it. Darling-Captain! You're not really going to quit commanding us?"

            "Deety, I don't make threats. Pipe down and retrieve that duration. Jake, what do you see?"

            "I've located the fire. Several ornithopters are on the ground. My guess places one of them about where we were parked. Captain, I advise not dropping lower."

            "Advice noted. Deety, how about that duration?" I didn't know how to ask for it myself, not having written the program.

            Deety retrieved it smoothly: 0.071 seconds-call it a fifteenth of a second. Radar is not instantaneous; Gay had to stop and sweep that spot long enough for a "picture" to form in her gizzards, to tell her whether or not she could park there. A fifteenth of a second is loads of time for the human eye. I hoped that Colonel Frimpsky had been watching when Gay popped up and blinked out.

            "Five klicks H-above-G, Captain."

            "Thanks, Jake." The board showed dive rate-straight down!-of over seven hundred kilometers per hour, and increasing so fast that the units figure was an unreadable blur, and the tens place next to it was blinking one higher almost by the second.

            Most carefully I eased her out of dive, and gently, slowly opened her wings part way for more lift as she slowed, while making a wide clockwise sweep to the east-slowed her dive, that is, not her speed through the air. When I had completed that sweep, and straightened out headed for that column of smoke on course west, I was making over eight hundred kilometers per hour in unpowered glide and still had almost a klick H-above-G I could turn into greater speed.

            Not that I needed it- I had satisfied myself by eye of what I had been certain of by theory: an ornithopter is slow.

            Jake said worriedly, "May I ask the Captain his plans?"

            "I'm going to give Colonel Pistoisky something to remember us by! Gay Deceiver."

            "Still aboard, Boss."

            I kept my eye on the flappy birds still in the air while I let Gay fly herself. Those silly contraptions could not catch us but there was always a chance that a pilot might dodge the wrong way.

            Most of them seemed anxious to be elsewhere: they were lumbering aside

right and left. I looked at the smoke-dead ahead-and saw what I had not noticed before: an ornithopter beyond the smoke.

            Jake gasped but said nothing. We were on collision course closing at about 900 kms/hr, most of it ours. Suicide pilot? Idiot? Panicked and frozen?

            I let him get within one klick of us, which brought us almost to the smoke and near the deck, about 200 meters H-above-G-and I yelped, "Scout!"

            Yes, Deety is a careful programmer; the sky was black, we were ten klicks H-above-G, and so far as I could tell, the same barren hills under us that we had left five minutes earlier-and I was feeling cocky. My sole regret was that I would not hear Colonel Snarfsky try to explain to the Grand Duke the "ghost" craft now used by "British spies."

            Did Russian nobility practice "honorable hara-kiri"? Perhaps the loadedpistol symbol? You know that one: The officer in disgrace returns to his quarters and finds that someone has thoughtfully loaded his pistol and placed it on his desk.. . thereby saving the regiment the scandal of a court.

            I didn't want the bliffy dead but busted to buck private. With time to reflect on politeness and international protocol while he cleaned stables.'

            I checked our heading, found that we were still pointed west. "Gay Deceiver, Scout!"

            Black sky again, the same depressing landscape- "Copilot, is it worthwhile to tilt down for a better look? That either takes juice-not much but some- or it takes time to drop far enough to bite air and do it with elevons. We can't afford to waste either time or juice."

            "Captain, I don't think this area is worth scouting."

            "Careful of that participle; better say 'exploring."

            "Captain, may I say something?"

            "Deety, if you are speaking as Astrogator, you not only may but must."

            "I could reprogram to put us lower if I knew what altitude was just high enough to let you use elevons. Conserve both time and juice, I mean."

            "It seems to be about eight klicks H-above-G, usually. Hard to say since we don't have a sea-level."

            "Shall I change angle to arrive at eight klicks H-above-G?"

            "How long does it take us to fall two klicks when we arrive?"

            She barely hesitated. "Thirty-two and a half seconds."

            "Only half a minute? Seems longer."

            "Three-two point six seconds, Captain, if this planet has the same surface gravity as Mars in our own universe-three-seven-six centimeters per second squared. I've been using it and haven't run into discrepancies. But I don't see how this planet holds so much atmosphere when Mars-our Mars-has so little."

            "This universe may not have the same laws as ours. Ask your father. He's in charge of universes."

            "Yes, sir. Shall I revise the program?"

            "Deety, never monkey with a system that is working well enough-First Corollary of Murphy's Law. If it is an area as unattractive as this, we'll simply get out. If it has possibilities, half a minute isn't too long to wait, and the

additional height will give us a better idea of the whole area. Gay Deceiver, Scout!"

            We all gasped. Thirty kilometers and those barren hills were gone; the ground was green and fairly level-and a river was in sight. Or a canal.

            "Oh, boy! Copilot, don't let me waste juice-be firm with me. Deety, count seconds. Everybody eyeball his sector, report anything interesting."

            Deety started chanting ". . . thirteen  fourteen      fifteen-" and each second felt like ten. I took my hands off the controls to keep from temptation. That was either a canal or a stream that had been straightened, revetted, and maintained for years, maybe eons. Professor Lowell had been right- right theory, wrong universe.

            "Deety, how far is the horizon?"

            "-seventeen-about two hundred fifty klicks-twenty-"

            I placed my hands gently on the controls. "Hon, that's the first time you've ever used the word 'about' with reference to a number."

            "-twenty-four-insufficient data!-twenty-six-"

            "You can stop counting; I felt a.quiver." I put a soft nose-down pressure on the elevons and decided to leave her wings spread; we might want to stretch this one. "Insufficient data?"

            "Zebadiah, it was changing steadily and you had me counting seconds. Horizon distance at ten klicks height above ground should be within one percent of two hundred and seventy kilometers. That assumes that this planet is a perfect sphere and that it is exactly like Mars in our universe-neither is true. It ignores refraction effects, tricky even at home-and unknown to me here. I treated it as geometry, length of tangent for an angle of four degrees thirty-seven minutes."

            "Four and half degrees? Where in the world did you get that figure?"

            "Oh! Sorry, dear, I skipped about six steps. On Earth one nautical mile is one minute of arc-check?"

            "Yes. Subject to minor reservations. With a sextant, or in dead reckoning, or on a chart, a mile is a minute, a minute is a mile. Makes it simple. Otherwise we would be saying a minute is one thousand eight hundred fifty-three meters and the arithmetic would get hairy."

            "One-eight-five-three point one-eight-seven-seven-oh-five plus," she corrected me. "Very hairy. Best not convert to MKS until the last step. But, Zebadiah, there is a simpler relation here. One minute of arc equals one kilometer, near enough not to matter. So I treated H-above-G, ten klicks, as a versine, applied the haversine rule and got four degrees thirty-seven minutes or two hundred seventy-seven kilometers to the theoretical horizon. You see?"

            "I see everything but how you hide haversine tables in a jump suit. Me, I hide 'em in Gay. . . and make her do the work." Yes, I could nose her over now-easy does it, boy.

            "Well, I didn't, exactly. I calculated it, but I did it the easy way: Naperian logarithms and angles in radians, then converted back to degrees to show the relationship to kilometers on the ground."

            "That's 'the easy way'?"

            "It is for me, sir!"

            "If you're quivering your chin, stop it. I told you it was your luscious body, not your brain. Most idiots-savants are homely and can't do anything but their one trick. But you're an adequate cook, as well."

            That got me a stony silence. I kept easing her nose down. "Time for binox, Jake."

            "Aye aye, sir. Captain, I am required to advise you. With that last remark to the Astrogator you risked your life."

            "Are you implying that Deety is an inadequate cook? Why, Jake!"

            Hilda interrupted. "She's a gourmet cook!"

            "I know she is, Sharpie. . . but I don't like to say it where Gay can hear- Gay can't cook. Nor has she Deety's other talent which 'tis death to hide. Jake, that's a settlement below."

            "Of sorts. A one-church village."

            "Do you see ornithopters? Anything that could give us trouble?"

            "Depends. Are you interested in church architecture?"

            "Jake, this is no time for a cultural chat."

            "I'm required to advise you, sir, This church has towers, something like minarets topped off with onion-shaped structures."

            "Russian Orthodox!"

            Hilda said that. I said nothing. I eased Gay's nose up to level flight, lined her up with what I thought was downstream, and snapped, "Gay, Scout!"

            The canal was still in sight, almost under us and stretching over the horizon. I was almost lined up with it. Gay, Scout!

            "Anybody see that settlement that was almost ahead before this last transition? Report."

            "Captain Zebbie, it's much closer now but on this side."

            "I see. Or don't. Jake isn't transparent."

            "Captain, the city-quite large-is about a forty-five-degree slant down to starboard, not in sight from your seat."

            "If forty-five degrees is a close guess, a minimum transition on that bearing should place us over the city."

            "Captain, I advise against it," Jake told me.

            "Reasons, please."

            "This is a large city that might be well defended. Their ornithopters look odd and ineffective but we must assume they have spaceships as good or better than ours or the Tsar could not have a colony here. This causes me to suspect that they may have smart missiles. Or weapons utterly strange. I would rather check for onion towers from a distance. And not stay long in one place-I think we've been here too long. I'm jumpy."

            "I'm not"-my sixth sense was not jabbing me-"but set verniers for a minimum transition along L axis, then execute at will. No need to be a slow fat target."

            "One minimum, L axis-set!"

            Suddenly my guardian angel goosed me. "Execute!"

            I noticed the transition principally because Gay was now live under my hand-air bite. Perhaps she had not been quite level. I turned her nose down

to gather maneuvering speed unpowered, then did a skew turn-and yelped, "Gay Bounce!" having seen all that I wanted to see: an expanding cloud. Atomic? I think not. Lethal? You test it; I'm satisfied.

            I told Gay to bounce three more times, placing us a bit less than fifty klicks above ground. Then I spent a trifle of power to nose her over. "Jake, use the binox to see how far this valley runs, whether it is all cultivated, whether it has more settlements. We are not going to get close enough to look for onion spires; that last shot was unfriendly. Rude. Impetuous. Or am I prejudiced? Science Officer? Le mot juste, s'il vous plait."

            "Nye kultoorni."

            "I remember that one! Makes Russians turn green. What does it mean? How did you happen to know it, Sharpie?"

            "Means what it sounds like: 'uncultured.' I didn't just 'happen,' Cap'n Zebbie; I know Russian."

            I was flabbergasted. "Why didn't you say so?"

            "You didn't ask me."

            "Sharpie, if you handled the negotiations, we might not have had trouble."

            "Zebbie, if you'll believe that, you'll believe anything. He was calling you a spy and insulting you while the palaver was still in French. I thought it might be advantageous if they thought none of us knew Russian. They might spill something."

            "Did they?"

            "No. The colonel was coaching his pilot in how to be arrogant. Then you told them to halt, in French, and no more Russian was spoken save for meaningless side remarks. Zebbie, when they tried to shoot us down just now, would they have refrained had they known that I had studied Russian?"

            "Mmm- Sharpie, I should know better than to argue with you. I'm going to vote for you for captain."

            "Oh, No!"

            "Oh, Yes. Copilot, I'm going to assume that everything this side of the hills and involved with this watercourse-courses-twin canals-is New Russia and that honorary Englishmen-us!-aren't safe here. So I'm going to look for the British colony. It may turn out that they won't like us, either. But the British are strong on protocol; we'll have a chance to speak our piece. They may hang us but they'll give us a trial, with wigs and robes and rules of evidence and counsel who will fight for us." I hesitated. "One hitch. Colonel Snotsky said there was no such country as the United States of America and I had the impression that he believed it."

            Sharpie said, "He did believe it, Cap'n Zebbie. I caught some side chatter. I think we must assume that, in this universe, there was no American Revolution."

            "So I concluded. Should we all be from the East Coast? I have a hunch that the West Coast may be part Russian, part Spanish-but not British. Where are we from? Baltimore, maybe? Philadelphia? Suggestions?"

            Sharpie said, "I have a suggestion, Cap'n Zebbie."

            "Science Officer, I like your suggestions."

            "You won't like this one. When all else fails, tell the truth."

XXI

-three seconds is a long time-

Deety:

            Zebadiah is convinced that I can program anything. Usually I can, given a large and flexible computer-but my husband expects me to manage it with Gay Deceiver and Gay is not big. She started life as an autopilot and is one, mostly.

            But Gay is sweet-tempered and we both want to please him.

            While he and my father were looking over the area that we thought of as "Russian Valley" or "New Russia," he asked me to work up a program to locate

the British colony in minimum time, if it were in daylight. If not, then we would sleep near the sunrise line, and find it on the new daylight side.

            I thought of bouncing out about a thousand kilometers and searching for probable areas by color. Then I realized that I didn't know that much about this planet. "Dead sea bottoms" from space looked like farm land.

            At last I recalled something Zebadiah had suggested yesterday-no, today! less than two hours ago. (So much had happened that my sense of time played tricks. It was still accurate-but I had to think instead of just knowing.)

            Random numbers- Gay had plenty of them. Random numbers are to a computer what free will is to a human being.

            I defined a locus for Gay: nothing east of where we were, nothing in "Russian Valley," nothing on the dark side, nothing north of 450, nothing south of 450 south. Yesterday I could not have told her the latter; but Mars has a good spin, one a gyrocompass can read. While we slept, Gay had noted that her gyrocompass did not have its axis parallel to that of this strange planet and had precessed it until it did.

            Inside that locus I told Gay to take a Drunkard's Walk, any jumps that suited her, a three-second pause at each vertex, and, if one of us yelled "Bingo!" display latitude, longitude, and Greenwich, and log all three, so we could find it again.

            Oh, yes-she was to pause that three seconds exactly one minimum Habove-G at each vertex.

            I told her to run the program for one hour.. . but that any of us could yell "Stop!" and then say "Continue" and that would be time-out, not part of the hour. But I warned my shipmates that yelling "Stop!" not only slowed things but also gave Russians (or British or anybody) a chance to shoot at us. I emphasized that three seconds is a long time (most people don't know it).

            One hour- Three seconds for each check- Twelve hundred random spot checks- This is not a "space-filling" curve. But it should locate where the British were most thickly settled. If one hour did not do it, ten hours certainly would. Without Gay, without her ability to do a Drunkard's Walk, we could have searched that planet for a lifetime, and never found either colony. It took the entire human race (of our universe) thirty centuries to search Terra. . . and many spots were missing until they could be photographed from space.

            My husband said, "Let's get this straight." He bounced us four minima. "These subprograms-~ Gay, are you listening?"

            "Of course. Are you'?"

            "Gay, go to sleep."

            "Roger and out, Boss."

            "Deety, I want to make sure of these subprograms but couldn't use code words while she was awake. I-"

            "Excuse me, Zebadiah, but you can. She will ignore code words for subprograms except while the general program is running. The code for the general program is unusual and requires the execution command, so it can't be started by accident. You can wake Gay. We need her on some points."

            "You're a smart girl, Deety."

            "I'll bet you tell that to all adequate cooks, Boss."

            "Ouch!"

            "Captain, it is not difficult to program a computer to supervise cooking machines. The software sold under the trademark 'Cordon Bicu' is reputed to be excellent, Reforo you wake Gay, would you answer a hypothetical question concerning computers and cooking?

            'Captain

            "Copilot?"

            '1 advise against permitting the Astrogator to discuss side issues--such as cooking-while we have this problem facing us."

            "Thank you, Copilot. Astrogator, what was your hypothetical question?"

            Pop had been careful not to interfere between Zebadiah and me, But his advice from copilot to captain was intended for my ears-he was telling me to shut up, and I suddenly heard Jane saying, "Deety, anytime a wife thinks she has won an argument, she has lost it."

            I'm not Jane, I'm Deety. I get my temper from my father. I'm not as quick to flare up as he is, but I do have his tendency to nurse a grievance. Zebadiah is sometimes a tease and knows how to get my goat.

            But Pop was telling me: "Drop it, Deety!"

            Maybe Zebadiah was right-too much argument, too much discussion, too much "sewing circle & debating society." We were all intensely interested as we were all in the same peril. . . but how much tougher is it to be captain rather than one of the crew? Twice? Ten times?

            I didn't know, Was my husband cracking under the pressure? "Getting ulcers"?

            Was I adding to his burden?

            I didn't have to stop to think this through; it was preprogrammed below the conscious level; Pop pushed the "execute" button and the answers spilled out. I answered my husband at once,

            "What hypocritical question, sir?"

            "You said, 'hypothetical.' Something about computers and cooking."

            "Captain, my mind has gone blank. Perhaps we had better get on with the job before I forget how it works."

            "Deety, you wouldn't fib to your pool' old broken-down husband?"

            when my husband is pow' and old 'md broken-down, I will 'not fib to him."

            "Hmm- If I hadn't already promised my support to Hilda, I would vote for you for captain."

            Aunt Hilda cut in: "Zebbie, I release you! I'm not a candidate."

            "No, Sharpie, once having promised political support an honorable man never welches. So it's all right for Gay to listen in?"

            "Certainly, sir. For display I must have her. Hello, Gay."

            "Hi, Deety."

            "Display dayside, globe." At once Gay's largest screen showed the western hemisphere of Earth, our Earth in our universe-Terra. Early afternoon at Snug Harbor? Yes, the clock in my head said so and GMT on the instrument board read 20:23:07. Good heavens, it had been only twenty hours since my husband and my father had killed the fake "ranger." How can a lifetime be crowded into less than a day? Despite the clock in my head it seemed years since I had walked down to our pool, a touch tiddly and hanging onto my bridegroom for support.

            "Display meridians parallels. Subtract geographical features," Gay did so. "From program coded A Tramp Abroad' display locus.'

            Gay used orthographic projection, so the 45' parallels were straight lines. ace I had told her to display davside, these two bright lines ran to the left edge of the display, that being the sunrise line. But the right edge of the locus was an irregular line running southwest. "Add display Russian Valley."

            To the right of the locus and touching it, Gay displayed as solid brightness a very long and quite wide blotch. "Subtract Russian Valley." The area we had sketchily explored disappeared.

            "Deety," my husband asked, "how is Gay doing this? Her perms have no reference points for Mars-not even Mars of our own universe."

            "Oh. Gay, display 'Touchdown."

            "Null program."

            "Mmm, yes, that's right; the Sun has just set where we were parked. Zebadiah, shall I have her rotate the globe enough to show it? All she would show would be a bright spot almost on the equator. I have defined the spot where we grounded as zero meridian-Greenwich for Mars. This Mars."

            "And zero parallel? An arbitrary equator?"

            "Oh, no, no! While we slept Gay adjusted her gyrocompass to match this planet. Which gave her true north and latitude. She already knows the radius and curvature of Mars-I started to tell her and found she had retrieved it from her perms. Aerospace Almanac?"

            "I suppose so. But we discussed Mars' diameter last night while Gay was awake. Both you and Hilda knew it; Jake and I did not."

            As I remembered it, Aunt Hilda spoke up-then Pop kept quiet. If Pop wanted to sit back and be proud of Aunt Hilda's encyclopedic memory that was all right with me. If my husband has a flaw, it is that he has trouble believing that females have brains. . . probably because he is so intensely interested in the other end. I went on with my lecture:

            "Once I start Gay, she will say and record nothing unless ordered. She will make random transitions inside that locus until someone yells 'Bingo!' She won't slow down even then. She will place a bright point on the map at that latitude and longitude, record both latitude and longitude, and the exact time. She will display the Bingo time, too, for one second. If you want to retrieve that Bingo, you had better jot down that time-to the second. Because she'll be doing twenty jumps each minute. Don't worry about the hour, just the minute and the second. Oh, you could still retrieve it if you had the minute right, as I can ask her to run through all Bingoes in a given minute. Can't be more than twenty and your Bingo might be the only one.

            "When we've done one hour of this, that map could, at most, have twelve hundred dots on it-but may have only a few-or none. If they are clustered, I'll reduce the locus and we'll run it again. If not, we can sleep and eat and do it for the other day side, the one twelve hours away. Either way, Gay will find the British-and we'll be safe."

            "I hope you're right. Ever heard of the Opium Wars, Deety?"

            "Yes, Captain. Sir, every nation is capable of atrocities, including our own. But the British have a tradition of decent behavior no matter what blemishes there are."

            "Sorry. Why a one-hour program?"

            "We may have to shorten it. A decision every three seconds for sixty minutes may be too tiring. If we start showing a marked hot spot sooner than that, we can shorten the first run and reduce the locus. We'll have to try it and see.

But I feel certain that a one-hour run, a short rest, then another one-hour run, will locate the British if they are now on the day side."

            "Deety, what do you define as 'Bingo'?"

            "Anything that suggests human settlement. Buildings. Roads. Cultivated fields. Walls, fences, dams, aircraft, vehicles- But it is not 'Bingo'just because it looks interesting. Although it might be 'Stop!"

            "What's the difference?"

            "Stop' does not tell Gay to record or to display. For that you must add 'Bingo.' 'Stop' is for anything you want to look at more than three seconds. Maybe it looks promising and a few seconds more will let you decide. But please, everyone! There should not be more than a dozen calls for 'Stop!' in the hour. Any more questions?"

            We started. Hilda gave the first Bingo. I saw it, too-farm buildings. Aunt Hilda is faster than I. I almost broke my own injunction; I had to bite down on "Stop!" The temptation to take a longer look was almost overpowering.

            All of us made mistakes-but none serious. Hilda racked up the most Bingoes and Zebadiah the fewest-but I'm fairly certain that my husband was "cheating" by waiting to give Pop or me first crack at it. (He would not be competing with Aunt Hilda; port-forward and starboard-after seats have little overlapping coverage.)

            I thought it would be tedious; instead it was exciting-but dreadfully tiring. Slowly, less than one a minute, bright dots appeared on the display. I saw with disappointment that most Bingoes were clustered adjacent to the irregular margin marking Russian territory. It seemed probable that these marked Russian territory, so very probable that it hardly seemed worthwhile to check for onion spires.

            Once my husband called "Stop" and then "Bingo" at a point north and far west, at least fifteen hundred kilometers from the nearest Bingo light. I noted the time-Greenwich 21:16:51-then tried to figure out why Zebadiah had stopped us. It was pretty country, green hills and lightly wooded and I spotted a wild stream, not a canal. But I saw no buildings or anything suggesting settlement.

            Zebadiah wrote something on his knee pad, then said, "Continue." I was itching to ask why he had stopped, but when a decision must be made every three seconds there is no time to chat.

            When the hour was nearly up, a single Bingo light in the far west that had been shining since the first five minutes was joined by another when Hilda scored another Bingo and two minutes later Pop said "Bingo!" and we had an equilateral triangle twenty kilometers on a side. I noted the time most carefully-then told myself not to be disappointed if inspection showed onion towers; we still had a hemisphere to go.

            I decided to believe in that British colony the way one has to believe hard in fairies to save Tinker Bell's life. If there were no British colony, we might have to risk Earth-without-a-J. Gay Deceiver was a lovely car but as a spaceship she had shortcomings. No plumbing. Air for about four hours and no way

to recycle. No plumbing. Limited food storage. No plumbing. No comfortable way to sleep in her. No plumbing.

            But she had talents no other spaceship had. Her shortcomings (according to my father and husband) could be corrected at any modern machine shop. But in the meantime we did not have even an outhouse behind the barn.

            At last Gay stopped, continued to display, and announced, "One hour of 'A Tramp Abroad' completed. Instructions, please."

            "Gay, Bounce," said Zebadiah. "Deety, I don't think we've nailed down the piece The Sun Never Sets On. But this dense cluster here to the right- Too close to the Little Father's little children. Eh?"

            "Yes. Zebadiah, I should tell Gay to trim the locus on the east to eliminate the clustered lights, and now we can add almost nine hundred kilometers on the west, to the present sunrise line. Gay can rotate the display to show the added area. I suspect that one more hour will fill in the picture sufficiently."

            "Maybe even less. You were right; three seconds is not only a long time; it is excessively long. Isn't two seconds enough? Can you change that without starting from scratch?"

            "Yes to both, Captain."

            "Good. You can add thirty degrees on the west instead of fifteen. Because we are going to kill an hour-stretch our legs, eat a snack. . . and I for one want to find a bush. How do I tell Gay to return to a particular Bingo? Or will that mess up your program?"

            "Not a bit. Tell her to return to Bingo such-and-such, stating the time."

            I was unsurprised when he said, "Gay, return to Bingo Greenwich twentyone sixteen fifty-one."

            It was indeed a pretty stream. Zebadiah said happily, "That beats burning juice. Who sees a clearing close to that creek, big enough for Gay? Hover and squat, I mean; I don't dare make a glide landing, dead stick-the old girl is loaded."

            "Zebbie, I'm sober as you are!"

            "Don't boast about it, Sharpie. I think I see a spot. Close your eyes; I'm going to."

            I almost wish I had.

            Zebadiah came in on a long glide, everything set for maximum lift-but no power. I kept waiting for that vibration that meant that Gay was alive and roaring. . . and waited. . . and waited- He said, "Gay-" and I thought that he was going to tell her to turn herself on. No. We actually dropped below the level of that bank.

            Then he suddenly switched on power by hand but in reverse-flipped us up on that bank; we stalled, and dropped' perhaps a meter-we just barely missed that bank.

            I didn't say anything. Aunt Hilda was whispering, "Hail Mary Mother of God Om Mani Padme Hum There is No God but God and Mahomet is His Prophet-" then some language I did not know but it sounded very sincere.

            Pop said, "Son, do you always cut it that fine?"

            "I saw a man do it that way when he had to; I've always wondered if I could. But what you didn't know was-Gay, are you listening?"

            "Sure thing, Boss. You alerted me. Where's the riot?"

            "You're a smart girl, Gay."

            "Then why am I pushing this baby carriage?"

            "Gay, go to sleep."

            "Sleepy time. Roger and out, Boss."

            "Jake, what you didn't know was that I had my cheeks puffed to say B, 0, U, N, C, E, explosively. Your gadget has made Gay's reflexes so fast that I knew I could come within a split second of disaster and she would get us out. I wasn't cutting didoes. Look at that meter. Seventy-four percent of capacity. I don't know how many landings I'm going to have to make on that much juice."

            "Captain, it was brilliant. Even though it almost scared it out of me."

            "Wrong honorific, Captain. I'm the pilot going off duty. We're landed; my resignation is effective; you're holding the sack."

            "Zeb, I told you that I would not be captain."

            "You can't help it; you are. The second-in-command takes command when the captain dies, or goes over the hill-or quits. Jake, you can cut your throat, or desert, or go on the binnacle list, or take other actions-but you can't say you are not captain, when you are-Captain!"

            "If you can resign, I can resign!"

            "Obviously. To the Astrogator, she being next in line of command."

            "Deety, I resign! Captain Deety, I mean."

            "Pop, you can't do this to me! I'll- I'll-" I shut up because I didn't know what to do. Then I did. "I resign.. . Captain Hilda."

            "What? Why, that's silly, Deety. A medical officer is not in line of command. But if 'medical officer' is a joke and 'science officer,' too, then I'm a passenger and still not in line of command."

            My husband said, "Sharpie, you have the qualifications the rest of us have. You can drive a duo-"

            "Suddenly I've forgotten how."

            "-but that's not necessary. Mature judgment and the support of your crew are the only requirements, as we are millions of miles and several universes from licenses and such. You have my support; I think you have it from the rest. Jake?"

            "Me? Of course!"

            "Deety?"

            "Captain Hilda knows she has my support," I agreed. "I was first to call her 'Captain."

            Aunt Hilda said, "Deety, I've just resigned."

            "Oh, no, you haven't anybody to resign to!" I'm afraid I was shrill.

            "I resign to the Great Spirit Manitou. Or to you, Zebbie, and it comes around in a circle and you are captain again. . . as you should be."

            "Oh, no, Sharpie. I've stood my watch; it's somebody else's turn. Now that you have resigned, we have no organization. If you think you've stuck me with

it, think again. You have simply picked an unusual way to homestead on this spot. In the meantime, while nobody is in charge, I hope that you all are getting both ears and a belly full of what got me disgusted. Yack yack yack, argue, fuss, and jabber-a cross between a Hyde Park open forum and a high school debating society."

            Aunt Hilda said, in sober surprise, "Why, Zebbie, you almost sound vindictive."

            "Mrs. Burroughs, it is possible that you have hit upon the right word. I have taken a lot of guff. . . and quite a bit of it has been from you."

            I haven't seen Aunt Hilda look so distressed since Mama Jane died. "I am very sorry, Zebbie. I had not realized that my conduct had displeased you so. I did not intend it so, ever. I am aware-constantly!-that you have saved our-my-life five distinct times.. . as well as continuously by your leadership. I'm as grateful as my nature permits-a giant amount, even though you consider me a shallow person. But one can't show deepest gratitude every instant, just as one cannot remain in orgasm continuously; some emotions are too strong to stay always at peak."

            She sighed, and tears rolled down her face. "Zebbie, will you let me try again? I'll quit being a Smart Aleck. It will be a hard habit to break; I've been one for years-my defense mechanism. But I will break it."

            "Don't be so tragic, Hilda," Zebadiah said gently. "You know I love you. . . despite your little ways."

            "Oh, I know you do!-you big ugly giant. Will you come back to us? Be our captain again?"

            "Hilda, I've never left. I'll go right on doing the things I know how to do or can learn. And as I'm told. But I won't be captain."

            "Oh, dear!"

            "It's not tragic. We simply elect a new C.O."

            My father picked this moment to get hairy. "Zeb, you're being pretty damned stiff-necked and self-righteous with Hilda. I don't think she has misbehaved."

            "Jake, you are in no position tojuclge. First, because she's your bride. Second, because you haven't been sitting in the worry seat; I have. And you have supplied some of the worst guff yourself."

            "I was not aware of it. . . Captain."

            "You're doing it now.. . by calling me 'Captain' when I'm not. But do you recall a couple of hours ago when I asked my second-in-command for advice- and got some back chat about 'written orders'?"

            "Mmm. . . I was out of line. Yes, sir."

            "Do you want other examples?"

            "No. No, I stipulate that there are others. I understand your point, sir." Pop gave a wry smile. "Well, I'm glad Deety hasn't given you trouble."

            "On the contrary, she has given me the most."

            I had been upset-I had never really believed that Zebadiah would resign. But now I was shocked and bewildered and hurt. "Zebadiah, what have I done?"

            "The same sort of nonsense as the other two. . . but harder for me because I'm married to you."

            "But- But what?"

            "I'll tell you in private."

            "It's all right for Pop and Aunt Hilda to hear."

            "Not with me. We can share our joys with others but difficulties between us we settle in private."

            My nose was stuffy and I was blinking back tears. "But I must know."

            "Dejah Thoris, you can list the incidents if you choose to be honest with yourself. You have perfect memory and it all took place in the last twentyfour hours."

            He turned his face away from me. "One thing I must urge before we choose a captain. I let myself be wheedled and bullied into surrendering authority on the ground. That was a bad mistake. A sea captain is still captain when his ship is anchored. Whoever becomes captain should profit by my mistake and not relinquish any authority merely because Gay is grounded. She can relax the rules according to the situation., But the captain must decide. The situation can be more dangerous on the ground than in air or in space. As it was today when the Russians showed up. Simply grounding must not be: 'School's out! Now we can play!"

            "I'm sorry, Zebbie."

            "Hilda, I was more at fault than you. I wanted to be free of responsibility. I let myself be talked into it, then my brain went on vacation. Take that 'practice hike.' I don't recall who suggested it-"

            "I did," said my father.

            "Maybe you did, Jake; but we all climbed on the bandwagon. We were about to run off like a bunch of Scouts with no Scoutmaster. If we had started as quickly as we had expected to, where would we be now? In a Russian jail? Or dead? Oh, I'm not giving myself high marks; one reason I've resigned is that I haven't handled it well. Planning to leave Gay Deceiver and everything we own unguarded while we made walkabout-good God! If I had felt the weight of command I would never have considered it."

            Zebadiah made a sour face, then looked at my father. "Jake, you're eldest. Why don't you take the gavel while we pick a new C.O.? I so move."

            "Second!"

            "Question!"

            "White ballot!"

            "What gavel? I'll bet there isn't a gavel on this planet."In a moment Father quit stalling. We all voted, using a page from Zebadiah's notebook torn in four. They were folded and handed to me and I was required to declare the vote. So I did:

Zeb

Zebadiah

Zebbje

Sharpie

            Zebadiah reached back, got the ballots from me, handed back the one that meant "Aunt Hilda," took the other three and tore them into small pieces.

"Apparently you did not understand me. I've stood my watch; someone else must take it-or we'll park on this bank until we die of old age. Sharpie seems to have an overwhelming lead-is she elected? Or do we ballot again?"

            We balloted again:

Sharpie

Jacob

Jacob

Hilda

            "A tie," Father said. "Shall we invite Gay to vote?"

            "Shut up and deal the cards."

Sharpie

Deety

Deety

Hilda

            "Hey!" I protested. "Who switched?" (I certainly didn't vote for me.)

Sharpie

Hilda

Zebbie

Hilda

            "One spoiled ballot," said my husband. "A non-candidate. Will you confirm that, Mr. Chairman?"

            "Yes," Pop agreed. "My dear. . . Captain Hilda. You are elected without a dissenting vote."

Aunt Hilda looked as if she might cry again. "You're a bunch of stinkers!" "So we are," agreed my husband, "But we are your stinkers, Captain Hilda." That got him a wan smile. "Guess maybe. Well, I'll try."

            "We'll all try," said Pop.

            "And we'll all help," said my husband.

            "Sure we will!" I said, and meant it.

            Pop said, "If you will excuse me? I've been anxious to find a handy bush since before this started." He started to get out.

            "Just a moment!"

            "Eh? Yes, my dear? Captain."

            "No one is to seek out a bush without an armed guard. Not more-and not less-than two people are to leave the car's vicinity at one time. Jacob, if your need is urgent, you must ask Zebbie to hurry-I want the guard to carry both rifle and pistol."

            I think it worked out that Pop got the use of a bush last-and must have been about to burst his bladder. Later I overheard Pop say, "Son, you've read Aesop's Fables?"

            "Certainly."

            "Does anything remind you of King Log and King Stork?"

XXII

'From each according to his ability,

to each according to his needs.'"

            Hilda:

            I could tell from the first ballot that Zebbie was determined to make me take a turn as captain. Once I realized that, I decided to be captain-let them get sick of me and anxious to have Zebbie back.

            Then suddenly I was captain-and it's different. I did not ever again think of trying to make them sick of me; I just started to worry. And try.

            First my husband wanted to find a bush for the obvious reason-and I suddenly realized that a banth might get him. Not a Barsoomian banth but whatever this planet held in dangerous carnivores.

            So I ordered armed guards. With rules about not getting separated. It was a nuisance but I was firm. . . and knew at last what a crushing load there had been on Zebbie,

            But one thing I could improve: Arrange for us to sleep inside the car.

            The space back of the bulkhead behind the rear seats was not organized. We had about six hours till sundown (having gained on the Sun in going west), so I had everything in that space pulled out.

            Space enough for Zebbie and Deety, on his sleeping bag opened out, blankets over them. Jacob and I? The piloting chairs we moved forward all the set screws would allow, laid them back almost fh~t and padded the cracks with pillows, and, to support our legs, the cushions from the rear seats were placed on boxes we would otherwise discard once I had the car organized. It wasn't the best bed but low gravity and my cuddlesome husband made it a most attractive one.

            Baths- In the stream and cold! Same rules as for bushes: armed guards. Soap thoroughly on the bank, get in and rinse fast, bounce out and towel till you glowed. Primitive? Luxurious!

            This did not go smoothly. Take the "handy bush" problem. I did not have to be told that a latrine should be downstream or that our shovel should be carried every time without fail-rules for a clean camp are as old as the Old Testment.

            But my first order called for no more than two and no less than two to leave the car at any time, and one must be armed-the other rifle and pistol must guard Gay.

            I blurted out that order when the truth landed on me like a load of bricks that I, the runt who had never grown up, was now responsible for the lives of four people. At the time my orders seemed not only logical but necessary and feasible: Jacob would guard me, Zebbie would guard Deety, our men would guard each other.

            There was a flaw. I did not realize that my edict required: a) one rifleman always to be at the car; b) both men to be away from the car from time to time.

            Since this is not possible I amended it: When the men had to answer calls of nature, we women would lock ourselves in. I didn't know that this planet had anything more dangerous than Alice's Bread-and-Butter Fly. But that was the point: I didn't know and until I did, I must assume that something as dangerous as a tiger lurked behind every bush.

            Heavens! the bush might be carnivorous.

            I was learning, with breath-snatching speed, something that most people never learn: A commanding officer's "unlimited" authority isn't freedom; it's a straitjacket. She can't do as she pleases; she never can-because every minute, awake and asleep, she must protect those under her command.

            She can't take any avoidable risk herself; her life does not belong to her; it belongs to her command.

            When the captaincy was thrust on me, I decided that we would stay where we were until Gay Deceiver was reorganized so that all four of us could sleep comfortably and safely-no swollen ankles.

            Sharpie hadn't thought of this; Captain Hilda Burroughs thought of it at once. Captain Zebbie had thought of it when we first grounded, then had let himself be overruled.

            I knew that I could rearrange the car to let us all sleep behind locked doors. But it would take time, sweat, and muscles, and I had just proclaimed an order that would take one or both sets of big muscles off the job for. . . how many times a day? Four people? Such needs can't be hurried. I had a horrid suspicion that having someone standing over you with a rifle, even your nearest and dearest, might cause a healthy reflex to fail.

            What to do?

            Cancel the order?

            No!

            Cancel if a better scheme turned up. But don't cancel without finding some-

thing better. This was a pretty spot, but there still might be that "banth." Or bandersnatch. Or boojum. Especially a boojum. What if Zebbie should wander off that distance dictated by modesty and/or relaxation of nerves.. . and "softly and silently vanish away"?

            And it was Zebbie I was having trouble wit h-Zebbie, who wasn't going to give the new captain any back talk whatsoever. "Cap'n Hilda honey, I don't need a chaperon, honest. I'll carry my rifle and guard myself. No problem. Safety off and a cartridge under the firing pin. Promise."

            "Zebbie, I am not asking you, I am telling you."

            "But I don't like to leave you girls unguarded!"

            "Chief Pilot."

            "Ma'am. Captain."

            "I am not a girl. I am eleven years your senior."

            "I simply meant-"

            "Pipe down!"

            The poor dear's ears turned red but he shut up. I said, "Astrogator!"

            "Huh? Yes, Captain Auntie."

            "Can you use a rifle?"

            "Oh, sure, Pop made me learn. But I don't like a rifle; I like my shotgun." "Take the Chief Pilot's rifle and guard the camp-"

            "Look, I can do it better with my shotgun."

            "Pipe down and carry out your orders."

            Deety looked startled, trotted over to Zebbie, who surrendered his rifle without comment, face frozen. "Copilot," I said to my husband, "arm yourself with rifle and pistol, go with the Chief Pilot, guard him while he does what he has to do."

            Zebbie swallowed. "Sharpie-I mean 'Captain Sharpie.' It won't be necessary. The golden moment has passed. All this talk."

            "Chief Pilot, please refrain from using my nickname while I am your commanding officer. Copilot, carry out your orders. Remain with the Chief Pilot and guard him continuously as long as necessary to accomplish the purpose of the trip." (If Zebbie meant "constipation"-an emotional to-do can have that effect-I would act later in my capacity as "medical officer"-and it would not take four husky orderlies to make Zebbie hold still. The authority of a commanding officer almost never requires force. Odd but true-I wondered how I knew that.)

            Once our men were out of earshot, I said, "Deety, could I learn to shoot that rifle?"

            "I'm not sure I'm speaking to you. You humiliated my husband. . . when we all owe him so much."

            "Astrogator!"

            Deety's eyes got wide. "Good God-it's gone to your head!"

            "Astrogator."

            "Uh. . . yes, Captain."

            "You will refrain from personal remarks to me or about me during my

tenure as commanding officer. Acknowledge that order, then log it."

            Deety's face assumed the expression that means that she has shut out the world. "Aye aye, Captain. Gay Deceiver!"

            "Hello, Deety!"

            "Log mode. The Captain has ordered the Astrogator to refrain from personal remarks to her or about her during her tenure as commanding officer. I acknowledge receipt of order and will comply. Log date, time, and Bingo code. I tell you three times."

            "Deety, I hear you three times."

            "Back to sleep, Gay."

            "Roger and out."

            Deety turned to me, face and voice normal again. "Captain, I can teach you to shoot in such a way that you won't get a sore shoulder or be knocked down. But to become a good shot with a rifle takes a long time. My shotgun doesn't kick as hard. . . and you won't need skill."

            "I thought a shotgun was more difficult."

            "Depends. A shotgun is usually for surprise targets in the air. That takes skill. But for a stationary target-within range-it's about like a garden hose. The shot spreads in a cone. So easy that it's not sporting."

            "Not sporting' suits me. Will you show me how? What kind of target do we need?"

            "It ought to be a large sheet of paper to show how the shot spreads. But, Captain, you know what will happen if I fire a gun?"

            "What?"

            "We will have two men back here at a dead run-one of them trying to dress as he runs. I don't think he'll be pleased."

            "Meaning I shouldn't get Zebbie angry twice in ten minutes."

            "It might be your husband. Stands to reason that they'll both take care of needs before returning. If I fire a shot, I'd better have a dead body to show for it, or one or the other will blow his top. Or both."

            "Both! Thanks, Deety-I didn't think it through."

            "But also, the Captain will recall that she ordered me to guard camp. I can't teach shooting at the same time."

            (Sharpie, can't you do anything right?) "No, of course you can't! Deety, I'm off to a bad start. All of you annoyed at me and one, maybe two, really angry."

            "Does the Captain expect me to comment?"

            "Deety, can't you call me 'Aunt flilda'?" I wasn't crying-I've trained myself not to. But I needed to. "Yes, I want your comment."

            "Captain Aunt Hilda, I need to call you by your title to keep myself reminded that you are captain. Since you ordered me to refrain from personal remarks to you or about you, I needed a second order before I could comment."

            "As bad as that? Don't spare me but make it quick."

            "The Captain hasn't done badly."

            "I haven't? Deety, don't fib to Hilda; you never used to."

            "And I'm not going to now. Captain, I think you are off to a good start."

            "But you said it had gone to my head!"

            "I was wrong. I realized how wrong when I was logging your order to me. What I said was worse than anything I said to Zebadiah while he was captain- he required me to review in my mind all the things I've said. . . and at least twice he should have given me a fat lip"-Deety smiled grimly-"cept that Zebadiah couldn't bring himself to strike a woman even if she weren't pregnant. Captain-Captain Aunt Hilda honey-Zebadiah didn't crack down on us when he should have. He turned over to you a gang of rugged individualists, not one with any concept of discipline. I certainly had none. But I do now."

            "I'm not sure that I do," I said miserably.

            "It means obeying orders you don't like and strongly disagree with-with no back talk. 'Into the jaws of death rode the six hundred.' Zebadiah would not do that to us. . . but he did let us annoy him into testing my new Bug-Out program. He had told me that the test was a useless risk; I should have agreed because it was useless. Instead I gave him a snooty 'No comment,' and you were as bad and Pop was worse. Mmm.. . I don't think Zebadiah has had much experience as a commanding officer."

            "Why so, Deety? He is a captain."

            "That doesn't mean that he has ever been a commanding officer. He has soloed quite a lot, in fighters. He has logged control time in larger craft or he wouldn't hold a command pilot rating. But has he ever actually commanded? Nothing he has said to me indicated it. . . but he did tell me that before the last war a major was often captain of an air-and-space craft but now it almost always took a lieutenant colonel while majors wound up as copilots. He was explaining why he liked one-man fighters so well. Aunt Hilda-Captain-I think commanding was as new to Zebadiah as it is to you. Like sex, or having a baby, you can't understand it till you've tried it." She suddenly grinned. "So don't hold Zebadiah's mistakes against him."

            "What mistakes? He's saved our lives again and again. I don't blame him- now-for wanting a rest from commanding. Deety, it's the hardest work possible even if you don't lift a finger. I never suspected it. I don't expect to sleep a wink tonight."

            "We'll guard you!"

            "Yes, we will!"

            "Pipe down."

            "Sorry, Ma'am."

            "What mistakes did Zebbie make?"

            "Well. . . he didn't crack down. You wasted no time in letting us know who is boss. You didn't let us argue; you slapped us down at once. I hate to say this but I think you have more talent for command than Zebadiah has."

            "Deety, that's silly!"

            "Is it? Napoleon wasn't tall."

            "So I have a Napoleonic complex. Humph!"

            "Captain, I'm going to ignore that because, under that order you made me log, I'm damned if I do and damned if I don't."

            "Well. . . I know how not to get a Napoleonic complex. Deety, you're my second-in-command."

            "But Pop is second-in-command."

            "Wrong tense. 'Was'-he is no longer. As astrogator you may have inherited it anyhow; you can ask Zebbie-but in private; my decision is not subject to debate. Simply acknowledge it."

            "I- Aye aye, Captain."

            "You are now required to advise me whenever you think that I am about to make a serious mistake. You are also required to advise me on request."

            "My advice isn't worth much. Look how I goofed a few minutes ago."

            "That was before you were appointed second-in-command. Deety, actually holding an office makes a big difference."

            Deety blinked and looked solemn, then said soberly, "Yes, I think it does. Yes, it does. I feel it, I do! Weird."

            "Wait till you're captain. Eight times as weird,"

            "Never. Pop wouldn't go for it, Zebadiah wouldn't, I won't-that's three votes."

            "I said No right up to the point where I could not avoid it. Don't worry about it now. I'll boss and you'll advise me."

            "In that case, Captain, I advise you to reconsider letting us guard you. After we eat and start scouting again, I advise that, even if we find the British quickly, instead of making contact, we should find a spot as deserted as this at the sunrise line and get a long day's sleep. We crew can get eight hours- I'll take the middle watch; the men can get eight hours solid each. . . and the Captain can get anything up to twelve."

            "Advice noted. It's good advice. But that's not the program; we're going to sleep here." I told Deety what I had in mind. "When the car is restowed, we'll eat. If there is daylight left, we'll bathe before we eat. Otherwise in the morning."

            "I'd rather hurry through eating and get a bath. . . since you tell me I'm going to be able to sleep with my husband. When I'm frightened I stink worse. . . and I've been much more scared than I've tried to let on."

            "Into cold water after eating? Deety, you know better."

            "Oh. I'll skip eating, if necessary, to bathe."

            "Astrogator, we'll do it my way."

            "Yes, Captain. But I stink, I do."

            "We'll all stink by the time we restow this car and may wind up eating sandwiches in the dark because everything that we don't throw away is going to be inside with us and Gay locked and not a light showing by sundown." I cocked my head. "Hear something, Deety?"

            Our men came back looking cheerful, with Zebbie carrying Jacob's rifle and wearing Jacob's pistol. Zebbie gave me a big grin. "Cap'n, there wasn't a durn thing wrong with me that Carter's Little Liver Pills couldn't have fixed. Now I'm right."

            "Good."

            "But just barely," agreed my husband. "Hilda-Captain Hilda my beloved- your complex schedule almost caused me to have a childish accident."

            "I think that unnecessary discussion wasted more time than did my schedule. As may be, Jacob, I would rather have to clean up a 'childish accident' than have to bury you."

            "But-"

            "Drop the matter!"

            "Pop, you had better believe it!" sang out Deety.

            Jacob looked startled (and hurt, and I felt the hurt). Zebbie looked sharply at me, no longer grinning. He said nothing, went to Deety, reached for his rifle. "I'll take that, hon."

            Deety held it away from him. "The Captain has not relieved me."

            "Oh. Okay, we'll do it by the book." Zebbie looked at me. "Captain, I thoroughly approve of your doctrine of a continuous guard; I was too slack. It was my intention to relieve the watch. I volunteer to stand guard while you three eat-"

            "-then I'll guard while Zeb eats," added Jacob. "We already worked it out. When do we eat? I could eat an ostrich with the feathers left on." He added, "Hilda my love, you're captain. . . but you're still cook, aren't you? Or is Deety the cook?"

            (Decisions! How does the captain of a big ship cope?) "I've made changes. Deety remains astrogator but is now second-in-command and my executive officer. In my absence she commands. When I'm present, Deety's orders are my orders; she will be giving them to implement what I want done. Neither she nor I will cook. Uh, medical officer-" (Damn it, Sharpie, all those hours in the emergency room make you the only candidate. Or does it? Mmm-) "Zebbie, does 'command pilot' include paramedical training?"

            "Yes. Pretty sketchy. What to do to keep the bloke alive until the surgeon sees him."

            "You're medical officer. I am assistant medical officer when you need me- if I don't have something else that must be done."

            "Captain, may I put in a word?"

            "Please do, Chief Pilot."

            "Sometimes you have to let the bloke die because there is something else that has to be done." Zebbie looked bleak. "Saw it happen. Does no good to worry ahead of time or grieve about it afterwards. You do what you must."

            "So I am learning, Zebbie. Cook- Gentlemen, I've never eaten your cooking. You must assess yourselves. Which one of you is 'adequate'-"

            "Ouch."

            "Your wording, Zebbie. -and which one is inadequate?"

            They backed and filled and deferred to each other, so I put a stop to it. "You will alternate as first and second cook until evidence shows that one is chief cook and the other assistant. Jacob, today you are first cook-"

            "Good! I'll get busy at once!"

            "No, Jacob." I explained what we were going to do. "While you two get

everything out of the car, Deety will teach me the rudiments of shotgun. Then I will take over guard duty and she can help unload. But keep your rifles loaded and handy, 'cause if I shoot, I'll need help in a hurry. Then, when we restow, I'll do it because I'm smallest and can stand up, mostly, behind the bulkhead. While Zebbie stands guard, and Deety and Jacob pass things in to me."

            Jacob wasn't smiling-and I suddenly recognized his expression. I once had a dog who (theoretically) was never fed at the table. He would sit near my knee and look at me with that same expression. Why, my poor darling was hungry! Gut-rumble hungry. I had such a galloping case of nerves from becoming captain that I had no appetite.

            "Deety, in the pantry back at Snug Harbor I noticed a carton of Milky Way bars. Did that get packed?"

            "Certainly did! Those are Pop's-his vice and eventual downfall."

            "Really? I don't recall seeing him eat one."

            My husband said, "I haven't been eating them lately. All things considered, my dear-my dear Captain-I prefer you to candy bars."

            "Why, thank you, Jacob! Will you share those candy bars? We understand that they are your personal property."

            "They are not my personal property; they belong to all of us. Share and share alike."

            "Yup," agreed Zebbie. "A perfect communism. 'From each according to his ability, to each according to his needs.' With the usual communist dictator on top."

            "Zebbie, I've been called everything from a black reactionary to a promiscuous old whore-but never before a communist dictator. Very well, you may address me as 'Comrade Captain.' When we come across those candy bars, everybody grab one for quick energy-unless somebody remembers where they were packed?"

            "Gay knows!" said Deety, and backed toward the car's open door while still keeping her eyes swinging the arc away from the river-perfect sentry and looking cute at it. "Gay Deceiver!"

            "Hi, Deety! Getting any?"

            "Inventory. Food supplies. Candy. Milky Way bars. Report location."

            "Frame twenty. Starboard. Closed storage seven-Ess-high. Bottom shelf."

            Five hours later everything was back inside except a heap of wrapping, packaging, and such-yet the increase in space was far greater than that pile. This was because storage did not have to be logical. Just tell Gay. A left shoe could fill an odd space in with the swords while the right shoe from the same pair was a space filler in a tool storage far to the rear-yet the only inconvenience lay in having to go to two places to get them.

            I did the stowing; Deety stayed in the cabin, received items handed from outside, described the item to Gay, then described to Gay where the item was stowed, as I reported it. Gay was under instruction to hear only Deety's voice-

and what Deety told Gay was so logical that no one need remember it. Like this: "Gay Deceiver."

            "Boss, when will you learn to say 'Please'?"

            "Clothing. Zeb. Shoes. Field boots."

            "Right boot. Abaft bulkhead. Starboard. Frame forty. Under deckplate. Outboard compartment. Left boot. Abaft bulkhead. Portside. Frame sixty. Under deckplate, middle compartment. Warning: Both boots filled with rifle ammo padded with socks."

            You see? If you got categories in the wrong order, Gay would restring them. Give her the basic category and the identification, leaving out the other steps, and Gay would search the "tree" (Deety's words) and get the "twig" you identified. You could even fail to give category and she would search until she found it.

            But hardest was to build up the decking of the rear compartment about twenty centimeters with chattels or stores that would not crush, fasten it down to keep it from floating in free fall, and make it smooth enough that it would not be unbearably lumpy as a bed-while making some effort neither to build into this platform nor to store in compartments under it things needed frequently or quickly.

            I had to lower my standards. It is impossible to store so many things in such limited space and have all readily at hand.

            I studied things outside, admitted that I could not do it, then asked for advice. Zebbie solved it: "Captain, do a dry run."

            "Uh.. . go on, Zebbie."

            "Take my sleeping bag inside, open it out. It is too wide for the space, especially at the rear. So keep it as far forward as you can and still miss Jake's twister and the bulkhead door. Mark the amount you have to lap it. Mark on the deck the foot of the opened-out bag. You'll find space abaft that, frustum of a cone, sort of. Drag the sleeping bag outside, mark the tuck-in, build your platform on it. Then fill that rear space and build a bulkhead. Better get Jake; he's a born mechanic."

            "Zebbie, would you prefer to build this bed yourself?"

            "Nope."

            "Why not? I'm not speaking as captain; I'm inquiring as your old friend Sharpie."

            "Because I'm twice as big as you, which makes that space half as big for me. Tell you what, Cap'n Sharpie-excuse me!-Captain Hilda-do the measuring. Meanwhile we'll pick out plunder that might be bricks in that platform. Then drag the sleeping bag outside. If you'll let Jake relieve me, Deety and I can piece together the platform in jig time."

            It changed "impossible" to "possible." The cubbyhole was filled, contents held in place with opened-out cartons tied with wire to ho~d-downs-"padeyes" Jacob called them. The platform was built, chinked with this and that, covered with more flattened-out cartons, and topped off with sleeping bag and blankets.

            It was still light. Deety assured me that there was one hour and forty-three

minutes till sundown. "Time enough if we hurry. Jacob, first bath. Deety, guard him. Both come back so Jacob can start dinner-then Zebbie and Deety go down-goodness, this sounds like the farmer and the rowboat with the fox and the geese-and bathe, taking turns guarding. Both come back; Deety relieves me; Zebbie takes me down to bathe while he guards. But please hurry; I want a bath, too. Forty minutes before sundown bathing stops and we eat- at sundown we are inside, dirty dishes and all, locked in till sunrise. If that does me out of a bath, we still hold to it. Jacob, how far is this 'easy way' down? I mean, 'How many minutes?"

            "Maybe five. Hilda my love, if you weren't insisting on always-two-together there would be no hurry. All go down together; I hurry through my bath, grab my rifle and trot back. The rest needn't hurry. You've got us going down and up, down and up, four times-forty minutes. Which squeezes four baths into twenty minutes, five minutes to undress, soap, squat down and rinse off, towel dry, and dress. Hardly worth the trip."

            "Jacob, who guards you while you're getting supper? No. I can bathe in the morning." (Damn! I wanted that bath. I'm used to a shower in the morning, a tub at night, a bidet at any excuse. Decadent-that's me.)

            "Beloved, this place is safe. While we were out earlier, Zeb and I scouted for sign. None. That's when we found this way down to the creek. It would be a natural watering place. No sign. I don't think there are any large fauna here."

            I was wavering when Deety spoke up. "Pop, that's three down-and-ups, not four, as Zebadiah and I get baths on one. But, Captain Hilda, if we all go down and come back together, there can't be danger. Put that stuff back inside and lock up, of course." She pointed at Jacob's preparations. While Jacob had been handing stuff to Deety, he had set aside a hot plate, cooking and eating utensils, a tarpaulin, comestibles for supper and breakfast, and had passed word for me please to store food so that it could be reached easily.

            Jacob said hastily, "Deety, I've got it planned for minimum therbligs. Dried apricots soaking in that pan, soup mix in that one. There's no level deck space left inside."

            Deety started to say, "But, Pop, if we-" when I cut in with, "Quiet, please"- not shouted.

            They kept quiet-"Captain Bligh" was being listened to. "Gay Deceiver will not be left unguarded. My orders will not be discussed further. One modification: Supper is cut from forty minutes to twenty-five. Astrogator adjust schedule accordingly. Sound a blast on the siren five minutes before suppertime. We lock up on the dot. I placed the honey bucket just beyond the swing of the bulkhead door as the car will not be unlocked for any reason until', sunrise. Questions?"

            "Yes, Captain. Where are the towels?"

            An hour later I was squatting in the stream, rinsing off and hurrying- covered with goose bumps. As I stepped out, Zebbie put down his rifle and had

a big, fluffy towel, long as I am tall, waiting to wrap me. I should have required him to behave as a guard should.

            But I told myself that he was still wearing his revolver and, anyhow, he has this sixth sense about danger-lying in my teeth. Nothing makes a woman feel more cherished than to have a man wrap her in a big towel the instant she's out of the water. I lack character, that's all. Every woman has her price, and a big, fluffy towel at the right time comes close to being mine.

            Zebbie was rubbing firmly, getting me not only dry but warm. "Feels good, Captain?"

            "Captain Hilda' never came down the bank, Zebbie. Feels swell!"

            "Remember the first time I gave you a rubdown?"

            "Sure do! Dressing room at my pool."

            "Yup. I tried to lay you. I've never been turned down so smoothly."

            "You tried to lay me, Zebbie? Truly?" I looked up at him, my best innocent look.

            "Sharpie darling, you lie as easily as I do. A man does this"-and he did- "even with a towel, a woman is certain what he means. But you refused to notice it, turned me down, without hurting my pride."

            "I'm refusing to notice it now and find it just as difficult as I did that afternoon. Stop it,please!" He did.             "Thanks, dear. You got me all shaky. Zebbie, do you think Deety thinks I rigged this to get you alone? I would not willingly upset her."

            "On the contrary. She gave me a hunting license concerning you-you, not females in general-ten days back. In writing."

            "Really?"

            "In writing so that she could limit it. I am required not to run any risk of hurting Jake."

            "You haven't tried to use that license."

            "I took it as a compliment to you and to me, kissed Deety and thanked her. You settled this four years ago. But I've sometimes wondered why. I'm young, healthy, take care of my teeth, and keep my nails clean-mostly-and you seemed to like me. What made me ineligible? Not complaining, dear, just asking."

            I tried to explain the difference between a male friend and a bedmate-the scarcity of the first, the boring plethora of applicants for the other.

            He listened, then shook his head. "Masochism."

            "Hasn't it worked out better this way? I do love you, Zebbie."

            "I know you do, Sharpie." Zebbie turned me around and looked down into my eyes. "And I love you and you know that, too"-and he kissed me.

            That kiss went on and neither of us seemed inclined to stop. My towel Slipped to the ground. I noticed because it felt better to be closer and ever so much nicer to have his hands on me. Zebbie hadn't given me a sexy kiss since the day I hadinvited a pass and then ignored it.

            I began to wonder why I had decided to ignore it. Then I was wondering how much time we had left in our schedule. Then I knew the exact time.. . for

that infernal, earsplitting siren sounded. God watches over Hilda Mae and that's why I keep Him on my payroll. But sometimes He is rough about it.

            We let go. I put on Deety's Keds, slid my borrowed dress over my head, hung the towel over my arm-elapsed time: nine seconds. Zebbie was again carrying his rifle at the ready (is that correct?-both hands, I mean).

            "Captain, shall we go?"

            "Yes, Chief Pilot. Zebbie, when did I become 'captain' again? Just from putting on clothes? You've seen this old hide before."

            "Skin has nothing to do with it, Captain. Quoting Deety quoting the Japanese: 'Nakedness is often seen but never noticed.' Except that sometimes I do notice, hot diggity dog and other comments. You have superior skin, Captain. You went back to being Captain when I picked up my rifle. But I was never off duty. Did you notice, when I dried you, that I picked you up and swung you around, so that I faced the bank? I kept alert even while I was nuzzling you. . . and you make fine nuzzle, Captain Step-Mother-in-Law Hilda."

            "So do you, Zebbie. I'm still Sharpie till we get to your car." We reached the top of the bank. "Ten seconds to catch my breath. Zebbie-"

            "Yes, Sharpie?"

            "Four years ago- I'm sorry I turned away your pass."

            He patted my bottom. "So am I, dear. But it has worked out quite well. And"-he grinned that irresistible, ugly grin-"who knows?-we aren't dead yet."

            When we arrived, Jacob was slurping soup. "You're late," he stated. "So we~ waited."

            "So I see."

            "Don't listen to Pop, Captain Auntie; you are two minutes seventeen seconds ahead of time. Are you sure you stayed in long enough to get clean?"

            "I stayed in long enough to get freezing cold. Aren't you chilly?" Deety had worn skin most of the day and so had I; we had been doing sweaty work. But she had been dressed when I last saw her. "Jacob, is there no soup for Zebbie and me?"

            "A smidgen. You get this pan as soon as I'm through-now!-and that means one less dish to wash."

            "And Zebadiah gets mine-also now-and I took that jump suit off because it's dirty and I'm clean. I still haven't figured out how to do a laundry. Nothing for a tub, no way to heat water. What's that other way? Pound them on a rock the way it shows in National Geographic? I don't believe it!"

            We were in bed by sundown, Gay's doors locked-pitch dark in minutes. According to Deety and Gay sunrise was ten hours and forty-three minutes away. "Deety, please tell Gay to wake us at sunrise."

            "Aye aye, Captain Auntie."

            "Zebbie, you told us that the air in the car was good for about four hours."

            "In space; The scoops are open now."

            "But do you get air back there? Should the bulkhead door be open?"

            "Oh. Top scoop serves this space. The cabin is ventilated by the chin scoop. Scoops stay open unless internal pressure closes them."

            "Can anything get in through them? Snakes or such?"

            "Hilda my dear, you worry too much."

            "My very own darling Copilot, will you please pipe down while I'm speaking to the Chief Pilot? There are many things about this car that I do not know- yet I am responsible."

            Zebbie answered, "Each scoo~ has a grid inside and a fine screen at the inner end; nothing can get in. Have to clean 'em occasionally. Remind me, Deety."

            "I'll tell Gay." She did-and almost at once there was a crash of metal. I sat up abruptly. "What's that?"

            "Hilda, I am afraid that I have kicked over the supper dishes." My husband added, "Zeb, how do I find the cabin light?"

            "No, no! Jacob, don't try to find it. No light at all until sunrise. Don't fret about dishes. But what happened? I thought they were under the instrument board."

            "I couldn't quite reach with this bed made up. But the carton that supports my feet sticks out beyond the seat cushion on it. So I stacked them there."

            "No harm done. We can expect bobbles as we shake down."

            "I suppose so."

            "We can cope. Jacob, that was an excellent dinner."

            Deety called out, "Good night, chatterboxes! We want to sleep." She closed the bulkhead door, dogged it.

XXIII

"The farce is over."

Jake:

            For me, the best soporific is to hold Hilda in my arms. I slept ten hours.

            I might have slept longer had I not been blasted by a bugle call: Reveille.

            I thought I was back in basic, tried to rouse out fast-banged my head. That slowed me; I reoriented, saw my lovely bride beside me, yawning prettily- realized that we were on Mars.

            Mars! Not even our own Mars but another universe.

            That hateful tune started to repeat, louder.

            I banged on the bulkhead. "How do you shut this thing off?"

            Shortly I saw dogs of the bulkhead door turning, then the door swung-as the call went into its third time around still louder. Zeb showed, blinking.

            "Do you have a problem?"     -

            I couldn't hear but I could piece out what he meant.

            "HOW DO YOU SHUT OFF THIS RACKET?"

            "No problem." (I think that's what he said.) "Good morning, Gay." The bugle faded into the distance. "Good morning, Boss."

            "I'm awake."

            "Ah, but will you stay awake?"

            "I won't go back to bed. Promise."

            "I've dealt with your sort before, me bucko. If you aren't out of here before my landlady wakes up, I'll lose this room. Then another hassle with the cops. It's not worth it. . . you cheapskate!"

            "You're a smart girl, Gay.'~

            "So smart I'm looking for another job."

            "Back to sleep, Gay. Over."

            "Roger and out, Boss"-and blessed silence.

            I said to my daughter, "Deety, how could you do this to us?"

            Her husband answered. "Deety didn't, Jake. She was told to place a call for sunrise. But didn't know what a morning call means to Gay."

            I grumped, and opened the starboard door. Hilda's rearrangements had given me the best rest I had had in days. But two double beds in a sports car left no room on arising to do anything but get out.

            So I slid out the door, groped for the step, paused to ask Hilda for shoes and coverall-caught sight of something and said quietly, "Hilda. My rifle. Quickly!"

            My little treasure is always reliable in emergency; her clowning is simply persona. (A most pleasant one; the worst aspect of the jest of making her "captain" was that she lost her smile-I hoped that Zeb would soon resume command. We had needed the lesson-but no need to go on.)

            I digress- I asked for my rifle; she whispered, "Roger," and had it in my hand at once with the quiet report: "Locked, one in the chamber. Wait-I'm getting Zeb."

            That made sense. By staying on the step in the corner formed by door and car, my rear was safe and I need cover only a small sector. I prefer a bolt action-correction: I have a bolt-action rifle I inherited from my father's eldest brother, who had "liberated" it on leaving the Marine Corps.

            I unlocked it, opened the bolt slightly, saw that a cartridge was in the chamber, closed the bolt, left the piece unlocked.

            Zeb said at my ear, softly, "What's the excitement?"

            "Over there." I pulled my head out of the way, saw Hilda and Deety almost on top of Zeb-Hilda with Deety's shotgun, Deety with her husband's police special.

            Zeb said, "Pixies. They may still be around; let's check. Cover me from here?"

            "No, Zeb. You to the right, me to the left, we check the port side, meet back at the dump. Make it fast."

            "Say the word." Zeb said over his shoulder, "You girls stay in the car. Jake?"

            "Now!" We came bursting out like greyhounds, guns at high port. The reason for my disquiet was simple: The dump of wrappings and cartons was no longer a heap. Something had spread it over many meters, and the litter was not nearly enough to account for the pile. Wind? Zeb had left the wings extended; the slightest wind would wake him, warn him of change in weather. The car had not rocked in the night; ergo, no wind. Ergo, nocturnal visitors. Nor were they small.

            I rounded the car to the left, seeing nothing until I spotted Zeb-waved at him, started back around to join him at the dump.

            He arrived before I did. "I told you girls to stay in the car!" He was quite angry, and the cause, both of them, were also at the dump.

            My darling answered, "Chief Pilot."

            Zeb said, "Huh? Sharpie, there's no time for that; there's something dangerous around! You girls get inside before I-"

            "Pipe DOWN!"

            One would not believe that so small a body could produce such a blast. It caught Zeb mouth open and jammed his words down his throat.

            Hilda did not give him opportunity to answer. She continued, forcefully:

            "Chief Pilot, there are no 'girls' here; there are four adult humans. One of them is my second-in-command and executive officer. My executive officer; I am in command." Hilda looked at my daughter. "Astrogator, did you tell anyone to remain in the car?"

            "No, Captain." Deety was wearing her "Name, rank, and serial number" face.

            "Nor did I." Hilda looked at Zeb. "There is no need to discuss it." She stirred litter with a toe. "I had hoped that we could find salvage. But three fourths of it has been eaten. By large animals from those tooth marks. I would have trouble visualizing a large animal that eats cellulose but is nevertheless carnivorous-save that I know one. So we will get as much done as possible while keeping a tight guard. I have the program planned but I'm open to advice."

            "Hilda!" I let my tone get a bit sharp.

            My wife looked around with features as impassive as those of my daughter. "Copilot, are you addressing me officially or socially?"

            "Uh. . . as your husband! I must put my foot down! Hilda, you don't realize the situation. We'll lift as soon as possible-and Zeb will be in command. The farce is over."

            I hated to speak to my beloved that way but sometimes one must. I braced myself for a blast.

            None came. Hilda turned to Zeb and said quietly, "Chief Pilot, was my election a farce?"

            "No, Captain."

            "Astrogator, did you think of it as farce?"

            "Me? Heavens, no, Captain Auntie!"

            Hilda looked at me. "Jacob, from the balloting you voted for me at least once, possibly three times. Were you joking?"

            I could not remember how I had felt when it dawned on me that Zeb really did intend to resign-panic, I think, that I was about to be stuck with the job. That was now irrelevant as I knew that I was not more than one micron from again being a bachelor. . . so I resorted to Higher Truth.

            "No, no, my darling-my darling Captain! I was dead serious!"

            "Did you find some malfeasance?"

            "What? No! I- I made a mistake. Jumped to conclusions. I assumed that we would be leaving at once.. . and that Zeb would command once we lifted. After all, it's his car."

            Hilda gave me the briefest smile. "There is something to that last argument. Zebbie, did you intend-"

            "Wait a half! Cap'n, that car belongs to all of us just like Jake's Milky Way bars; we pooled resources."

            "So I have heard you all say. Since I had nothing to pool but a fur cape, I took it with a grain of salt. Zebbie, do you intend to resume command when, we lift?"

            "Captain, the only way you can quit is by resigning. . . whereupon Deety would be captain."

            "No, sirree!" (My daughter is notoften that shrill.)

            "Then Jake would wind up holding the sack. Captain, I'll pilot when ordered, chop wood and carry water between times. But I didn't sign up to boss a madhouse. I think you're finding out what I mean."

            "I think so, too, Zebbie. You thought there was an emergency and started giving orders. I would not want that to happen in a real emergency-"

            "It won't! Captain."

            "And I find to my chagrin that my husband considers me to be a play captain. I think I must ask for a vote of confidence. Will you please find something to use as white and black balls?"

            "Captain Auntie!"

            "Yes, dear?"

            "I am required to advise you. A commanding officer commands; she doesn't ask for votes. You can resign-or-die-or lose to a mutiny and get hanged' from your own yardarm. But if you take a vote, you're not a captain; you're a politician."

            "Deety's right, Captain," Zeb told my wife. "Had a case-law case in R.O.T.C. Naval vessel. Department told the skipper to pick one of two ports for ho1idays.~ He let his crew vote on it. Word got back to Washington and he was relieved~ at sea by his second-in-command and never again ordered to sea. C.O.'s don't ask; they tell 'em. However, if it matters to you, I'm sorry I goofed, and you~ do enjoy my confidence."

            "Mine, too!"

            "And mine, Hilda my dear Captain!" (In truth I wanted Zeb and only Zeb to command when the car was off the ground. But I made myself a solemn:

vow never again to say or do anything that might cause Hilda to suspect it. We would crash and die together rather than let her suspect that I thought her other than the ideal commanding officer.)

            Hilda said, "The incident is closed. Who can't wait? Speak up."

            I hesitated-my bladder is not used to bedtime right after dinner. When no one else spoke, I said, "Perhaps I had better be first; I have breakfast to prepare."

            "Dear, you are not First Cook today; Zebbie is. Deety, grab a rifle and take,:

your father to his 'handy bush'-and do make it handy; that giant termite might be lurking. Then hand Jacob the rifle and it's your turn. Don't dally."

It was a busy day. Water tanks had to be topped off. Zeb and I used two collapsible buckets, taking turns (that hill got steeper every trip, even at 0.38 gee), while Deety guarded us. Endless trips- That afternoon I was a ladies' tailor. Hilda had something for Deety to do.

            Zeb had a job to complete. The space behind the bulkhead has padeyes every 30 cms or so. No one wants the center of gravity to shift when one is in the air. Zeb's arrangements were Samson cord in many lengths with snap hooks. Zeb told Hilda he wanted to secure the bed aft for air or space, and to store items used in rigging the forward bed so that they would be secure but available-and where were his Samson ties?-Gay didn't know. He had to explain to Hilda what they looked like-whereupon Hilda said, "Oh! Thingammies! Gay Deceiver. Inventory. Incidentals. Small. Thingammies." Zeb spent the afternoon making certain that the "bed" could not slide, then built a net of Samson cord to hold the items for turning seats into a bed, then, finding that he had Samson ties left, Zeb removed the wires with which I had secured the aftermost storage, and replaced them with ties. When he was through, he relieved me as guard, and I wound up as seamstress.

            Our wives had decided that one of Deety's jump suits should be altered for Hilda until we reached some place where clothes could be purchased. Hilda had vetoed Earth-without-a-J. "Jacob, as captain I look at things from another perspective. It is better to be a lively frump than a stylish corpse. Wups! You pinned Sharpie."

            "Thorry," I said, around a mouthful of pins. Hilda was wearing the suit inside out; I was pinning excess material. Once this caused it to fit, lines held by pins would be tacked, pins removed, tacked lines sewed in short stitches (by hand; Deety's sewing machine was ashes in another universe), and excess cloth trimmed away.

            Such was theory.

            I tackled reducing the waist line by pinning darts on both sides. Then I folded up the trousers so that the crease came at the instep-but had to pin them up 17 cms!

            Seventeen centimeters! I had taken in the waist first, knowing that doing so would, in effect, shorten the trousers. It did-one centimeter.

            The appearance was as if I were trying to fit her with a chimpanzee suit for a masquerade. Lift it at the shoulders? I tried, almost cutting off circulation. Still a horrid case of droopy drawers- Take a tuck all the way around the waist? That suit closed with one zipper.

            Have you ever tried to take a tuck in a zipper? I stepped back and looked at my creative artistry. Ghastly.

            "Hilda my love, Deety was better at this by the age of ten. Shall I fetch her?"

            "No, no!"

            "Yes, yes. If at first you don't succeed, find the mistake. I'm the mistake. You need Deety."

            "No, Jacob. It would be better for me to get along without clothes than to interrupt the work I have assigned to the Astrogator. With you at the verniers and Zebbie at the controls, Gay can do almost anything and quickly. Yes?"

            "I wouldn't phrase it that way. But I understand you."

            "If she's been preprogrammed, she can do it even faster?"

            "Certainly. Why the quiz, dear?"

            "How much faster?"

            "Without preprogramming, it takes a few seconds to acknowledge and set it, about as long to check what I've done, then I report 'Set!' Zeb says 'Execute!' I punch the button. Five to fifteen seconds. With a preprogram-is it debugged in all ways, no conflicts, no ambiguities, no sounds easy to confuse?"

            "Darling, that is why I won't let Deety be disturbed. Yes."

            "So. Maximum time would be with Gay asleep. Wake her, she acknowledges, you state the preprogram in the exact words in her memory, then say 'Execute!' Call it three seconds. Minimum- That would be an emergency preprogram with 'Execute' included in the code word. My dear, we saw minimum time yesterday. When that Russian tried to shoot Zeb."

            "Jacob, that is what caused me to put Deety to work. I saw his pistol in the air. His fingers were curled to catch it. Then we were in the sky. How long?"

            "I saw him start to reverse his weapon, and bent over my verniers to bounce:

us by switch. . . then stopped. Not needed. Mmm- A tenth of a second? A fifth?"

            "Whichever, it is the fastest we can manage. While you dears were carrying water, I was preparing a list of preprograms. Some are to save juice or time or to carry out something we do frequently; those require 'Execute!' Some are intended to save our lives and don't require 'Execute.' Like 'Bounce' and 'Bug Out' and 'Take us home!' But more. Jacob, I did not tell Deety how to phrase these; that's her specialty. I wrote out what I thought we ought to be able to'~ do and told her to add any she wished."

            "Did you consult Zeb?"

            "Copilot, the Captain did not consult the Chief Pilot."

            "Whew! I beg your pardon-Captain."

            "Only if I get a kiss-mind the pins! Deety will post a copy on the instrument board. After you and Zebbie read them, I want your advice and his."

            I gave up on that jump suit. I took out eighty-five or a thousand pins. Hilda was covered with sweat so I invited her to order me to take her down to bathe. She hesitated.

            I said, "Does the Captain have duties of which I am unaware?"

            "No. But everyone else is working, Jacob."

            "Captain, Rank Hath Its Privileges. You are on duty twenty-four hours a day-twenty-four and a half here-"

            "Twenty-four hours, thirty-nine minutes, thirty-five seconds-local day, not sidereal."

            "Did you measure it? Or remember what some professor said?"

            "Neither, Jacob. It's the figure Gay uses. I suppose she got it from the~ Aerospace Almanac."

            "Are you going to believe an almanac? Or your husband?"

            "Excuse me, Jacob, while I tell Gay the correct figure."

            "Hand-back my leg, beloved. Captain, since you are on duty all the time, you are entitled to bathe, rest, or relax, at any time."

            "Well. . . two seconds while I grab a towel-and tell Zebbie that I will start dinner while he is down bathing."

            "Captain, I am number-two cook today. You said so."

            "You will guard, Jacob, which you do better than I. While the Carters are

guarding each other." -

            Hilda came trotting back with a towel. I said, "Cap'n, I've figured out clothes for you."

            "Goody. Yes, dear?" We headed for the path down.

            "Were my Hawaiian shirts packed?" I had her fall in behind me.

            "Inventory. Clothing. Jacob. Shirts. Aloha."

            "Do you recall a blue one with white flowers?"

            "Yes."

            "I take 'medium' but can get into a 'small' and Andrade's didn't have this in 'medium.' But this one is so small I haven't been wearing it. Hilda, you'll like it-and it will be easy to cut down." (A steep pitch-no place to lose your footing while carrying a gun.)

            "I won't cut it down. Jacob, your shirt is my first maternity smock."

            "A happy thought! Did Deety fetch sailor pants? White."

            "I recall white duck slacks." Hilda kicked off her Reds, stepped into the water.

            "That's the pair. She wore them one summer while maturing. The following summer they were too tight. She was always about to alter them but never did."

            "Jacob, if Deety likes those pants so well that she saved them and fetched them along, I won't ask her to give them to me."

            "I will ask her. Hilda, you worry about the wrong things. We pooled resources. I chucked in my candy bars, Zeb chucked in his car, Deety chucks in her sailor pants."

            "And what did I chuck in? Nothing!"

            "Your mink cape. If you offered it to Deety in exchange for a pair of old white-"

            "It's a deal!"

            "It is like hell, Mistress Mine. That cape is valuta. Only days ago each of us was wealthy. Now we are unpersons who can't go home. What happens to our bank accounts I do not know but it seems certain that we will never realize anything from them, or from stocks, bonds, and other securities. Any paper money we have is worthless. As you know, I have bullion and gold coins and Jake has, also; we each like money that clinks and we don't trust governments. Gay must be juiced from time to time; that calls for valuta. Such as gold. Such as mink coats. Come out of there before you freeze! I would rub you dry but that giant termite worries me."

            "Last night Zebbie rubbed me dry."

            (Why do women have this compulsion to confess? It is not a typical male Vice.) "He did? I should speak to him."

            "Jacob, you are angry."

            "Only somewhat, as yesterday we didn't know about the giant termite, and Zeb and I considered your guard rules silly. Nevertheless Zeb neglected his duty."

            "I meant 'angry with me'!"

            "For what? Did you force it on him?"

            "No. He offered it-towel open and ready, just as you do. I went straight into it, let him wrap me and rub me down."

            "Feel good?"

            "Golly, yes! I'm a bad girl, Jacob-but I loved it."

            "Don't give yourself airs, my darling; you are not a bad girl. Yesterday was not the first time Zeb has rubbed you dry."

            "Well. . . no." (They have to confess, they have to be shrived.)

            "Do you any harm, then or now?"

            "I don't think so."

            "I'm sure it didn't. Listen, beloved-you are twenty-nine going on forty-two. You've had three term contracts and now have a traditional marriage. In college you were a scandal to the jaybirds. Zeb has been your chum for years. Both of you horny as goats. My darling, I assumed what is called 'the worst' and is often the best."

            "But, Jacob, we didn't, we didn't! And we haven't!"

            "So? People who pass up temptations have only themselves to blame. Just one thing, my only love, if you and Zeb ever pick up the matter, try not to look guilty."

            "But we aren't going to, ever!"

            "Should it come to pass, warn Zeb not to hurt Deety. She loves him deeply. Not surprising as Zeb is a lovable man. Get your shoes on, dearest one, and we'll let someone else have the community bathtub."

            "Jacob? You still think we have. Zebbie and I."

            "Hilda, I married you convinced that Zeb was, at that time and for some years, your lover. Or one of them. Today you have convinced me that the matter is unproven. . . assuming that one or both of you have rocks in your head. But I can't see that it makes a tinker's dam either way. Jane taught me that the only important rule is not to hurt people. . . which very often-Jane's words!-consists in not talking unnecessarily."

            "Jane told me that, too. Jacob? Will you kiss me?"

            "Madame-what did you say your name was?-that is the toll I charge before a client starts up this bank."

            As we climbed, I asked Hilda, "Darling, what is the animal that eats cellulose but is carnivorous?"

            "Oh. Two. H. sapiens and Rattus."

            "Men? Cellulose?"

            "Sawdust is often processed as food. Have you ever eaten in a fast food joint?"

            My daughter had done a wonderful job on preprograms; we all were eager to learn them. We placed guards, Zeb and me, at the doors, while Deety took Zeb's seat and talked, and Hilda sat in mine.

            "Captain Auntie had two ideas," Deety told us. "To optimize emergency escapes and to work out ways to use as near to no juice as possible. The latter involves figuring ways to ground us in strange places without the skill Zebadiah has in dead-stick grounding."

            "I don't depend on skill," put in my son-in-law. "Lwon't risk a dead-stick grounding other than on a hard-surfaced strip. You've seen me avoid it twice- by power-on just before grounding. Yesterday I cut it a bit fine."

            I shuddered.

            My daughter continued, "We have this new program. Set it, by voice, for bearing and as many minima as you please. Our Smart Girl goes there and attempts to ground. She uses radar twice, once in range-finder mode, second time in precautionary mode as in 'Bug Out.' If her target is not clear, she does a Drunkard's Walk in locus ten klicks radius, sampling spots two per second. When she finds a good spot, she grounds. Unless we don't like it and order her to try again.

            "Study that and you will see that you can cruise all over this or any planet, land anywhere, and not use juice.

            "Escape programs- We must be most careful in saying G, A, Y. Refer to her as 'smart girl' or 'the car' or anything not starting with that syllable. That syllable will now wake her. If it is followed by her last name, she goes into 'awaiting orders' mode. But if G, A, Y, alone is followed by any of eight code words, she executes that escape instantly. I have tried to select monosyllables that ordinarily do not follow her first name. Gay Deceiver."

            "Hi, Deety!"

            "Dictionary. G, A, Y. Read."

            "Gayety, gayfeather, Gayle, Gaylord, Gay-Pay-Oo, gaywings-"

XXIV

Captains aren't supposed to cry.

Hilda:

            I ordered an early dinner by starting it when Zebbie and Deety went down to bathe. I had ready a public reason but my motive was personal: I didn't want a pillow talk with Jacob.

            Annoyed at him? At me! I had had a perfect chance to keep my lip zipped- and muffed it! Was I boasting? Or confessing? Or trying to hurt Jacob? (Oh, no!-can the id be that idiotic!)

            Don't rationalize it, Sharpie! Had not your husband been kind, tolerant, and far more sophisticated than you ever dreamed, you would be in trouble.

            When dinner was over, Zebbie said lazily, "I'll do the dishes in the morning."

            I said, "I prefer that they be done tonight, please."

            Zebbie sat up and looked at me. His thoughts were coming through so strongly that I was getting them as words. I never allow myself to be close with a person whose thoughts I can't sense at all; I distrust a blank wall. But now I could "hear" such names as "Queeg" and "Bligh" and "Vanderdecken" and "Ahab"-and suddenly Captain Ahab was harpooning the White Whale and I was the whale!

            Zebbie bounced to his feet with a grin that made me uneasy. "Sure thing, Cap'n! Deety, grab a rifle and hold it on me to make sure I get 'em clean."

            I cut in quickly, "I'm sorry, Chief Pilot, but I need the Astrogator. Jacob is your assistant."

            When they were gone, Deety said, "Will my shotgun do? I don't think the cardboard eater comes out in daylight."

            "Bring the guns inside; we're going to close the doors."

            I waited until we were settled. "Deety, will you make me a copy of your new programs before our men come back?"

            "If they take time to wash them properly. Men and dishes-you know."

            "I hope they stall-"

            "-and get over their mad," Deety finished.

            "That, too. But I intend to write a sequential program and I want you to check me. After you make that copy."

            They did stay down-"man talk," no doubt. Men need us but can just barely stand us; every now and then they have to discuss our faults. I think that is why they shut us out.

            Deety made a copy while I wrote what I planned to do. Deety looked it over, corrected some wording. Looked it over again-and said nothing pointedly.

            "Deety, can you handle your father's lab camera?"

            "Certainly."

            "Will you check its load and shoot when I ask for it?"

            "Of course."

            "If I goof on an order, correct me at once."

            "You don't intend to hand this to Zebadiah to carry out?"

            "No. I prefer that you not mention that I prepared it ahead of time. Deety, the Chief Pilot assured me that any of us could command in aerospace. I am about to make a test run. The Chief Pilot is in a position to override. If he does, I shan't fight it; I have said all along that he should be captain."

            We had time to dig out that shirt with the white flowers. Deety's sailor pants were long; we turned up cuffs. The lacing at the back made them small enough in the waist. She gave me a blue belt to pull in the shirt, which I wore outside-then she added a blue hair ribbon.

            "Captain Auntie, you look good. Better than I will in this jump suit I am reluctantly pulling on. Gosh, I'm glad Zebadiah isn't square about skin!"

            "He was when I adopted him. Fetched swim briefs the first time I invited him over to swim. But I was firm. There they come! Open the doors."

            They appeared to be over their mad. Zebbie looked at me and said, "How fancy! Are we going to church?"-and my husband added, "You look pretty, my dear."

            "Thank you, sir. All hands, prepare for space. Secure loose gear. Lock firearms. Anyone requiring a bush stop say so. Dress for space. Before manning car, take a turn around the car, searching for gear on the ground."

            "What is this?" demanded Zebbie.

            "Prepare for space. Move!"

            He hesitated a split second. "Aye aye, Captain."

            In two minutes and thirteen seconds (I checked Gay's clock) I was squeezing past my husband into the starboard rear seat. I said, "In reporting, include status of firearms. Astrogator."

            "Belted down. Bulkhead door dogged. Shotgun loaded and locked. I slid it under the sleeping bag."

            "Fléchette gun?"

            "Wups! In my purse. Loaded and locked. Purse clipped to my seat, outboard."

            "Copilot."

            "Belt fastened. Door locked, seal checked. Continua device ready. Rifle loaded and locked, secure under sleeping bag. I'm wearing my pistol loaded and locked."

            "Chief Pilot."

            "Belt fastened, door locked, seal checked. Rifle loaded, locked, under sleeping bag. Wearing revolver, loaded and locked. No loose gear. Water tanks topped off. Load trimmed. Two reserve power packs, two zeroed. Juice zero point seven-two capacity. Wings spread full. Wheels down, unlocked to retract. All systems go. Ready."

            "Chief Pilot, after first maneuver, execute vertical dive fastest without power and without retracting wheels. Relock wheel-retracting gear. Leave wings spread max."

            "Wheel retractors locked. After first maneuver fastest, no-power vertical dive, wings full subsonic, wheels down."

            I glanced at Deety; she held up the camera and mouthed, "Ready."

            "Gay Home!"

            In Arizona it was shortly before sunset, as Deety had predicted. My husband repressed a gasp. I snapped, "Copilot, report H-above-G."

            "Uh. . . two klicks minus, falling." Zebbie had bite now; the horizon ahead tilted slowly up, then faster. As we leaned over, Deety stretched high, catlike, to shoot between our pilots. We steadied with Snug Harbor dead ahead-a crater! I felt a burst of anger, a wish to kill!

            "Picture!"

            "Gay B'gout!"

            Instead of being stationary at "Touchdown" we were in free fall on the night side of some planet. I cçuld see stars, with blackness below the "horizon"-if horizon it were. Deety said, "Looks like the Russians left something on our parking space."

            "Perhaps. Jacob, H-above-G, please."

            "Under ten klicks, decreasing slowly."

            "So far, so good. But we aren't sure that we have the right planet and universe."

            "Captain, that's Antares ahead."

            "Thanks, Zebbie. I assume that at least we are in one of the analogs, of our native universe. Deety, can you get from Gay the acceleration and check it against Mars-ten?"

            "Bout four ways, Cap'n."

            "Go ahead."

            "Gay Deceiver."

            "Hi, Deety!"

            "Hi, Gay. H-above-G, closing rate running, solve first differential, report answer."

            Instantly Gay answered, "Three-seven-six centimeters per second squared."

            "You're a smart girl, Gay."

            So it was either Mars-ten or an unreasonable facsimile. "Gay B'gout!"

            We were stationary, with what we had come to feel as "proper weight." Deety said, "Maybe an animal wandered across our spot. How about lights, Captain? This snapshot ought to be colors by now."

            "Not yet. Chief Pilot, when I alert the autopilot by G, A, Y, please switch on forward landing lights."

            "Roger Wilco."

            "Gay-"

            Blinding light-men in its path were blinded, not us. "Bounce! Kill the light, Zebbie. The Little Father left sentries in case we came back-and we did."

            "Captain Auntie, may I have cabin light now?"

            "Please be patient, dear. I saw two men. Jacob?"

            "Three men, dear. . . dear Captain. Russian soldiers in uniform. Weapons, but no details."

            "Deety?"

            "Looked like bazookas."

            "Chief Pilot?"

            "Bazookas. A good thing you were on the bounce with Bounce, Skipper. Gay can take a lot. . . but a bazooka would make her unhappy." He added, "Speed saved me yesterday. Deety, let that be a lesson: Never lose your temper."

            "Look who's talking!"

            "I quit being C.O., didn't I? Cap'n Sharpie doesn't do foolish stunts. If I were skipper, we would chase 'em all over that sea bottom. Never be in one place long enough for them to aim and they would think there were thirty of us. If Colonel Snotsky is there-I think he's afraid to go home-"

We were over Arizona. I snapped, "Gay Termite!"

            -and were parked by our stream. Zebbie said, "What the devil? Who did that?"

            "You did, Zebadiah," Deety answered. Me? I did no such thing. I was-" "Silence!" (That was I, Captain Bligh.) I went on, "Gay Deceiver, go to sleep. Over." "Sleepy time, Hilda. Roger and out."

            "Chief Pilot, is there a way to shut off the autopilot so completely that she cannot possibly be activated by voice?"

            "Oh, certainly." Zebbie reached up, threw a switch.

            "Thanks, Zebbie. Deety, your new escape programs are swell. . . but I missed how that happened. But first- Did anyone else see our giant termite?"

            "Huh?"-"I did."-"Where?"

            I said, "I was looking out to starboard as we transited. The creature was

feeding on packing debris-and took off uphill at high speed. Looked like a very big, fat, white dog with too many legs. Six, I think."

            "Six," agreed my husband. "Put me in mind of a polar bear. Hilda, I think it is carnivorous."

            "We are not going to find out. Deety, tell Zebbie-all of us-what happened." Deety shrugged. "Zebadiah said 'bounce' twice when he should not have, but Gay wasn't triggered. Then he said 'Gay can take a lot-' and she was triggered. More chitchat and Zebadiah said '-I think he's afraid to go home-' That did it. Our smart girl hears what she has been taught. She heard: 'Gay Home' and that is the short form that used to be: 'Gay Deceiver Take Us Home."

Zebbie shook his head. "A gun should never be that hair-trigger."

            "Chief Pilot, yesterday you used the first of these clipped programs to avoid a bullet in your face. First 'Gay'-then after more words-'bounce!' It saved you."

            "But-"

            "I'm not through. Astrogator, study the escape programs. Search for possibility of danger if triggered accidentally. Zebbie, escape programs can't be compared to a hair trigger on a gun; they are to escape, not to kill."

            "Captain Auntie, I've spent all day making certain that programs can't put us out of the frying pan into the fire. That's why I killed 'countermarch.' The nearest thing to danger is the 'Home' program because our home planet is unfriendly." Deety sounded sad. "I hate to cut our last link with home."

            "It needn't be cut," I said. "Just stretched. Put it back into long form and add 'Execute."

            Deety answered, "Captain, I will do as you say. But we might be a billion klicks from nowhere and hit by a meteor. If anyone can gasp, 'GayHome,' then we are two klicks over our cabin site in air, not vacuum. Even if we've passed out, Gay won't crash us; she's built not to. If I'm gasping my last, I don't want to have to say, 'Gay Deceiver, take us home. Execute.' That's ten syllables against two. . . with air whooshing out."

            I said, "That settles it. The 'Gay Home' program stands unless my successor changes it."

            "You're not talking to me, Captain Sharpie darling-I mean, Captain Hilda-because I'm not your successor. But Deety convinced me. I will not admit that those vermin have run me permanently off my own planet. At least I can return to it to die."

            "Son, let's not speak of dying. We are going to stay alive and raise kids and enjoy it."

            "That's my Pop! Say, doesn't anybody want to see this picture?"

            We made it a rest stop, worrying more about giant termites than about bushes. . . and Jacob found a can opener. The can opener. I put a stop to an attempt to fix the blame. Advice to all explorers: Do not roam the universes without a spare can opener.

            Then it was "Prepare for lift!" and a new program. "Chief Pilot, switch on

autopilot. Gay Deceiver. Explore. True bearing two-six-five. Unit jump five minima. Use bingo stop continue. End program short of sunrise line. Ground. Acknowledge by paraphrase."

            "Explore west five degrees south fifty-klick units. Two-second check each jump. Ground myself no power Greenwich time oh-three-seventeen."

            "Deety, is that time right?"

            "For that program."

            "Gay Deceiver. Program revision. Cancel grounding. From program coded 'A Tramp Abroad' display locus. Display Bingoes."

            She displayed Mars at once, but gibbous. I scrawled a note to Deety: "How do I rotate to show day side only?"

            Dear Deety! She wrote her answer. Passed it over-I doubt that our men saw it: "Program revision. Display locus real-time day side."

            Gay accommodated. It took several steps to define new locus as sunset line (right edge - east) to sunrise line (left edge - west), and between 50°N and 50°S (some Russian area had been close to 45°S, so I widened the search)-then let

the locus move with the terminators. (Gay can "see" in the dark but I can't.) I told her to end "Explore" at Greenwich oh-three-seventeen and start "A Tramp Abroad," continue until directed otherwise, and had Gay repeat back in her phrasing.

            I touched Zebbie's shoulder, pointed to the switch that cut out Gay's ears, drew a finger across my throat. He nodded and shut her out. I said, "Questions, gentlemen? Deety?"

            "I do, Captain," said our Chief Pilot. "Do you plan on sleeping tonight?"

            "Certainly, Zebbie. An ideal sleeping spot would be one far from the Russians but close to the present sunset line. Or did you want to work all night?"

            "If you wish. I noticed that you gave Gay a program that could keep her going for days or weeks-and that you had reduced H-above-G to six klicks. Breathable air. By rotating duties, with one or two always stretched out aft, we can stay up a week, easily, and still give Jake's ankles a break."

            "I can skip a night's sleep," said Deety. "Captain Auntie honey, with enough random samples and a defined locus, sampling soon approaches a grid a fly couldn't get through. Do you want the formula?"

            "Heavens, no! As long as it works."

            "It works. Let's make a long run, get a big sampling. But I'd like to add something. Let's parallel the display onto a sidelooker screen, and light every vertex-while the main display shows Bingoes. You'll see how tight a screen you're building."

            "Sharpie, don't let her do it!" Zebbie added, "Scuse, please! Captain, the Astrogator is correct on software but I know more about this hardware. You can crowd a computer into a nervous breakdown. I have safeguards around Smart Girl; if I give her too much to do, she tells me to go to hell. But she likes Deety. Like a willing horse, she'll try hard for Deety even when it's too much."

            Deety said soberly, "Captain, I gave you bad advice."

            Her husband said, "Don't be so humble, Deety. You're smarter than I am

and we all know it. But we are dependent on Smart Girl and can't let her break down. Captain, I don't know how much strain the time-space twister puts on her but she has unnecessary programs. At the Captain's convenience, I would like to review everything in her perms and wipe those we can do without."

            "My very early convenience, sir. Is the schedule okay?"

            "Oh, sure. Just don't add that side display."

            "Thank you, Chief Pilot. Anyone else? Copilot?"

            "My dear. . . my dear Captain, is there some reason to find a spot near the sunset line? If you intend to work all night?"

            "Oh! But, Jacob, I do not plan to work all night. It is now about twenty hundred by our personal circadians, as established by when we got up. I think we can search for three to four hours. I hope that we can find a spot to sleep near the sunset line, scout it in daylight, let Gay land herself on it for her perms-then return to it in the dark when we get tired"

            "I see, in part. My dear, unless I misunderstood you, you are heading west. But you said that you wanted to find us a place to sleep near the presert sunset line. East. Or did I misunderstood you?"

            "It's very simply explained, Jacob."

            "Yes, dear Captain?"

            "I made a horrible mistake in navigation."

            "Chief Pilot, did you spot it?"

            "Yup. Yes, Captain."

            "Why didn't you speak up?"

            "Not my business, Ma'am. Nothing you planned to do was any danger."

            "Zebbie, I'm not sure whether to thank you for keeping quiet, or to complain because you did. Deety, you spotted the mistake, I am certain. You are supposed to advise me."

            "Captain, I'm supposed to speak up to stop a bad mistake. This was not. I wasn't certain that it was a mistake until you told on yourself. But you spotted the mistake when Gay predicted the time to end the 'Explore' program, then you corrected it by telling her to shift to 'A Tramp Abroad.' So there was never a reason to advise you."

            I let out a sigh. "You're covering for me and I love you all and I'm no good as captain. I've served as many hours as Zebbie and we are on the ground, so now it's time to elect someone who can do it right. You, Zebbie."

            "Not me. Jake and Deety must each do a stint before I'd admit that it might be my turn."

            "Captain-"

            "Deety, I'm not captain; I resigned!"

            "No, Aunt Hilda, you didn't actually do it. It is my duty to advise you when you seem about to make a bad mistake. You made a minor mistake and corrected it. In my business we call that 'debugging'-and spend more time on it than we do on writing programs. Because everybody makes mistakes."

            Jane's little girl managed to sound the way Jane used to. I resolved to

listen-because all too often I hadn't listened to Jane. "Captain Auntie, if you were resigning because of the way your crew treated you-as Zebadiah did- I wouldn't say a word. But that's not your reason. Or is it?"

            "What? Oh, no! You've all helped-you've been angels. Uh, well, mostly."

            "Angels'-hummph! I can't use the correct words; I'd shock our men. Aunt Hilda, I gave you far worse lip than I ever gave Zebadiah. You slapped me down hard-and I've been your strongest supporter ever since. Zebadiah, what you did was worse-"

            "I know."

            "-but you admitted that you were wrong. Nevertheless you've been chewing the bit. Demanding explanations. Zebadiah, the captain of a ship doesn't have to explain why she gives an order. Or does she?"

            "Of course not. Oh, a captain sometimes does explain. But she shouldn't do it often or the crew will start thinking they are entitled to explanations. In a crunch this can kill you. Waste that split second." Zebbie brooded. "Captain says 'Frog,' you hop. Couple of times I failed to hop. Captain, I'm sorry."

            "Zebbie, we get along all right."

            He reached back and patted my knee. "Pretty well in the past. Better from now on."

            My darling Jacob said worriedly, "I'm afraid I have been remiss, too."

            I was about to reassure him when Deety cut in: "Remiss'! Pop, you're the worst of all! If I had been your wife, I would have tossed you back and rebaited my hook. 'Farce' is worse than mutinous; it's insulting. Be glad Jane didn't hear you!"

            "I know, I know!"

            I touched Deety's arm and whispered, "That's enough, dear."

            Zebbie said soberly, "Captain, as I analyze it, you made a mistake in sign. Every navigator makes mistakes-and has some routine by which to check his work. If you're going to get upset because recheck shows that you wrote down 'plus' when the declination is 'south,' you're going to have ulcers. You're just under strain from being C.O. We've all made the strain worse. But we want to do better. I'd hate to have you resign over a minor error. . . when we caused your upset. I hope you'll give us another chance."

            Captains aren't supposed to cry. I blinked 'em back, got my voice under control, and said, "All hands! Still ready for lift? Report."

            "Aye, Captain!"-"Affirmative!"-"Yes, my dear Hilda."

            "Zebbie, switch on Gay's ears." He did.

            "Execute!"-Termite Creek was gone and we were fifty klicks west and a touch south. Pretty and green but no Bingo. It would take us about seven minutes to overtake the Sun and approach sunrise line, plus any holds we made. Then I would go east to the sunset line in nothing flat (have Zebbie and Jacob do it); then bounce & glide, bounce & glide, while looking for a place to sleep in a spot suitable for Gay to try her new unpowered autogrounding program-in daylight with the hottest pilot in two worlds ready to override any error.

            If Gay could do this, we would be almost independent of juice-and have

a new "bug-out" sanctuary each time she landed herself. Power packs-Zebbie had a hand-cranked D.C. generator-but heavy work for husky men for endless hours. (40 hrs from zero to full charge; you see why Zebbie would rather buy fresh charges.)

            We had been skipping along nearly three minutes, over four thousand klicks, before spotting a Bingo (by Zebbie). I called a "Hold" and added, "Where, Zebbie?"

            He nosed us down. Farm buildings and cultivated fields-a happy contrast to the terrain-barren, green, flat, rugged-all lacking any sign of humans, in the stops we had made. "Astrogator, record time. Continue."

            Then over three minutes with no Bingoes- At elapsed time 6m4s Jacob called out, "Bingo! A town."

            "Hold! Onion towers?"

            "I think not, dear. I see a flag-dare we go nearer?"

            "Yes! But anyone use a scram at will. Jacob, may I have the binoculars, please?"

            The Stars and Stripes are engraved on my heart, but in the next moments the Cross of Saint Andrew and the Cross of Saint George were added. It was an ensign with a blue field and some white shapes-three half moons in three sizes.

            "Gay Deceiver."

            "I'm all ears, Hilda."

            "Move current program to standby."

            "Roger Wilco Done."

            "Gay Bounce. Zebbie, let's sweep this area for a bigger settlement."

            Zebbie placed a locus around the town, radius five hundred klicks, and started "A Tramp Abroad" with vertex time cut to one second. Thirty-one minutes later we had a city. I guessed it at a hundred thousand plus.

            "Captain," Zebbie said, "may I suggest that we bounce and try to raise them by radio? This place is big enough for A.A. guns or missiles-"

            "Gay Bounce!"

            "-and we know that their Slavic neighbors have aircraft."

            "Is your guardian angel warning you?"

            "Well. . . 'tain't polite to ground without clearance; such rudeness can make one suddenly dead."

            "Gay Bounce, Gay Bounce. Are we out of reach of missiles?"

            "Captain, British and Russians of this universe are ahead of us in spaceships or they wouldn't be here. That requires us to assume that their missiles and lasers and X-weapons are better than ours."

            "What's an 'X-weapon'? And what do you advise?"

            "I advise evasive tactics. An X-weapon is a 'Nobody-Knows."

            "Evasive tactics, your choice. I assume you won't waste juice."

            "No juice. Jake, gallop in all directions. Up, down, and sideways. Don't wait for 'Execute'; jump as fast as you can. That's it! Keep moving!"

            "Captain Auntie, may I suggest an easier way?"

            "Sneak un. Deetv."

            "Zebadiah, how big is that city? Kilometers."

            "That's indefinite. Oh, call it eight klicks in diameter."

            "You've got that one-second 'Tramp' program on hold. Change locus. Center on that biggest building, make the radius six klicks. Then start program and Pop can rest."

            "Uh.. . Deety, I'm stupid. Six klicks radius, ten klicks is a minimum- A bit tight?"

            "Meant to be. Shall I draw a picture?"

            "Maybe you'd better."

            (Deety had defined an annulus two kilometers wide, outer radius six, inner radius four. We would "circle" the city six klicks above ground, random jumps, sixty per minute. I doubted that even robot weapons could find us, range us, hit us, in one second.)

            Deety loosened her belt, slithered forward, and sketched. Suddenly Zebbie said, "Gotcha! Deety, you're a smart girl."

            "Boss, I'll bet you tell that to all the girls."

            "Nope, just smart ones. Gay Deceiver!"

            "Less noise, please."

            "Program revision. A Tramp Abroad. Locus a circle radius six klicks. Center defined by next Bingo. Acknowledge paraphrase."

            "Revised program A Tramp Abroad. Circle twelve klicks diameter center next real-time Bingo."

            "Jake, put us over that big building downtown. If necessary, make several tries but don't hang around. Once I like the position I'll say the magic word, then scram."

            "Aye aye, Chief."

            Jacob made a dozen jumps before Zebbie said, "Bingo Gay Bounce" and a light appeared on the display. He started the program and told Gay to increase scale; the light spread out into a circle with a lighted dot in the center. "Captain, watch this. I've told Gay that every stop is a Bingo. You may be surprised."

            "Thanks, Zebbie." The circle was becoming freckled inside its perimeter. With no feeling of motion, the scene flicked every second. It was mid-morning; each scene was sharp. That big building would be dead ahead-blink your eye and you're staring at fields-then again at the city but with that building off to starboard. It put me in mind of holovideo tape spliced to create confusion.

            Zebbie had on his phones and was ignoring everything else. Jacob was watching the flickering scenery, as was I, as was Deety-when Jacob suddenly turned his head, said, "Deety-please-the-Bo-" and clapped his hand over his mouth.

            I said, "Two Bonines, Deety-quickly!"

            Deety was reaching for them. "You, too, Auntie Cap'n?"

            "It's this flickering." I gave one to Jacob, made certain that he saw me take one. I had not been motion-sick since I had been made Captain. But any time my husband must take one, I will keep him company.

            Today I should have taken one as soon as I spotted that British flag; Bonine

tranquilizes the nerves as well as the tummy.. . and soon I must act as- ambassador? Something of the sort; I intended to go straight to the top. Dealing with underlings is frustrating. In college I would not have lasted almost four years had it been up to the dean of women. But I always managed to take it over her head to the president; the top boss can bend the rules.

            (But my senior year the president was female and as tough a bitch as I am. She listened to my best Clarence-Darrow defense, congratulated me, told me I should have studied law, then said, "Go pack. I want you off campus by noon.")

            Zebbie pushed the phone off his right ear. "Captain, I've got this loud enough to put on the horn. Want to talk to them?"

            "No. I've never grounded outside the States. You know how, you do it. But, Chief Pilot-"

            "Yes, Ma'am?"

            "And Copilot and Astrogator. Stick to the truth at all times. But do not unnecessarily give information. Answer questions uninformatively-but truthfully. If pressed, tell them, 'See the Captain."

            "My dear," Jacob said worriedly, "I've been meaning to speak about this. Zeb has had diplomatic experience. Wouldn't it be wise for us to place him in charge on the ground? Please understand, I'm not criticizing your performance as captain. But with his experience and in view of the fact that our principal purpose is to obtain certain things for his car-"

            "Gay Bounce Gay Bounce Gay Bounce! Astrogator."

            "Yes, Captain."

            "Place us in a parking orbit. Soonest."

            "Aye aye, Ma'am! Copilot, don't touch the verniers. Chief Pilot, check that the car is level. Gay Deceiver."

            "On deck, Deety."

            "Program. L axis add speed vector three point six klicks per second. Paraphrase acknowledge."

            "Increase forward speed three and six tenths kilometers per second."

            "Chief Pilot?"

            "Level."

            "Execute." Deety glanced at the board. "Gay Deceiver, H-above-G will soon stop decreasing, then increase very slowly. In about fifty minutes it will maximize. Program. When H-above-G is maximum, alert me."

            "Roger Wilco."

            "If-when one hundred klicks H-above-G, alert me."

            "Roger Wilco."

            "If-when air drag exceeds zero, alert me."

            "Roger Wilco."

            "Remain in piloting mode. Ignore voices including program code words until you are called by your full name. Acknowledge by reporting your full name."

            "Gay Deceiver," answered Gay Deceiver.

            "Is that okay, Captain? Smart Girl can't hear the short-form programs now,

until she hears her full name first. Then you would still have to say 'Gay' to alert her, and 'Home' or whatever to scram. But there should be loads of time, as she'll tell me if anything starts to go wrong. You heard her."

            "That's fine, Astrogator."

            "I turned her ears off because there may be discussion in which you might not want to have to be careful to use code words. . . but still be able to put her ears back fast if you need them. Faster than the switch and besides the switch can be reached only from the left front seat."

            Deety had a touch of nervous chattering; I understood the reasons for each step. And I understood why she was chattering.

            "Well done. Thank you. Remain at the conn. Chief Pilot, Copilot, the Secondin-Command has the conn. I am going aft and do not wish to be disturbed." I lowered my voice, spoke directly to Deety. "You are free to call me. You only."

            "Aye aye, Captain," Deety acknowledged quietly. "I must remind you: air for four hours only."

            "If I fall asleep, call me in three hours." I kissed her quickly, floated out of my chair and started to undog the bulkhead door-got nowhere; Deety had to help me. Deety flipped a light switch for me. She closed me in and dogged one dog.

            I got a blanket out of the cradle, took off my clothes, tried to wrap myself in the blanket. It kept slithering away.

            No seat belts- But the web straps used to make a bedroll of Zebbie's sleeping bag were attached through loops and tucked under thingammies. Soon I had a belt across my waist and the blanket around me.

            Being a runt, the only way I can fight is with words. But best for me is to walk away. Fight with Jacob? I was so angry I wanted to slap him! But I never slap anyone; a woman who takes advantage of her size and sex to slap a man is herself no gentleman. So I walked away-got out of there before I said something that would tear it-lose me my lovable, cuddly, thoughtful-and sometimes unbearable!-husband.

            I wept in my pillow-no pillow and no Kleenex. After a while I slept.