XXV

"-leave bad enough alone!"

Deety:

            After I helped Aunt Hilda with the bulkhead door, I got back into my seat- and said nothing. If I opened my mouth, I would say too much. I love Pop a heap, and respect him as a mathematician.

            Pop is also one of the most selfish people I've ever known.

            Doesn't mean he's tight with money; he isn't. Doesn't mean he wouldn't share his last crust of bread-he would. With a stranger.

            But if he doesn't want to do something, he won't. When Jane died, I had tq take over money management at once. At seventeen. Because Pop ignored it. It was all I could do to get him to sign his name. -

            I was bucking for my doctorate. Pop seemed to think that I should cook, clean house, shop, keep financial records, manage our businesses, cope with taxes-and earn my doctorate simultaneously.

            Once I let dishes stack to see how long it would take him to notice. About two weeks later he said, "Deety, aren't you ever going to do the dishes?"

            I answered, "No, sir."

            "Eh? Why not?"

            "I don't have time."

            He looked puzzled. "Jane didn't seem to find keeping house difficult. Is something wrong, dear?"

            "Pop, Mama wasn't bucking for a doctorate against a committee of dunderheads. My research subject was approved two years ago. . . but I've got men judging me-four out of seven-who can't tell Fortran from Serutan, hate

computers, and have dark fears that computer scientists are going to take their jobs away from them. They make me do work over because they don't understand it. And besides- Well, Mama Jane always had help, mine, and a housekeeper toward the end."

            Pop is okay. He hired a housekeeper who stuck with us till I got my Ph.D. He investigated, discovered that the'head of the department had put men on my committee who knew nothing about computers-not on purpose; the department head did not know computers. I wound up with an even tougher committee but they knew computers. Fair enough.

            Pop means to be good to me and he adores Aunt Hilda and means to pamper her. Pop is one of those men who sincerely believe in Women's Lib, always support it-but so deep down that they aren't aware of it, their emotions tell them that women never get over being children.

            A mistake easy to make with Aunt Hilda- There are twelve-year-old girls bigger than she is and with more curves.

            For a horrid time, we three said nothing. Zebadiah watched his instruments; Pop stared straight ahead.

            At last my husband gave my father the chewing out that Pop would never have taken from me, "Jake. Tell me how you do it."

            "You're a genius. You aren't the absent-minded sort who needs a boy to lead him around. You can hammer a nail with the best of them and can use power tools without chopping your fingers. You're good company and you managed to attract one of the three finest women I've ever known so much that she married you. Yet you have publicly insulted her twice in one day. Twice. Tell me: Do you have to study to be that stupid? Or is it a gift, like your genius for mathematics?"

            Pop covered his face with his hands. Zebadiah shut up.

            I could see Pop's shoulders shake. Presently his sobbing stopped. He wiped his eyes, unfastened his seat belt. When I realized he was heading for the bulkhead door, I unstrapped fast and placed myself in his way. He said, "Please move out of my way, Deety."

            "Copilot, return to your seat."

            "But, Daughter, you can't come between husband and wife!"

            "Address me as 'Astrogator.' The Captain does not wish to be disturbed. Gay Deceiver!"

            "Here, Deety!"

            "Log mode. Copilot, I will not permit you to disobey the Captain's orders. Return to your seat, strap down-and stay there!"

            "Or would you rather be placed in it?" Zebadiah growled. "With your arms strapped under the belts, and the buckles where you can't reach them."

            "Chief Pilot, do not intervene unless I call on you. Copilot, move!"

            Pop turned in the air, almost kicking me in the face and unaware of it. He was speaking through sobs. "But I must apologize to Hilda! Can't you understand that?" But he was getting back into his seat.

            "Jake, you'll be a worse damn' fool if you do."

            "What? Zeb, you can't mean that."

            "I do mean it. You apologized once today. Hypocrisy, as Sharpie realizes. Jake, your only chance of staying married is to shut up and soldier; your word is no longer worth a fiat dollar. But if you behave yourself for four or five years, she might forget it. Correction: forgive it. She'll never forget it. Establish a long record of good behavior and she might allow you some minor faults. But don't ever hint that she is not as competent as any man. Sure, she'd be picked last for a tug-o'-war team, and she has to stand on a stool to reach a high shelf-does that affect her brain? Hell's bells, if size mattered, I would be the supergenius around here-not you. Or perhaps you think being able to grow a beard confers wisdom? Jake, leave bad enough alone! Mess with it, you'll make it worse."

            Time for a diversion: Pop must not be given a chance to answer. If Pop started defending himself, he would wind up self-righteous. The ability of the male mind to rationalize its deeds-and misdeeds-cannot be measured.

            (And some female minds. But we females have more wild animal in us; mostly we don't feel any need to justify ourselves. We just do it, whatever it is, because we want to. Is there ever any other reason?)

            "Gentlemen," I added, close on Zebadiah's last remark before Pop could attempt rebuttal, "speaking of beards, you each have a three-day growth. If we are about to ask sanctuary, shouldn't we be neat? I'm going to comb my hair and dig the dirt out from under my nails, and-Glory be!-I've got one spandy-clean jump suit. In light green, Zebadiah; matches your pilot suits. Got a clean one, dear?"

            "I believe so."

            "I know so; I packed it when Aunt Hilda and I rearranged inventory. Pop, your light green jump suit is clean. That one you are wearing has wrinkles in the wrinkles and a big soup spot. We three will look as if we were in uniform. Aunt Hilda won't but the captain-and-owner of a yacht doesn't dress like her crew."

            "Owner'?" said Pop.

            "Owner," Zebadiah said firmly. "We pooled our resources. Sharpie is captain; she'll stand as owner for all of us. Simpler."

            "She cautioned us not to tell lies, Zeb." (Pop sounded normal-his usual argumentative self.)

            "No lie. But if she finds it necessary to lie for us, we back her up. Come on, Jake, let's put on our squeakin' shoes; the Captain might decide to land any orbit. How long are these orbits, Deety?"

            "One hundred minutes, plus a bit. But Gay could ground us from the far side in five minutes if the Captain asked for it."

            "So let's get shipshape and Bristol style. Deety, will you keep an eye on the board while Jake and I shave?"

            Pop said, "I'm sorry but I can't shave until the Captain joins us. My gear is aft."

            "Jake, use mine. Glove compartment. Remington okay?" My husband added, "You first; I want to read the news."

            "The 'news'?"

            "Smart Girl has been sampling all frequencies, AM and FM, twice a second. If there is pattern, she copies."

            "But Deet- The Astrogator switched off the autopilot's ears."

            "Jake, you just flunked Physics One-Oh-One. Deety told S.G. to shut off audio. I had in mind the electromagnetic spectrum. You've heard of it?"

            Pop chuckled. "Touché! That makes us even for the one you pulled while we were calibrating."

            (I heaved a sigh of relief. I had not been trying to save Pop's marriage- that's his problem. Even my own marriage was secondary; I was trying to save the team, and so was Zebadiah. We were two marriages and that is important- but most important we were a survival team and either we worked together smoothly or none would live through it.)

            While Pop shaved and Zebadiah read the news, I cleaned my nails. If I clean them before each meal and again at bedtime, they are dirty only in between- dirt likes me. Mama Jane told me that centuries ago, while ouching my hair for school-not a criticism; a statement of fact.

            The men swapped headset for shaver and I combed my hair and pinned it into place-no longer an "ouch" job as I keep it short, ringlets rather than curls. Men like it long-but caring for long hair is a career in itself, and I've been pushed for time since I was twelve.

            Zebadiah stopped to feel his chin-so I deduced as the buzzing stopped. I asked, "What did Smart Girl have to say?"

            "Not much. Le'me finish this. BBC Third Program mostly."

            "From London?" He had resumed shaving and couldn't hear me.

            Zebadiah finished shaving and passed his shaver to Pop, who stowed it, then took off the headset and handed it back. Zebadiah racked and secured it. I was about to ask for it, when I heard Aunt Hilda's sweet voice:

            "Hello, everyone! What did I miss?"

            "Halley's Comet."

            "Halley's- Zebbie, you're a tease. Jacob- Oh! You shaved! How very nice! Hold still, my darling; you're going to be kissed, ready or not."

            A kiss in free fall is interesting to watch when one participant is safetybelted and the other half is floating free. Hilda held Pop's cheeks, he had her head in his hands, and Aunt Hilda drifted like a flag in a breeze. She was dressed but barefooted; I was intrigued when she curled her toes, hard. Was Pop that good?-my cubical father, so I had thought until recently. Did Jane teach him? Or- Shut up, Deety, you're a voyeuse with a nasty curiosity.

            They broke and Hilda floated between the pilot seats, a hand on each, and looked at the board. My husband said-to her, not to me-"Don't I get a kiss? It was my razor."

            Aunt Hilda hesitated. Pop said, "Kiss him, beloved, or he'll sulk." So she did. It occurs to me that Aunt Hilda may have taught Zebadiah and that Mama Jane and Aunt Hilda may have been trained by the same coach before Pop came along-if so, who was my Unknown Benefactor?

            "Not a whole lot," Zebadiah was saying. "Mostly tapes from BBC. Five minutes of news from Windsor City-which may be the city we bingoed-as exciting as local news from any town you've never been in. Chatter in Russian. The Smart Girl saved that for you."

            "I'll listen to it. But I must learn something. I was tempery a while ago, but a nap fixed me up and now I am filled with sweetness and light. I must have a report from each of you. We all have had cumulative fatigue. It is now bedtime at Termite Terrace but about lunchtime in Windsor City if that is its name. We can go back to our stream or we can tackle the British. I am not taking a vote; I shall decide and I have a way to take care of anyone who is tired. But I insist on honest data. Deety?"

            "Captain Auntie, sleep is never my problem."

            "Zebbie?"

            "I was a zombie. Until you recharged me. Now I'm rarin' to go!"

            She mussed his hair. "Zebbie, quit teasing."

            "Captain, on an earlier occasion I told you the facts: My alert time exceeds twenty-four hours. Forty-eight if I must. If that kiss did not stimulate you as much as it did me, let's try it again and find out what went wrong."

            Aunt Hilda turned away abruptly. "Jacob dear, how do you feel? With the time difference this may be equivalent to staying up all night, possibly under great tension,"

            "Hilda my love, were we to return to our streamside, I would not sleep, knowing that this contact was coming. A night without sleep does not strain me."

            "Pop's not exaggerating, Captain Auntie. I get my night-owl capacity from Pop."

            "Very well. But I have a method of taking care of anyone who may have exaggerated. I can leave one person aboard as guard."

            "Captain, this wagon does not need a guard."

            "Chief Pilot, I was offering sleep-under pretext of guarding. Car locked and sleep where Ijust napped-outsiders would not know. Anyone? Speak up."

            (I wouldn't have missed it for a Persian kitten! Did Hilda expect anyone to stay behind? I don't think so.)

            "Very well. No firearms. Gentlemen, please hide your pistols and belts with the guns, aft. Zebbie, is there a way to lock that door in addition to dogging it?"

            "Sure. Tell Gay. May I ask why? No one can break into the cabin without damaging the old girl so much that she won't lift."

            "Conceded, Zebbie. But I will be bringing visitors into this space. If anyone is brash enough to ask to be shown beyond the bulkhead door, I shall tell him that is my private compartment." Aunt Hilda grinned wickedly. "If he persists, I'll freeze his ears. What's the program for locking and unlocking it?"

            'Very complicated. Tell her, 'Lock the bulkhead door,' or 'Unlock the bulkhead door.' Concealed solenoids. If the car is cold, the bolts drop back."

            "Goodness, you were thorough."

            "No, Ma'am. The Aussies were. But it turns out to be convenient for things we wouldn't like to lose. Cap'n, I don't trust banks any more than I trust governments, so I carry my safety deposit vault with me."

            "If you cut the trickle charge, it unlocks?" Pop asked.

            "Jake, I knew you would spot that. An accumulator across the solenoids, floating. Shut down the car and the solenoids work for another month. . . unless you open a switch in an odd location. Anyone want to know where it is?-what you don't know, you can't tell."

            He got no takers. Instead I said, "Captain, is a fléchette gun a 'firearm'?"

            "Hmm- Will it fit into a zippered compartment in your purse?"

            "It fits into a concealed zipper compartment."

            "Keep it with you. No swords, gentlemen, as well as no firearms; we are a civilian party. One thing we should carry: those miniature walky-talkies, Deety and I in our purses, you gentlemen in your pockets. If they are noticed, tell the truth: a means of keeping our party in touch."

            Aunt Hilda suddenly looked stern. "This next order should be in writing. Please understand that there are no exceptions, no special circumstances, no variations left to individual judgment. I require Roger-Wilcoes from each of you or we do not ground. This party does not separate. Not for thirty seconds. Not for ten seconds. Not at all."

            "Will the Captain entertain a question?"

            "Certainly, Zebbie."

            "Washrooms. Restrooms. Bathrooms. If these British behave like their analogs, such facilities are segregated."

            "Zebbie, all I can say to that is that I will look for a way to cope. But we stay together until I-until I, the Captain-decide that it is safe to ease the rule. In the meantime- We should use that unpopular honey bucket before we ground. . . then, if necessary, return to the car, together, to use it later. That's not subject to discussion. Once we are on the ground, you three, acting unanimously, can hold a bloodless mutiny over this order or any"-Aunt Hilda looked directly at her husband-"and I will let myself be kicked out without a word. . . out of office as captain, out of the car, out of the party. Remain here, on Mars-ten, with the British if they will have me. No more questions. No further discussion by me or among yourselves. Astrogator."

            "Roger Wilco!"

            "Thank you. Please state it in the long form."

            "I understand the Captain's order and will comply exactly with no mental reservations."

            "Chief Pilot."

            "I understand-"

            "Short form. Deety defined it."

            "Roger Wilco, Captain!"

            Aunt Hilda turned in the air toward Pop-and I held my breath, three endless seconds. "Jacob?"

            "Roger Wilco, Captain."

            "Very well. We will ground as soon as we get clearance but will not ask for

clearance until I've heard the news and translated that Russian." Whereupon I told her that we all intended to put on our best bib and tucker; the time should come out about right-and could we be relieved one by one? As I intended to use that darned thunder mug-when you must, you must.

            Aunt Hilda frowned slightly. "I do wish that I had a jump suit in my size. This outfit-"

            "Aunt Hilda! Your crew is in uniform but you are wearing the latest Hollywood style. That model was created by Ferrara himself and he charged you more than you paid for that mink cape. You are the Captain and dress to please yourself. I tell you three times!"

            Aunt Hilda smiled. "Should I acknowledge in paraphrase?"

            "By all means."

            "Deety, I require my crew to wear uniforms. But I dress to suit myself, and when I saw what the world-famous couturier Mario Ferrara was doing to change the trend in women's sports clothes, I sent for him and worked him silly until he got just what I wanted. Including repeated washings of the trousers to give them that not-quite-new look so favored by the smart set for yachting. When you come back will you fetch your little shoes-my Keds- and the hair ribbon you gave me? They are part of Signor Ferrara's creation."

            "Aunt Hilda honey, you make it sound true!"

            "It is true. You told me three times. I don't even regret the thousand newdollar bonus I gave him. That man is a genius! Get along dear-git. Chief Pilot, you have the conn; I want the earphones."

            I was back in ten minutes with jump suits for self and Pop and clean pilot suit for my husband.

            I sailed their clothes toward Pop and Zebadiah. Aunt Hilda was handing phones back to Zebadiah; his suit caught both of them. "Wups, sorry but not very. What do the Russians say?"

            "We're baddies," said my husband.

            "We are? The suit I took off is loose back aft. Wrap it around your pistol and belt and shove them under the sleeping bag-pretty please?"

            "With sugar on it?"

            "At today's prices? Yes. Beat it. Cap'n, what sort of baddies?"

            "Spies and agents-saboteurs and other things and indemnity is demanded in the name of the Tsar and the surrender of our persons, all twelve of us-"

            "Twelve?"

            "So they claim. -for trial before they hang us. Or else. The 'or-else' amounts to a threat of war."

            "Heavens! Are we going to ground?"

            "Yes. The British comment was that a source close to the Governor reports that the Russians have made another of their periodic claims of territorial violation and espionage and the note was routinely rejected. I intend to be cautious. We won't leave the car unless I am convinced that we will receive decent treatment."

            Shortly we were again doing one-second jumps in a circle around Windsor

City. Had Pop not pulled another blunder in handling Aunt Hilda we would have been on the ground two hours ago. "Blunder," rather than "insult"-but I'm not Hilda, I'm Deety. My ego is not easily bruised. Before I married, if a man patronized me and it mattered, I used to invite him to go skeet shooting. Even if he beat me (happened once), he never patronized me again.

            If it's an unsocial encounter- I'm big, I'm strong, I fight dirty. A male has to be bigger, stronger, and just as well trained or I can take him. Haven't had to use the fléchette gun yet. But twice I've broken arms and once I kicked a mugger in the crotch and said he fainted.

            Zebadiah was having trouble with traffic control. "-request permission to ground. This is private yacht Gay Deceiver, U.S. registry, Chief Pilot Carter speaking. All we want is clearance to ground. You're behaving like those youknow-what-I-mean Russians. I didn't expect this from Englishmen."

            Wow, now! Where are you? You sound close by. . . but we can't get a fix on you."

            "We are circling your city at a height above ground of five kilometers."

            "How much is that in feet? Or miles?"

            I touched my husband's shoulder. "Tell him sixteen thousand feet."

            "Sixteen thousand feet."

            'What bearing?"

            "We're circling."

            "Yes, but- See Imperial House at City Center? What bearing?"

            "We are much too fast for you to take a bearing. While you speak one sentence, we've gone around twice."

            "Oh, tell that to the Jollies; old sailors will never believe it."

            Aunt Hilda tapped Zebadiah; he passed the microphone to her. Aunt Hilda said crisply, "This is Captain Burroughs, commanding. State your name, rating, and organization number."

            I heard a groan, then silence. Twenty-three seconds later another voice came on. "This is the officer of the watch, Leftenant Bean. Is there a spot of trouble?"

            "No, Lieutenant, merely stupidity. My chief pilot has been trying for fifteen minutes for clearance to ground. Is this a closed port? We were not told so by your embassy on Earth. We were warned that the Russians discouraged visitors, and indeed, they tried to shoot us out of the sky. What is your full name and your regiment, Lieutenant; I intend to make a formal report when I return home,"

            'Please, Madam! This is Leftenant Brian Bean, Devonshire Royal Fusiliers. May I ask to whom I am speaking?"

            "Very well. I will speak slowly; please record. I am Captain Hilda Burroughs, commanding space yacht Gay Deceiver, out of Snug Harbor in the Americas."

            "Captain, let me get this clear. Are you commanding both a spaceship in orbit and a landing craft from your ship? Either way, please let me have the elements of your ship's orbit for my log, and tell me the present position of your landing craft. Then I can assign you a berth to ground."

            "Do I have your word as a British officer and gentleman that you will not shoot us out of the sky as those Russian vandals attempted to do?"

            'Madam-Captain-you have my word."

            "Gay Bounce. We are now approximately forty-nine thousand feet above your city."

            "But- We understood you to say 'Sixteen thousand'?"

            "That was five minutes ago; this craft is fast." Aunt Hilda released the button. "Deety, get rid of the special 'Tramp' program."

            I told Gay to return "Tramp" to her perms and to wipe the temporary mods. "Done."

            Aunt Hilda pressed the mike button. "Do you see us now?" She released the button. "Deety, I want us over that big building-'Imperial House,' probably-in one transition. Can you tell Zebbie and Jacob what it takes?"

            I looked it over. We should be at the edge of the city-but were we? Get a range and triangulate? No time! Guess at the answer, double it and divide by two. Arc tan four tenths. "Pop, can you transit twenty-one degrees from vertical toward city hail?"

            "Twenty-one degrees. Sixty-nine degrees of dive toward the big barn in the park, relative bearing broad on the port bow, approx-set! One unit transition, ten klicks-set!"

            '7 can see you now, I do believe," came Mr. Bean's voice. 'Barely."

            "We'll come lower." Aunt Hilda chopped off the lieutenant. "Zebbie, put her into glide as soon as you execute. Deety, watch H-above-G and scram if necessary-don't wait to be told. Zebbie, execute at will."

            "Jake, execute!"-and we were down so fast I got goose bumps. . . especially as Zebadiah then dived vertically to gain glide speed and that's mushy, slow, slow, on Mars.

            But soon Aunt Hilda was saying tranquilly, "We are over Imperial House. You see us?"

            'Yes, yes! My word! Bloody!"

            "Leftenant, watch your language!" Aunt Hilda winked at me and snickered silently.

            "Madam, I apologize."

            "Captain,' if you please," she said, smiling while her voice dripped icicles.

            "Captain, I apologize."

            "Accepted. Where am I to ground?"

            'Ah, figured from Imperial House, there is a landing field due south of it twelve miles. I will tell them to expect you."

            Hilda let up on the button, said, "Gay Bounce" and racked the microphone. "How unfortunate that the lieutenant's radio cut out before he could tell us how far away that field is. Or was it our radio?"

            I said, "Captain, you know durn well both radios worked okay."

            "Mercy, I must be getting old. Was Smart Girl in recording mode?"

            I said, "She always is, during maneuvers. She wipes it in a ten-hour cycle."

            "Then my bad hearing doesn't matter. Please ask her to repeat the lieu-

tenant's last speech." I did, and Gay did. "Deety, can you have her wipe it right after the word 'it'?"

            "Auntie, you ain't goin' to Heaven." I had Gay wipe twelve-miles-I-will-tellthem-to-expect-you. "But you wouldn't know anybody there."

            "Probably not, dear. Zebbie, how does one have Smart Girl ground herself without juice?"

            "Deety had better go over it again. Unless-~Jake, will you explain it?"

            "It's Deety's caper. I could use another drill."

            "All right," I agreed. "Switch off Gay's ears, Zebadiah. Gay can make any transition exactly if she knows precisely where her target is. Even a jump of less than one minimum. I found that out the day we got here when we were testing remote control. The rest came from perfecting the 'Bug-Out' routine by having her pause and sweep the target and if it's obstructed, she bounces. Aunt Hilda, if you intend to ground, we had better not be much under five klicks or we'll have to bounce and start over."

            "I've got air bite, Captain. I'll stretch it."

            "Thanks, Zebbie. Deety, you do it. Let us all learn."

            "Okay. I need both pilots. You haven't said where to ground."

            "Wasn't that clear? Due south of Imperial House. I think it is a parade ground. Nothing on it but a flagpole on the north side. Put her down in front of the building but miss that flagpole."

            "It would take override to hit that flagpole. Zebadiah, gunsight the spot you want to park on. I'll talk to Gay. Then put her in level flight in the orientation you want, and give 'Execute.' Pop, Gay should pause at exactly one-half klick, to see that her parking spot is clear and to recheck distance. That stop won't be long-a fraction of a second-but, if she fails to make it, try to bounce. Probably you can't; if I missed in debugging, maybe we'll all be radioactive. Been nice knowing you all. Okay, switch on her ears." My husband did so.

            "Gay Deceiver."

            "Hello, Deety. I've missed you."

            "Unpowered autogrounding mode."

            "Gonna ground by myself without a drop of juice! Where?"

            "New target. Code word: 'Parade Ground.' Point of aim and range-finder method."

            "Show him to me. I can lick him!"

            I touched my husband's shoulder. "Let her know."

            "On target, Gay. Steady on target."

            "Range three-seven-two-nine, three-seven-naughty-nought, three-five-ninenine-got him, Deety!"

            Zebadiah leveled us out, headed us north. "Execute!"

            We were parked facing the big front steps. That flagpole was ten meters from Gay's nose.

            Pop said, "Deety, I could see the check stop but it was too short for me to act. But your programs always work."

            "Until the day one blows up. Aunt Hilda, what do we do now?"

            "We wait."

XXVI

The Keys to the City

            Jake:

            I do not believe that I am wrong in insisting that Zeb should lead us. I am forced to conclude that being right has little to do with holding a woman's affections. I never intend to hurt Hilda's feelings. I now plan to make a career of keeping my mouth shut.

            But I do not think it was diplomatic to spat with that radio operator or proper to be-well, yes, rude-rude to his officer. As for grounding twelve

miles, nineteen klicks, from where we were told to-is this the behavior of guests!

            But we did ground where we should not have. I started to open the door to get out, then help Hilda to disembark, when I heard her say: "We wait."

            Hilda added, "Leave doors locked and belts fastened. Gay Deceiver, remain in maneuvering mode. Lock the bulkhead door."

            "Hot and rarin' to go, Hilda. Bulkhead door locked."

            "You're a smart girl, Gay."

            "That makes two of us, Hilda."

            "Chief Pilot, in this mode does she record outside as well as inside?"

            "She does if I switch on outside speakers and mikes, Captain."

            "Please do."

            "What volume, Captain? Outside, and inside."

            "I didn't know they were separate. Straight-line gain?"

            "Logarithmic, Ma'am. From a gnat's whisper to a small earthquake."

            "I would like outside pickup to amplify enough that we won't miss anything. What I send out should be a bit forceful."

            "Captain, I'll give you a decibel advantage. You want it louder, squeeze my shoulder. I won't turn it higher than seven-unless you want to use it as a weapon. But to talk privately inside I have to keep switching off, then on. As with the Russians-remember?"

            "Oh, yes. All hands, I will speak for all of us. If anyone needs to speak to me, attract Zebbie's attention-"

            "Slap my shoulder."

            "-and he'll give us privacy and confirm it with thumbs-up. Don't ask for it unnecessarily."

            "Hilda, why these complex arrangements? Here comes someone now; it would be polite to go meet them. In any case, we can open the door to talk- these are not Russians." I simply could not bear to watch my darling handle this delicate matter with such-well, rudeness!

            Was I thanked? "Copilot, pipe down. All hands, we may go upstairs any instant; report readiness for space. Astrogator."

            "Ready, Captain."

            "Chief Pilot."

            "Still ready. Outside audio hot."

            "Copilot."

            "I'm checking this door seal again. Earlier I started to open it. There! Ready for space. Hilda, I don't think-"

            "Correct! But the Chief Pilot did think, and gave me thumbs-up as soon as you started to talk. Pipe down! Chief Pilot, cut in our sender as soon as one of them speaks. Copilot, call me 'Captain' as the others do. Protocol applies; I'll explain family relationships later, when appropriate."

            I resolved not to open my mouth for any reason, feeling quite disgruntled. Disgruntled? I found myself giving serious thought to whether or not Hilda's temporary and inappropriate authority could do permanent harm to her personality.

            But the top of my mind was observing the Lord High Executioner, approaching us flanked by two henchmen. He was wearing a uniform more suited to musical comedy than to the field. Fierce moustaches, sunburn-pink complexion, service ribbons, and a swagger cane completed the effect.

            His henchmen were younger, not so fancy, fewer ribbons, and appeared to be sergeants. I could not read the officer's shoulder straps. A crown, I thought, but was there a pip beside it?

            He strode toward us and was ten meters from my door when Hilda said firmly, "That's close enough. Please tell the Governor General that Captain Burroughs has grounded as directed and awaits his pleasure."

            He stopped briefly and bellowed, "You were not directed to land here! You're supposed to be at the field! Customs, immigration, health inspection, visas, tourist cards, intelligence-"

            I saw Hilda squeeze Zeb's shoulder. 'Quiet!" Her voice came more loudly

from outside than from her despite Gay's soundproofing. Zeb reduced gain as she continued, "My good man, send one of your ratings to the Governor General to deliver my message. While we wait, state your name, rank, and regiment; I shall make formal report of your behavior."

            "Preeeposterous!"      -,

            "Behavior 'unbecoming an officer and a gentleman," Hilda said with gentle sweetness, "since you insist. While you won't tell your name, like a naughty boy, others know it. The Paymaster. The Governor General. Others." She squeezed Zeb's shoulder. "Deliver my message!"

            "I'm Colonel Brumby, Chief Constable of the Imperial Household, and not your messenger boy! Open up! I'm going to parade you before the Governor General-under arrest!"

            Hilda said quietly to Zeb, "Seven"-allowed the Chief Constable to stride two more steps before saying, "STOP!"

            My ears hurt.

            All three stopped. The old fool braced himself and started again. Hilda must have poked Zeb; he answered with thumbs-up. "Back to normal volume but be ready with that earthquake."

            He nodded; she went on, "Leftenant Colonel, is it not? I don't see that extra pip. Leftenant Colonel, I warn you for your own safety not to come closer."

He did not answer, kept coming, took his cane from under his arm. His sergeants followed-slowly, at a respectful distance. Hilda let him reach my door-I could see a network of broken veins on his nose-and for the second time in two days someone started to pound on Gay's door. He raised his cane- "Stop that!"

            I was deafened. The Chief Constable was missing. The sergeants were a long way back. They stopped running, turned and faced us. I looked down through my door's port, saw a pair of legs and a swagger cane-inferred a torso.

            I turned my head, saw that Zeb had his thumb up. "Captain," he said, "I disobeyed you."

            "How, Zebbie?"

            "I gave him an eight; I wasn't sure his heart could take a ten. He looks like an old bottle-a-day man."

            "An eight may have been too much," I commented. "He's on the ground. Dead, maybe."

            "Oh, I hope not!"

            "Unlikely, Captain," Zeb told her. "Shall I tell his noncoms to come get him?"

            "I'll tell them, Zebbie. Normal level." Hilda waited until he signalled, then called out, "Sergeants! Colonel Brumby needs help. There will be no more loud noises."

            The sergeants hesitated, then hurried. Shortly they were dragging him away. Presently he came to life, fought them off-sent one chasing back for his cane. The man caught my eye-and winked. I concluded that Brumby was not popular.

            There was now a man standing on the entrance stairs. (Perhaps there had been people nearby earlier-but not after the noise started.) Imperial House had its ground floor with no doors on the front side. The first floor was the main floor and was reached by wide, sweeping stairs. The man near the top was small, dapper, dressed in mufti. As Brumby reached him, Brumby saluted, stopped, and they talked. Brumby's ramrod stiffness spoke for itself.

            Shortly the smaller man trotted down the long steps, moved quickly toward us, stopped about thirty meters away, and called out, "In the landing craft! Is it safe to come closer?"

            "Certainly," agreed Hilda.

            "Thank you, Ma'am." He approached, talking as he walked. "I dare say we should introduce ourselves. I'm Lieutenant General Smythe-Carstairs, the Governor hereabouts. I take it you are Captain Burroughs?"

            "That is correct, Excellency."

            "Thank you. Although I can't tell, really, to whom I am speaking. Awkward, is it not, chatting via an announcing system? An open door would be pleasanter, don't you think? More friendly."

            "You are right, Excellency. But the Russians gave us so unpleasant, so dangerous, a reception that I am nervous."

            "Those bounders. They have been making a bit of fuss over you, on the wireless. That was how I recognized your craft-smaller than they claimed but an accurate description-for a Russian. But surely you don't think that we British wear our shirt tails out? You will receive decent treatment here."

            "That is pleasing to hear, Excellency. I was tempted to leave. That policeman chap is most unpleasant."

            "Sorry about that. Sheer mischance that he was first to greet you. Important as this colony is to the Empire, no doubt you have heard that being posted to it is not welcome to some. Not my own case, I asked for it. But some ranks and ratings. Now let's have that door open, shall we? I dislike to insist but I am in charge here."

            Hilda looked thoughtful. "Governor General, I can either open the doors or leave. I prefer to stay. But the shocking treatment by the Russians followed by the totally unexpected behavior of your chief constable causes me to worry. I need a guarantee that our party will be permitted to remain together at all times, and a written safe-conduct for us, signed and sealed by you on behalf of H.I.M."

            "My dear Captain, a captain does not bargain with one who stands in place of and holds the authority of His Imperial Majesty. As a man, and you being a delightful lady, I would be happy to bargain with you endlessly just for the pleasure of your company. But I can't."

            "I was not bargaining, Excellency; I was hoping for a boon. Since you will not grant it, I must leave at once."

            He shook his head. "I cannot permit you to leave as yet."

            "Gay Bounce. Zebbie, will you try to reach that nice Mr. Bean?"

            Zeb had him shortly. 'Leftenant Bean heah."

            "Captain Burroughs, Leftenant. Our radio chopped off while you were talk-

ing. No harm done; the important part got through. We grounded where you told us to, due south of Imperial House."

            "So that's what happened? I must admit to feeling relieved."

            "Is your post of duty in Imperial House?"

            "Yes, Ma'am. On it, rather. We have a small housing on the roof"

            "Good. I have a message for the Governor General. Will you record?"

            "Oh, certainly."

            "This is Hilda Burroughs speaking, Master of Spacecraft Gay Deceiver out of Snug Harbor. I am sorry that I had to leave without saying good-bye. But your last statement forced me to take measures to protect my craft and crew." My darling Hilda cut the mike. "Zebbie, when you have air, glide away from the city." She continued, "In a small way my responsibilities parallel yours; I cannot bargain concerning the safety of my crew and my craft. I hope that you will reconsider, as I have no stomach for dealing with the Russians-even though they have more to offer us in exchange. I still ask for safe-conduct but now must ask for a still third item in such a document: that all four of us be allowed to leave at will. You have my name. My second-in-command is Doctor D. T. Burroughs Carter, my chief pilot is Doctor Z. J. Carter, my copilot is Doctor Jacob Burroughs. You will have noticed surnames. Doctor Jacob is my husband; the other two are our daughter and her husband. I am Doctor Hilda Corners but I am much prouder of being Mrs. Jacob Burroughs-although at present I must use 'Captain Hilda Burroughs' since I am commanding. Sir, while dictating this I have made a decision. I will not make a second attempt to negotiate with Russians. We will wait thirty minutes in the warm hope of hearing from you.. . then return to Earth, report to our own government, send a detailed complaint to the Tsar of All the Russias, and make a formal report of our attempt here to His Imperial Majesty. Signed Respectfully yours, H. C. Burroughs, Commanding. Leftenant, what are the full names and titles of the Governor General?"

            "Ah, His Excellency Lieutenant General the Right Honourable Herbert Evelyn James Smythe-Carstairs, KG., V.C., C.B.E., Governor General of the Imperial Realms Beyond the Sky."

            "Preface it formally, please, and I will wait until oh-nine-hundred hours Greenwich time or thirty-six minutes from now. Mark!"

            "I will add the heading, Captain, and deliver it by hand."

            After Hilda signed off she said, "I'm going to try to sleep thirty of those thirty-six minutes. Can anyone think of a program that will let all of us nap? This contact is more tiring than I had expected. Jacob, Deety, Zeb-don't all speak at once."

            "I can, my dear," I answered.

            "Yes, Jacob?"

            "Gay Termite."

            To my mild surprise it was night at our creek bank. To my pleasure my first attempt to maneuver by voice was smoothly successful. My daughter's ingenuity in constructing voiced programs had left me little to do. While I did not resent it (I'm proud of Deety), nevertheless while sitting as copilot, I

sometimes wondered whether anyone remembered that it was my brainchild that moved this chariot. Ah, vanity!

            To my greater pleasure Hilda clapped her hands and looked delighted. "Jacob! How clever of you! How stupid of me! All right, everyone off duty for a half hour 'cept the rule about always two and always a rifle. Gay, alert us in thirty minutes. And please unlock the bulkhead door."

            "Aunt Hillbilly, are you going to sleep back there?"

            "I had thought of stretching out and inviting Jacob to join me. But the space belongs to you and Zebbie; I was thoughtless."

            "We aren't going to sleep. But we had better drag those rifles out of that sack or you won't sleep. I want to empty the oubliette and stow that pesky plastic potty under the cushion of my seat. Durned if I'll use it when I have the whole outdoors at hand."

            "Most certainly-but stay inside Gay's lights-and do please remind me before we leave. Deety, I've so much on my mind that I forget housekeeping details."

            "Hillbilly, you're doing swell. I'll handle housekeeping; you worry about the big picture."

            Hilda cuddled up to me in the after compartment and my nerves began to relax. Would the Governor General relent? Where would we go next? We had a myriad universes to choose from, a myriad myriad planets-but only one was home and we didn't dare go there. What about juice for Zeb's car and a thousand other things? Perhaps we should risk Earth-without-a-J. What about the time bomb, ticking away in my darling's belly?

            Hilda sniffed into my shoulder. I patted her head. "Relax, dearest."

            "I can't. Jacob, I don't like this job. I snap at you, you argue with me, we both get upset. It's not good for us-we never behaved this way at Snug Harbor."

            "Then give it up."

            "I'm going to. After I finish the job I started. Jacob, when we lift from this planet, you will be captain."

            "Oh, no! Zeb." (Hilda my only love, you should turn it over to him now.)

            "Zebbie won't take it. It's you or Deety, Jacob. If Deety is our next captain, you will back-seat drive even more than you have with me. No, Jacob, you must be captain before Deety is, so that you will understand what she is up against."

            I felt that I had been scolded enough. I started to tell Hilda when that pejorative epithet played back in my mind: "-back-seat drive-"

            I trust that I am honest with myself. I know that I am not very sociable and I expect to go on being so; a man capable of creative work has no time to spare for fools who would like to visit. But a "back-seat driver"?

            Some facts: Jane learned to drive before I did-her father's duo. Our first car, a roadable, coincided with her pregnancy; I got instruction so that I could drive for Jane. She resumed driving - after Deety was born but when both of us were in the car, I always drove. She drove with me as passenger once or twice before the custom became established-but she never complained that I had been back-seat driving.

            But Jane never complained.

            Deety laid it on the line. I don't know who taught Deety to drive but I recall that she was driving, on roads as well as in the air, when she was twelve or thirteen. She had no occasion to drive for me until Jane's illness. There was a time after we lost Jane that Deety often drove for me. After a while we alternated. Then came a day when she was driving and I pointed out that her H-above-G was, oh, some figure less than a thousand meters, with a town ahead.

            She said, "Thanks, Pop"-and grounded at that town, an unplanned stop. She switched off, got out, walked around and said, "Shove over, Pop. From now on, I'll enjoy the scenery while you herd us through the sky."

            I didn't shove over, so Deety got into the back seat. Deety gets her stubbornness from both parents. Jane's was covered with marshmallow that concealed chrome steel; mine is covered with a coat of sullen anger if frustrated. But Deety's stubbornness isn't concealed. She has a sweet disposition but Torquemada could not force Deety to do that which she decided against.

            For four hours we ignored each other. Then I turned around (intending to start an argument, I suppose-I was in the mood for one)-and Deety was asleep, curled up in the back seat.

            I wrote a note, stuck it to the wind screen, left the keys, got quietly out, made sure all doors were locked, hired another car and drove home-by air; I was too angry to risk roading.

            Instead of going straight home I went to the Commons to eat, and found Deety already eating. So I took my tray and joined her. She looked up, smiled, and greeted me: "Hello, Pop! How nice we ran into each other!" She opened her purse. "Here are your keys."

            I took them. "Where is our car?"

            "Your car, Pop. Where you left it."

            "I left it?"

            "You had the keys; you were in the front seat; you hold title. You left a passenger asleep in the back seat. Good thing she's over eighteen, isn't it?" She added, "There is an Opel duo I have my eye on. Tried it once; it's in good shape."

            "We don't need two cars!"

            "A matter of taste. Yours. And mine."

            "We can't afford two cars."

            "How would you know, Pop? I handle the money."

            She did not buy the Opel. But she never again drove when we both were in our car.

            Three data are not a statistical universe. But it appears that the three women I have loved most all consider me to be a back-seat driver. Jane never said so. . . but I realize today that she agreed with Deety andHilda.

            I don't consider myself to be a back-seat driver! I don't yell "Look out!" or "Watch what you're doing!" But four eyes are better than two: Should not a passenger offer, simply as data, something the driver may not have seen? Criticism? Constructive criticism only and most sparingly and only to close friends

            But I try to be self-honest; my opinion is not important in this. I must

convince Hilda and Deety, by deeds, not words. Long habit is not changed by mere good resolution; I must keep the matter at the top of my mind.

            There was banging at the bulkhead; I realized that I had been asleep. The door opened a crack. "Lift in five minutes."

            "Okay, Deety," Hilda answered. "Nice nap, beloved?"

            "Yes indeed. Did you?"

            As we crawled out, Deety said, "Starboard door is open; Pop's rifle is leaning against it, locked. Captain, you asked to be reminded. Shall I take the conn?"

            "Yes, thank you."

            We lost no time as Deety used two preprograms: Bingo Windsor, plus Gay Bounce. Zeb had the communication watch officer almost at once. "-very well. I will see if the Captain will take the message. No over. Hold."

            Zeb looked around, ostentatiously counted ten seconds, then pointed at Hilda.

            "Captain Burroughs speaking. Leftenant Bean?"

            "Yes, yes! Oh, my word, I've been trying to reach you the past twenty minutes."

            "It is still a few seconds short of the time I gave you."

            'Nevertheless I am enormously relieved to hear your voice, Captain. I have a message from the Governor General. Are you ready to record?"

            Zeb nodded; Hilda answered Yes; the lieutenant continued: "From the Governor General to H. C. Burroughs, Master Gay Deceiver.' Hurry home, the children are crying. We all miss you. The fatted calf is turning on the spit. That document is signed and sealed, including the additional clause. Signed:

"Bertie" Captain, that is the Governor's way of signing a message to an intimate friend. A signal honor, if I may say so."

            "Gracious of him. Please tell the Governor General that I am ready to ground and will do so as soon as you tell me that the spot in which we were parked-the exact spot-is free of any obstruction whatever."

            Bean was back in about three minutes saying that our spot was clear and would be kept so. Hilda nodded to Deety, who said, "Gay Parade Ground."

            I had a flash of buildings fairly close, then we were back in the sky. Hilda snapped, "Chief Pilot, get Leftenant Bean!"

            Then-"Mr. Bean! Our spot was not clear."

            "It is now, Captain; I have just come from the parapet. The Governor's poodle got loose and ran out. The Governor chased him and brought him back. Could that have been it?"

            "It decidedly was it. You may tell the Governor-privately-that never in battle has he been so close to death. Astrogator, take her down!"

            "GayParadeGround!"

            Bean must have heard the gasp, then cheers, while Hilda's words were still echoing in his radio shack. We were exactly as before, save that the wide, showy steps to the King-Emperor's residence on Mars were jammed with people: officers, soldiers, civil servants with that slightly dusty look, women with children, and a few dogs, all under restraint.

            I didn't spot the Right Honourable "Bertie" until he moved toward us. He was no longer in mufti but in what I could call "service dress" or "undress"-

not a dress uniform-but dressy. Ribbons, piping, wound stripes, etc.-sword when appropriate. Since he was not wearing sword I interpreted our status as "honored guests" rather than "official visitors"-he was ready to jump either way.

            He had his wife on his arm-another smart move, our captain being female. His aide (?-left shoulder "chicken guts" but possibly a unit decoration) was with him, too-no one else. The crowd stayed back.

            Hilda said, "Chief Pilot-" then pointed to the mikes, drew her finger across her throat. Zeb said, "Outside audio is cold, Cap'n."

            "Thank you, Gay, lock the bulkhead door, open your doors."

            I jumped down and handed Hilda out, offered her my arm, while Zeb was doing the same with Deety portside. We met, four abreast at Gay's nose, continued moving forward a few paces and halted facing the Governor's party as they halted. It looked rehearsed but we had not even discussed it. This placed our ladies between us, with my tiny darling standing tall, opposite the Governor.

            The aide boomed, "His Excellency Governor General the Lieutenant General the Right Honourable Herbert Evelyn James Smythe-Carstairs and Lady Herbert Evelyn James!"

            The Governor grinned. "Dreadful," he said quietly, "but worse with ruffles, flourishes, and the Viceroy's March-I spared you that." He raised his voice, did not shout but it projected-and saluted Hilda. "Captain Burroughs! We bid you welcome!"

            Hilda bowed, returning the salute. "Excellency. . . Lady Herbert. . . thank you! We are happy to be here."

            Lady Herbert smiled at being included, and bobbed about two centimeters- a minimum curtsy, I suppose, but can't swear to it, as she was swathed in one of those dreadful garden-party-formal things-big hat, long skirt, long gloves. Hilda answered with a smile and a minimum bow.

            "Permit me to present my companions," Hilda continued. "My family and also my crew. On my left my astrogator and second-in-command, our daughter Doctor D. T. Burroughs Carter, and on her left is her husband our son-in-law, my chief pilot, Doctor Zebadiah John Carter, Captain U.S. Aerospace Reserve." Deety dropped a curtsy as her name was mentioned, a 6-cm job, with spine straight. Zeb acknowledged his name with a slight bow.

            Hilda turned her head and shoulders toward me. "It gives me more pride than I can express," she sang, her eyes and mouth smiling, her whole being speaking such serene happiness that it made me choke up, "to present our copilot, my husband Doctor Jacob Jeremiah Burroughs, Colonel of Ordnance

A.U.S,"

            The Governor stepped forward quickly and held out his hand. "DoctoF, we are honored!" His handshake was firm.

            I returned it in kind, saying in a nonprojecting voice, "Hilda should not have done that to me. Off campus, I'm 'Mister' to strangers and 'Jake' to my friends."

            "I'm Bertie, Jake," he answered in his intimate voice, "other than on oc

casions when I can't avoid that string of goods wagons. Or I'll call you 'Doctor."

            "You do and it's fifty lines." That made him laugh again.

            "And I'm Betty, Jake," Lady Herbert said, in closing in. "Captain Burroughs, may I call you 'Hilda'?" (Was that a hiccup?)

            "Call her 'Doctor," I suggested. "She told on the rest of us. How many doctorates do you hold, dear? Seven? Or eight?"

            "After the first one, it no longer matters. Of course I'm 'Hilda,' Betty. But, Bertie, we have yet to meet the Brigadier."

            I glanced at the tabs of the officer with the aiguillette and booming voice. Yes, A crown inboard and three pips- But when had Hilda learned British insignia? Many Americans can't read their own. I am ceasing to be surprised at how many facts can be stuffed into so small a space.

            "Sorry. Friends, this is Brigadier Iver Hird-Jones. Squeaky finds things I lose and remembers things I forget."

            "Ladies. Gentlemen. Charmed. Here is something you told me to remember, General." The Brigadier handed a sealed envelope to his boss.

            "Ah, yes!" Smythe-Carstairs handed it to my wife. "The Keys to the City, Ma'am. Phrased as you specified, each of you nathed, and that third factor included. Signed by me for the Sovereign and carrying the Imperial seal."

            "Your Excellency is most gracious," Hilda said formally, and turned toward Deety. "Astrogator."

            "Aye, Captain." Deety placed it in her purse.

            Our host looked surprised. "Jake, doesn't your wife have normal curiosity? She seems to have forgot my name, too."

            Hilda protested, "I haven't forgotten your name, Bertie. It's an official matter; I treated it formally. I shall read it when I have leisure to open that envelope without damaging the flap seal. To you this is one of thousands of papers; to me it is a once-in-a-lifetime souvenir. If I sound impressed, it's because I am."

            Lady Herbert said, "Don't flatter him, my deah." (Yes, she had had a couple.) "You'll turn his head, quite." She added, "Bertie, you're causing our guests to stand when we could be inside, sitting down."

            "You're right, m'dear." Bertie looked longingly at Zeb's car.

            Hilda played a trump. "Care to look inside, Bertie? Betty, you can sit down here; the captain's chair is comfortable. Will you do me the honor? Someday I'll tell my grandchildren that Lady Herbert sat in that very seat."

            "What a charming thought!"

            Hilda tried to catch my eye but I was a jump ahead of her, handing Lady Herbert in, making certain that she didn't miss the step, getting her turned around, making sure that she didn't sit down on belts. "If we were about to lift," I told her, while fastening the seat belt loosely (first, moving the buckle- she's Hilda's height but my thickness), "this safety belt would be fastened firmly."

            "Oh, I wouldn't dare!"

            "Gangway, Pop! Another customer." I got out of the way, and Deety installed Brigadier Hird-Jones in her seat. Deety said, "Pop, if you'll put the Governor

in your seat, Zebadiah will take his own and give his two-hour lecture on the care and feeding of spacecraft, while you and I and Hilda hang in the doorways and correct his errors."

            "I'm only up to chapter four," Zeb said defensively. "Jake, make her quit picking on me."

            "You're her husband; I'm merely her father. Bertie, I must ask one thing. Don't touch anything. This car is not shut down; it is ready to go, instantly."

            "I'll be careful, Jake. But we're leaving the ladies standing. The Captain herself! This is not right."

            Deety said, "Bertie, I don't want to sit down. This trip doesn't give me nearly the exercise I need."

            "But I can't permit Captain Hilda to stand. Sit here and I'll stand." (I appreciated his gallantry but I could see an impasse coming: two people, each aware of her/his prerogatives and they conflicted.)

            Hilda avoided it by something she had discovered in working out how to rig a double bed in the control compartment. Although pilots have separate seats, the passenger's seats are really one, built all the way across but separated by armrests. . . which could be removed with screwdriver and sweat.

            I had eliminated sweat and screwdriver; a natural mechanic, such as Zeb, accumulates miscellaneous hardware. Those armrests could now be removed and clamped out of the way with butterfly nuts. Hilda started to do so; the Brigadier dismounted them once he saw what she was doing.

            It was a snug fit, but Hird-Jones has trim hips and Hilda has the slimmest bottom in town (any town).

            "An important feature," said Zeb, "of this design is a voice-controlled autopilot-"

XXVII

"Are you open to a bribe?"

            Deety:

            Zebadiah, for seventeen dull minutes, said nothing and said it very well. During that plethora of polysyllabic nullities, I was beginning to think that I would have to take Pop to a quiet spot and reason with him with a club- when Captain Auntie showed that she needed no help.

            Pop had interrupted with: "Let me put it simply. What Zeb said is-"

            "Copilot." Cap'n Hilda did not speak loudly but Pop should know that when she says "Copilot," she does not mean: "Jacob darling, this is your little wifey." Pop is a slow learner. But he can learn. Just drop an anvil on him.

            "Yes, Hilda?" Aunt Hilda let the seconds creep past, never took her eyes off Pop. I was embarrassed; Pop isn't usually that slow-then the anvil hit. "Yes, Captain?"

            "Please do not interrupt the Chief Pilot's presentation." Her tone was warm and sweet: I don't think our guests realized that Pop had just been courtmartialed, convicted, keelhauled, and restored to duty-on probation. But I knew it, Zeb knew it-Pop knew it. "Aye aye, Captain!"

            I concluded that Captain Auntie never intended to stand outside. She had told me to offer my seat to Squeaky and had added, "Why don't you suggest to your father that he offer his to the Governor?" I don't need an anvil.

            It was a foregone conclusion that Bertie would object to ladies having to stand while he sat. But if he had not, I feel certain that the Hillbilly would have held up proceedings until she was seated where she could watch everyone but our visitors could not watch her.

            How tall was Machiavelli?

            As they were climbing out the Brigadier was telling me that he understood how she was controlled-but how did she flap her wings?-and I answered that technical questions were best put to the Captain-I was unsurprised to hear Cap'n Auntie say, "Certainly, Bertie. . . if you don't mind being squeezed between Deety and me."

            "Mind'? I should pay for the privilege!"

            "Certainly you should," I agreed-the Hillbilly's eyes widened but she let me talk. "What am I offered to scrunch over?" I slapped myself where I'm widest. "Squeaky is a snake's hips-not me!"

            "Are you open to a bribe?"

            "How big a bribe?"

            "A purse of gold and half the county? Or cream tarts at tea?"

            "Oh, much more! A bath. A bath in a tub, with loads of hot water and lots of suds. The last time I bathed was in a stream and it was coooold !" I shivered for him.

            The Governor appeared to think. "Squeaky, do we have a bathtub?"

            Lady Herbert interrupted. "Bertie, I was thinking of the Princess Suite. My deah, since you are all one family, it popped into mind. Two bedrooms, two bathrooms, two bathtubs. The drawing room is gloomy, rather."

            I answered, "Bertie, you didn't talk fast enough; Betty gets the first ride."

            "Oh, no, no, no! I don't fly even in our own flying carriage."

            "Hahrooomph!" Squeaky boomed. "Are you still open to a bribe?"

            "You might try our captain; she's as corruptible as I am."

            Aunt Hilda picked it up. "Now that I've heard that two bathtubs go with the suite, my cup runneth over. But my husband and my son-in-law have matters to discuss with the Governor's technical staff. I don't have to be bribed to offer a few joy rides, Brigadier-one passenger at a time and, as Deety implies, not too wide a passenger." Aunt Hilda added, "Betty, I must confess my own weakness. Clothes. What I am wearing, for example. A Ferrara original. An exclusive-Mario himself created it for me. While it is intended for salt-water yachting, it is just as practical for space yachting-and I couldn't resist it. Do you have nice shops here?"

            Bertie answered for his wife. "Hilda, there are shops-but Windsor City is not London. However, Betty has a seamstress who is clever at copying styles from pictures in periodicals from home-old but new to us." He added, "She'll show you what we have. Now concerning this ride you so kindly offered me- does it suit you to give me an appointment?"

            "Is right now soon enough?"

            "Report readiness for space. Astrogator."

            "Ready!" I snapped, trying to sound efficient. "Belt tight."

            "Chief Pilot."

            "Belt fastened. Portside door locked, seal checked. Juice zero point sevenone. Wings subsonic full. Wheels down and locked. Car trimmed assuming passenger at six-six kilos."

            "General, is that your mass?"

"Dear me! I think in nrn]nds. Th~ f~thr is-"

            I interrupted. "I'll take it in pounds here or pounds London."

            "I weigh myself each morning and I have had the scale recalibrated. Eh, with these boots, one hundred forty-five pounds I dare say."

            "Correct to three significant figures, Zebadiah." (I did not mention that weight bearing on each wheel shows on the instrument board. Let Bertie think my husband a magician; he's a wizard to me.)

            "Thank you, Astrogator. Car is trimmed, Captain."

            "Copilot."

            "Belt fastened. Door seal checked. Continua device ready."

            "Passenger," said Cap'n Auntie.

            "Eh? What should a passenger report?"

            "Principally that your belt is secure, but I saw to that myself." (By using a web belt from our sleeping bag to link Hilda's seat belt to mine.) "I must ask one question," Aunt Hilda went on: "Are you subject to motion sickness? The Channel can be rough and so can the Straits of Dover. Did mal de mer ever hit you?"

            "Oh, I'll be right. Short flight and all that."

            "One Bonine, Deety. General, Admiral Lord Nelson was seasick all his life. My husband and I are susceptible; we took our pills earlier today. Deety and Zebbie are the horrid sort who eat greasy sandwiches during a typhoon and laugh at the dying-"

            "I don't laugh!" I protested.

            "But these pills enable us to laugh right back. Is this not so, Jacob?"

            "Bertie, they work; you'd be a fool not to take one."

            "I must add," Captain Auntie said sweetly, "that if you refuse, we will not lift."

            Bertie took it. I told him, "Chew it and swallow it; don't hide it in your cheek. Captain, I think that does it."

            "Except that we are crowded. General, would you be more comfortable if you put an arm around each of us?"

            The General did not refuse. It occurs to me that "take him for a ride" has several meanings. Captain Auntie has more twists than a belly dancer.

            "Routine has been broken. Confirm readiness, please." We reported while I snuggled into a firm male arm, realized that it was a pleasant contrast after getting used to my lovely giant.

            "Gay Bounce."

            Bertie gasped and tightened his arms around us. Aunt Hilda said quietly, "Astrogator, take the conn. Schedule as I discussed it. Don't hesitate to vary it. All of us-you, too, General-may suggest variations. This is a joy ride; let's enjoy it."

            But she had told me earlier: "If I don't like a suggestion, I will suggest that we do it later-but time will run out. The General told Lady Herbert:

            "I can go down to the end of the town

            "And be back in time for tea!"-so we will fetch him back on time. Sixteenfifteen local, four-fifteen pip emma. What's Greenwich?"

            I converted it (GMT 12:44) and told Captain Hillbilly that I would watch both board and the clock in my head but was ordered to nlace an alert with

Gay. If Aunt Hilda were a man, she would wear both suspenders and belt. No, that's wrong; for herself she's go-for-broke; for other people she is supercautious.

            We lifted at 15:30 local and took Bertie for a mixed ride-Aunt Hilda had told me that Pop was feeling left out. "Gay Bounce, Gay Bounce. Chief Pilot, place us over the big Russian city at about a thousand klicks."

            "Roger Wilco," my husband affirmed. "Copilot, one jump or two?"

            "One. Level? Keep 'er so. Six thousand thirty klicks, true bearing two-seventhree, offset L axis negative oh-seven-four-set!"-and I shuddered; Pop had set to take us through the planet!

            "Execute! Bertie, what is the name of that city?"

            "Eh? Zeb, I am quite bewildered!" Pop and Gay and Zebadiah, working together, displayed features simultaneously on the planet in front of us and on the sillyscope on the board. Pop bounced Gay around in ways I didn't know could be done. Zebadiah had Gay rotate the display so that the point on Marsten opposite us was always the center of the display with scale according to H-above-G.

            I learned a lot. The Russians claim the whole planet but their occupied area closely matches what we had bingo-mapped. Bertie pointed out a bit more Tsarist area; Gay changed the displayed locus to Zebadiah's interpretation of Bertie's information. Windsor City was zero Meridan for the British; Gay measured the arc to "Touchdown," adjusted her longitudes-and now could use any British Martian colonial map.

            Bertie assured us that Russian Ack-Ack could not shoot higher than three miles (less than five klicks) and seemed astonished that a spaceship might be considered dangerous. His explanation of spaceships was less than clear- great flimsy things that sailed from orbits around Earth to orbits around Mars, taking months for each voyage.

            I was watching the time. "Chief Pilot, we will sight-see with Bertie another day; I am taking the conn. Copilot."

            "Verniers zeroed and locked, Astrogator."

            "Thanks, Pop. Gay B'gout. Bertie, this is where we first grounded-where the Russians attacked us. That trash ahead is what is left of Colonel Morinosky's private flyer. Zebadiah was forced to retaliate."

            Bertie looked puzzled. "But the Russians have no settlement near here. I know that bounder Morinosky; he came to see me under diplomatic immunity. I had to be content with the sort of nasty remarks permitted by protocol. But how did Zeb burn the flyer?"

            "Beautifully. Gay Home. Chief Pilot, dive. Captain?"

            "I have the conn," Aunt Hilda acknowledged. "Bertie, that crater was our home three days ago. They tried to kill us, we fled for our lives."

            "Who!"

            "Gay Home, Gay Bounce. Pilots, may we have Earth-without-a-J?"

            "Set it, Jake."

            "Tau axis positive one quantum-set!"

            "Copilot, execute at will. Chief Pilot, dive again, please. Jacob, please set Bertie's home universe and hold. Bertie, that house is like Snug Harbor before

it was bombed-but one universe away. Zebbie, level glide please. . . Gay Bounce, Gay Bounce! Jacob, you have that setting?"

            "Tau positive ten quanta, set."

            "Execute at will. Bertie, what antiaircraft defense does London-your London-have?"

            "What, what? London has no defense against attack from above. The Concord of Brussels. But Hilda-my dear Captain-you are telling me that we have been to a different universe!"

            "Three universes, Bertie, and now we are back in your own. Better to show than to tell; it is a thing one believes only through experience. Gay Bounce. Zebbie, Jacob, see how quickly you can put us over London. Execute at will."

            "Roger Wilco. Jake, do you want Gay?"

            "Well-great-circle true bearing and chord distance, maybe. Or I can simply take her high and head northeast. The scenic route."

            Aunt Hilda caught my eye. "Camera ready, Deety?"

            "Yes. Three shots." I added, "Four more cartons, but when they're gone, they're gone."

            "Use your judgment."

            Suddenly we were in free fall over Arizona, then over the British Isles, then we were air supported, then we were diving and Zebadiah was shouting: "Tower of London, next stop!"

            I shot a beauty of the Tower and Zebadiah's right ear. "General, is there something you would like to photograph here? Or elsewhere?"

            He seemed almost too overcome to talk. He muttered, "There is a place about twenty miles north of here, a country estate. Is it possible?"

            Aunt Hilda said, "Take the conn, Deety."

            "Got it, Captain. Gay Bounce. Pop, Zebadiah, give me three minima north. Execute at will."

            Then I was saying, "Any landmarks, Bertie?"

            "Uh, not yet."

            "Pop, may we have the binoculars?"

            Pop handed them aft; I gave them to Bertie. He adjusted them and searched while Zebadiah made a wide sweep, spending altitude stingily. Bertie said, "There!"

            "Where?" I said. "And what?"

            "A large house, to the right of our course. Ah, now dead ahead!"

            I saw it-a "Stately Home of England." Lawns you make with a flock of sheep and four centuries. "This it?" asked Zebadiah. "I'm steady on it by gunsight,"

            "That's it, sir! Deety, I would like a picture."

            "Do my best."

            "Alert," said Gay. "Memo for General Smythe-Carstairs: 'I can go down to the end of the town and be back in time for tea."

            "Aunt Hilda, Bertie, I left some leeway. Picture! Zebadiah, take it as close as you dare, then bounce, but warn me. I want a closeup."

            "Now, Deety!" I hit it and Zebadiah bounced us.

            Bertie let out a sigh. "My home. I never expected to see it again."

            "I knew it was your home," Aunt Hilda said softly, "because you looked the way we feel when we see the crater where Snug Harbor used to be. But you will see it again, surely? How long is a tour of duty on Mars?"

            "It's a matter of health." Bertie added, "Lady Her- Betty's health."

            Pop turned his head. "Bertie, we can bounce and do it again. What's a few minutes late for tea compared with seeing your old homestead?"

            "Bertie's not late yet, Pop. We can do even better. That lawn is smooth and the open part is about half the size of the pg. at Imperial House. Bertie, we can ground."

            My husband added, "I could make a glide grounding. But Deety has worked out a better method."

            "No," Bertie said brusquely. "Thanks, Deety. Thanks to all of you. Jake. Zeb. Captain Hilda. I'll treasure this day. But enough is enough." Tears were running down his cheeks, ignored.

            Aunt Hilda took a Kleenex from her purse, dabbed away his tears. She put her left hand back of Bertie's neck, pulled his face down to hers, and kissed him. She didn't look to see if Pop was watching-he was-she just did it.

            Pop said, "Deety, will you hand me the binox?"

            "Sure, Pop. See something?"

            "I'm going to see what I can of Merrie Old England, as I don't expect to see it again, either. Family, we are not going back to Snug Harbor again; it's not good for us. Meanwhile Zeb will drive and you two are to soothe our guest and make him feel better-"

            "But remember to wipe off the lipstick."

            "Pipe down, Zeb. You aren't observant; neither of our darlings is wearing any. Being late is not important; 'The party can't start till the Macgregor arrives.' But once Bertie's there, he's on parade-and the Governor must not appear with eyes swollen and tear marks on his collar. We must return him in as good shape as we got him."

            Sometimes I love Pop more than most.

            And my husband, too.

            I used both hands but didn't need to; Bertie wasn't trying to get away. The second time he kissed Hilda, he supplied the hands. Therapy took three minutes and forty-one seconds, and I am certain that, by the end of two hundred twenty-one seconds, Bertie was no longer homesick, not grieving about mighthave-beens; his morale was tiptop. The last time he kissed me, he informed me without words that I should not be alone with him unless my intentions were serious.

            I made mental note. And a second to ask Hilda if she had received the same warning. Then I struck out the second note. I was certain and equally certain that she would fib if it suited her.

            But I look forward to the day the Hillbilly asks me to jigger for her. That will be my final promotion-no longer Jane's little girl in Hilda's eyes but Jane's equal, trusted as utterly as she trusted Jane. And I will be rid of the last trace of the shameful jealousy I have for my beloved Mama Jane.

            I checked myself in my purse mirror while I waited for them to break- checked both of them and decided that they had no milk on their chins. Bertie said, "Deety, could I possibly have one of those pictures as a remembrance of this perfect day?"

            "Certainly. Gay Parade Ground. All three are yours;~we took them for you." We were exactly on time.

            Three hours later I was sitting teat deep in a wonderful tub of hot soapy water, a tub big enough to drown in but I wasn't going to drown because the Hillbilly was sitting shoulder deep, facing me. We were reliving our day as well as getting beautiful for dinner. Well. . . sanitary.

            Hilda said, "Deety, I tell you three times. Betty is suffering from an ailment made more endurable by Martian conditions."

            "Meaning that in point thirty-eight gee she doesn't hit hard when she falls down. What was in that teapot no one else touched? Chanel Number Five?"

            "Medicine. Prescribed for her nerves."

            "Got it. Official. She's friendly as a puppy, she's generous, she's our hostess- I ought to know better. It's a shame that she has this ailment but she's fortunate in having a husband who loves her so dearly that he left home forever so that she can live in lower gravity. Bertie is quite a man."

            "There is nothing for him at home. His older brother has sons; title and estate can't go to Bertie. He can't go much higher in the army, and a governor general is senior to anybody; he embodies the Sovereign."

            "I thought that was limited to viceroys."

            "Squeaky put me straight on it. Bertie is viceroy in dealing with Russians. But- Did you notice the uniforms on the maids?"

            "I noticed the cream tarts more. White aprons, white caps, simple print dresses, dark blue or black with Indian arrowheads."

            "The Broad Arrow, Deety."

            "Huh? No sabbe, pliz."

            "In this universe Australia belongs to the Dutch. Brace yourself, dear. This is a prison colony."

            Every so often the world wobbles and I have to wait for it to steady down. Somewhat later I said, "A colony could be better than a prison. I can't see Bertie as a tyrant. Bertie is quite a man. When-"

            Hilda reached out, grabbed a chain, flushed the W.C., then leaned toward me. That fixture was a noisy type that went on gurgling and gasping for a long time. "Remember what Zebbie told us when he crowded us into the other bath and turned on everything? One must assume that guest quarters in any government building anywhere are wired. Careful what you say, dear."

            "He also said that he had no reason to assume that it was the case here."

            "But Zebbie was the one who insisted on a conference in Gay. . . with Jacob being mulish and you yourself seeing no reason not to confer up here." Aunt Hilda again pulled the chain. "Yes, Bertie is quite a man. Don't leave me alone with him."

            "Or should I jigger instead?"

            "Naughty Deety. My sweet, a bride should refrain at least twelve months out of respect for her husband and to prove that she can."

            "After that it's okay?"

            "Of course not! It's immoral, disgraceful, and scandalous." Suddenly she giggled, put arms around my neck, and whispered: "But if I ever need a jigger, Deety is the only person I would trust."

            That conference, immediately after tea, had caused a crisis, brought on by our husbands in concert-but out of tune. The tea had been fun-cream tarts and new men appeal to my basest instincts. A tea qua tea should be over in an hour. We had been there over an hour, which I ignored because I was having fun. Aunt Hilda broke the ring around me, said softly, "We're leaving." So we smiled and said good-bye, found our host, and thanked him.

            "Our pleasure," Bertie said. "Lady Herbert became indisposed and wishes to be forgiven but will see you at dinner. Hird-Jones tells me that black tie is no problem. Right?"

            He added to let Squeaky know when we wanted help in moving; Hilda assured him that Squeaky had it in hand and the suite was beautiful!

            As we left I asked, "Where is Zebadiah?"

            "Waiting at the outer steps. He asked me for a conference. I don't know why, but Zebbie would not unnecessarily interrupt a social event to ask for a closed conference."

            "Why didn't we go to our suite? And where is Pop?"

            "Zebbie specified the car-more private. Jacob is inside, talking with some men. He brushed off my telling him that we were going to the car now-said he would see us later. Deety, I can't enforce orders as captain under those conditions."

            "Pop is hard to move when he gets into a discussion. I've yawned through some deadly ones. But how can we have a conference until he shows up?"

            "I don't know, dear. Here's Zebbie."

            My husband pecked me on the nose and said, "Where's Jake?"

            Hilda answered, "He told me that he would be along later." Zebadiah started to curse; Aunt Hilda cut him off. "Chief Pilot."

            "Uh- Yes, Captain."

            "Go find the Copilot, tell him that we lift in five minutes. Having told him that and no more, turn and leave at once. Don't give him any opportunity to ask questions. Come straight to the car."

            "Aye aye, Captain."

            "Come, Deety." Hilda hurried to Gay Deceiver, went to her seat, started to belt, She glanced at me. "Astrogator, prepare for space."

            I started to ask why-but instead said, "Aye aye, Captain," and quickly was belted. "Captain, may I inquire your plans?"

            "Certainly, you're second-in-command. And Astrogator; however, I will take the conn on lifting."

            "Then we really are lifting?"

            "Yes. Five minutes after Zebbie returns. That gives Jacob five minutes to make up his mind. Then we lift. If Jacob is aboard, he'll be with us."

            "Aunt Hilda, you would abandon my father on this planet?!"

            "No, Deety. Jacob will probably never notice that the car has been away as it should not be gone more than a few minutes. If Jacob does not come with us, I will ask Zebbie to drop me on Earth-without-a-J. Range-finder and target method; I don't want to use Zebbie's precious juice."

            "Aunt Hilda, you sound desperate."

            "I am, dear." She added, "Here comes Zebbie."

            Zebadiah climbed in. "Message delivered, Captain."

            "Thank you, Chief Pilot. Prepare for space."

            "Roger Wilco."

            "Will you check the seal of the starboard door, please?"

            "Aye aye, Captain."

            "Report readiness for space, Astrogator."

            "Belt tight, ready for space. Oh, Aunt Hilda!"

            "Astrogator, pipe down. Chief Pilot."

            "Both doors locked, seals checked. Seat belt tight. Power packs, two zeroed, two in reserve. Juice oh-point-seven-one-minus. All systems go. Copilot missing. Ready for space."

            "Captain's seat belt tight, ready for space. Gay Deceiver."

            "Howdy, Hilda!"

            "Please display five-minute countdown. Paraphrase acknowledge."

            "Three hundred seconds backwards in lights."

            "Execute."

            Have you ever listened to three hundred seconds of silence? Neither have I-two hundred eighty-one when Pop pounded on the door.

            Aunt Hilda said, "Gay Deceiver, ope'n starboard door."

            Pop climbed in, indignant as an offended cat. "What the hell goes on?"

            "Copilot, prepare for space."

            "What? Now, Hilda, that is going too far!"

            "Copilot, either secure for space or get out and stand clear. Chief Pilot, see that my orders are carried out."

            "Aye aye, Captain! Copilot, you've got zero seconds to make up your mind." My husband started to unstrap.

            Pop looked at Zebadiah, looked at us. I was doing my frozen face to keep from crying and I think Aunt Hilda was, too.

            Pop hastily fastened his belt. "You're a pack of idiots-" He was checking the door seal. "-but I won't be left behind."

            "Copilot, report."

            "Huh? Ready for space."

            Hilda said, "Gay Termite. Gay Deceiver, open your doors."

            "Well, for the love of-"

            "Pipe down! Chief Pilot, I have no stomach for charging my husband with

mutiny but that is what I have been faced with repeatedly. Will you grant me the boon of resuming command to drop me on Earth-without-a-J? I would rather not have to stay on Mars."

            "Hilda!"

            "I'm sorry, Jacob. I've tried. I'm not up to it. I'm not Jane."

            "No one expects you to be Jane! But ever since you became captain, you've been throwing your weight around. Like calling this stunt in the middle of a party. Insulting our host and hostess-"

            "Hold it, Jake!"

            "What? See here, Zeb, I'm talking to my wife! You keep-"

            "I said 'Hold it.' Shut up or I'll shut you up."

            "Don't you threaten me!"

            "That's not a threat; that's a warning."

            "Pop, you had better believe him! I'm not on your side."

            Pop took a deep breath. "What do you have to say for yourself, Carter?"

            "Nothing, for myself. But you've got your data wrong six ways. One: Captain Hilda did not call this so-called 'stunt.' I did."

            "You did? What the devil caused you to do a thing like that?"

            "Irrelevant. I convinced the Captain that the matter was urgent, so she gathered us in. All but you-you told her not to bother you or words to that effect. But she gave you another chance-you didn't deserve it; you had long since used up your quota. But she did. She sent me back to tell you we were lifting. It finally penetrated your skull that we might lift without you-"

            "To this place!"

            "If you had been twenty seconds later, we would have translated to anothe universe. But this nonsense about 'Insulting our host and hostess-' You:

hostess left the tea long before you did; your host left immediately after Hild~ and Deety, leaving his aide-the Brigadier-to close shop. But you are 5( damned self-centered you never noticed. Jake, don't you lecture me on propei behavior as a guest. The first time I laid eyes on you, you were trying to star a fight in Sharpie's ballroom-"

            "Huh? But I was fully justi-"

            "Dreck. No one is ever justified in starting a fight under a host's roof. Th very most that can be justified under extreme provocation is to tell the othei party privately that you are ready to meet him at another time and place. Jake, I don't enjoy teaching manners to my senior. But your parents neglected you, so I must. If I offend you-if you feel entitled to call me out, I will accommodate you at any other time and place."

            Aunt Hilda gasped. "Zebbie! No!" I gasped something like it. My husband patted our hands-together; Hilda was gripping mine. "Don't worry, dears. I didn't call Jake out and won't. I don't want to hurt Jake. He's your husband. . . your father. . . my blood brother by spilled blood. But I had to chew him out; he's now entitled to a crack at me. With words, with hands, with whatever. Sharpie, Deety, you can't refuse Jake his rights. No matter what, he still has rights."

            Pop said, "Zeb, I am not going to call you out. If you think I am afraid of you, you're welcome. If you think it's because I know you love both Hilda and Deety, you would be closer. A fight between us would endanger their welfare. As you said, we are blood brothers." Pop's tone suddenly changed. "But doesn't mean I like your behavior, you arrogant punk!" -

            Zebadiah grinned. "Nob contendere, Pop."

            "So you admit it?"

            "You know Latin better than that, Jake. Means I'm satisfied to let it lie. We can't afford to quarrel."

            "Mmm- A point well taken. Stipulating that I did not come at once when summoned, and tabling, if you will, until later whether or not I had reason, may I now ask why I was summoned? The nature of this problem that caused you to call this conference?"

            "Jake, the situation has changed so rapidly that the matter no longer has priority. You heard Sharpie's plans."

            My husband looked into Aunt Hilda's eyes. "Captain, I'll be honored to drive you wherever you want to go. Drop you wherever you say. With your choice of equipment and wampum. But with a mail drop, I hope. Are you ready to leave?"

            "Yes, Captain."

            "Wait a half. You are captain, until you leave us. Orders, Captain? Earthwithout-a-J? Or I'll help you shop others-we might find a world of nudists."

            "Why that, Zebbie? I'm not jumpy about skin-but only among close friends."

            "Remember why Jake was certain that the Finnish mathematician was not a disguised vermin? Sauna. Disguise has limits."

            "Oh." Aunt Hilda looked thoughtful. "I could get used to it. But I must get out of this tension. So drop me on the minus-J world. A mail drop, yes; I don't ever want to lose you and Deety."

            "We find that safe place, we pick you up. Sharpie, we'll be back someday anyhow. If the boogiemen don't get us."

            "Hold it, Zeb. If you're dropping Hilda, you're dropping me."

            "That's up to Captain Hilda."

            "Hilda, I will not permit-"

            "Jake, quit acting the fool," growled my husband. "She's boss. With me to back her up."

            "And me!" I echoed.

            "You seem to forget that the continua device is mine!"

            "Gay Deceiver!"

            "Yes, Boss? Who's your fat friend?"

            "Number of the Beast.' Execute."

            "Done."

            "Try your verniers, Jake."

            Pop did something-I couldn't see his hands. Then he said, "Why, you- So you think you've stopped me? Gay Deceiver!"

            "Howdy, Jake."

            Zebadiah cut in: "Gay Deceiver override! Emergency Thirty-one execute. Gay can no longer hear you, Jake. Try it."

            "If you can do one, you can do the other. Zeb, I never thought you would be that sneaky."

            "Jake, if you had behaved yourself, you never would have known. Extreme individualists (all of us) don't take kindly to discipline because they rarely understand its nature and function. But-even before that fake ranger showed up-we all had agreed to 'lifeboat' rules. We discussed them and you all claimed to understand them. . . and I was elected skipper. I nominated you-eldest, senior, inventor of the space-time twister-but you said it had to be me. A lifeboat officer must always be able to enforce his orders. . . in situations of great peril complicated by hysterical civilians. Or bullheaded ones who must otherwise be wheedled."

            It was time for a diversion; Pop doesn't like to look foolish and I was still hoping to salvage this shambles. "Zebadiah, is my number fifty-nine?"

            "Of course, but it takes my voice. Can you figure the cancel-and-reset?"

            "For mnemonic reasons it should be one of three. Probably ninety-five."

            "On the button!"

            "Although I would prefer eighty-nine."

            "Why?"

            "Work on it. Zebadiah, why did you call this meeting?"

            "With Sharpie leaving us the matter is academic. We won't be coming back to Mars."

            "Oh, dear!"

            "What's the trouble, Sharpie? Captain."

            "I promised Squeaky a ride. Zebbie, could you keep my promise for me? Please? For old times' sake?"

            "Captain, once we lift to drop you on Minus-J, we won't return. But the Captain still is captain and can give Squeaky that ride in the next thirty minutes if it suits her."

            "May I offer something in my own defense?" Pop put in.

            "Of course, Jake. Sorry, Captain; you're in charge. May the Copilot have the floor?"

            "Jacob, even though I find it necessary to leave you'. . . I love and respect you. . . and will always listen to you."

            "Thanks, darling. Thank you, Captain. I was in that huddle because Brigadier Hird-Jones always remembers. That huddle was the top physical scientists on Mars. A scruffy lot but they get the technical journals and read them, a few months late. I was talking with the top chemist-"

            "Well, Jake? Make it march."

            "Zeb, not one knew an isotope from an antelope. You can't buy juice here."

            "For that you disobeyed a direct order of the Captain? Sharpie, you should have him flogged around the Fleet before you surrender office-"

            "Don't loke, Zebbie."

            "Captain, I am not joking. Jake, that's no news; I spotted it this afternoon. Sharpie? Deety? In England."

            "I missed it," Aunt Hilda said. "I don't know England well."

            "Deety?"

            "Well. . . maybe," I admitted.

            "How?" demanded Pop.

            "Little things. No roadables, just horse-drawn vehicles. No air traffic other than a few ornithopters. Coal-fired steam-powered trains of cars. Traffic on the Thames, what little there was, 'minded me of pictures of Victorian England."

            "Daughter, why didn't you mention this?"

            "You saw it, Pop."

            "Those were my reasons," Zebadiah agreed. "My hope of getting juiced here dropped to one-tenth of one percent. It is now zero." Zebadiah sighed. "But that isn't why I asked the Captain to call us together. Family, there are vermin here."

            The world wobbled again-and so did I.

            Aunt Hilda was saying, "How did you learn this, Zebbie?"

            "You gals had plenty of company and Jake had the local scientists, so Squeaky gave me his attention. Captain, you told us to stick to the truth-"

            "Yes," agreed Aunt Hilda, "but not to volunteer information."

            "I didn't volunteer; I was debriefed. Squeaky asked me about the ride we gave his boss; I tried to be vague. Squeaky took a photo from his pocket. 'The Governor tells me this was taken this afternoon.' Deety, it was the pic you took of the Thames and the Tower.

            "I shortly started giving him a full account rather than have it dragged out. The Governor had told him the works; Squeaky was comparing my version with Bertie's, looking for holes in a yarn most easily explained by hypnosis, delirium tremens, insanity, or fancy lying. Since no two witnesses exhibit any of these in the same way they can be used as truth tests. Contrariwise, two witnesses who tell exactly the same story are lying. I assume that Bertie and I differed enough to be credible."

            I asked my husband, "Zebadiah, did you explain six-dimensional space to him?"

            Zebadiah looked pained. "How could I, when I can't explain it to me? Anyhow, he's looking forward eagerly to the ride Captain Sharpie promised him."

            "Oh, dear! Zebbie, will you take a note to him?"

            "Captain, we are not coming back after we drop you. I'll be breaking a date with him, too. Either before or after whatever time suits you, he's planning to give me-and anyone else who wants to go-a ride to see the vermin. 'Black Hats.' Fake rangers."

            (I do wish the world would not wobble!)

            Pop said, "Zeb, spill it! Quit stalling."

            "Shut up and listen. Squeaky showed me a scrapbook. Dull as a scrapbook usually is until we came across a page of 'Black Hats.' Deety, you would have

been proud of me-"

            "I am proud of you," I answered.

            "-because I didn't scream or faint, I showed no special interest. I just said, 'God in Heaven, Squeaky, those are the horrors that chased us off Earth! You've got 'em here?"

            "'No special interest.'"

            "I didn't climb the drapes. I merely said, 'Or have you managed to exterminate them?'

            "The discussion became confused, as they don't kill them; they put them to work. Squeaky had to repress amusement at the notion that wogs could be dangerous. He glanced at his watch and said, 'Come, I'll show you. Ordinarily we don't allow wogs in town. But this old fellow takes care of the Governor's gardens and may not yet have been returned to the pens for the night.' He led me to a balcony. Squeaky looked down and said, 'Too late, I'm afraid. No, there it is-Hooly! Chop, chop!'-and again I didn't faint. Hooly ran toward us, with a gait I can't describe, stopped abruptly, threw an open-palm salute and held it. 'Private Hooly reports!'

            "Squeaky let him stand there. 'This wog,' he told me, 'is the most intelligent of the herd. It knows almost a hundred words. Can make simple sentences. As intelligent as a dog. And it can be trusted not to eat the flowers.'

            "Herbivorous?' says I, showing off my book-larnin'. 'Oh, no,' he tells me, 'omnivorous. We hunt wild ones to provide the good wogs with a change in diet and, of course, when we slaughter overage wogs, that provides more ration.'

            "That's enough for one lesson, children. Pleasant dreams. Tomorrow the Brigadier will have a roadable big enough for all of us to take us out to meet the Martian natives aka wogs aka 'Black Hats' aka vermin-unless that interferes with the ride you aren't going to give him, in which case he will swap the times around with the visit to the wogs we aren't going to make. And that, Jake, is the reason I asked the Captain for a family conference. I already knew that artificial isotopes are far beyond this culture-not alone from the ride this afternoon but because I ask questions myself. Squeaky has a knowledge of chemistry about the pre-nuclear level and a detailed knowledge of explosives that one expects of a pro. But to Squeaky atoms are the smallest divisions of mass, and 'heavy water' is a meaningless phrase.

            "So I knew we would be here just to get Sharpie some clothes and to recharge my packs-since they do have D.C. power. Then I found we had stumbled onto the home of the vermin-and at that point my back didn't ache at the idea of cranking, and I didn't think that the Captain was that much in a hurry to buy clothes. So I asked the Captain to call us together in Smart Girl. I did not want to put it off even a few minutes because we were scheduled to move into our suite after tea. To leave at once, before we moved in, would save awkward explanations. Jake, did I have reason to ask for emergency conference?"

            "If you had told me-"

            "Stop! The Captain told you."

            "But she didn't explain-"

            "Jake, you're hopeless! Captains don't have to explain. Furthermore she could not because I did not tell anyone until now. The Captain had confidence in my judgment."

            "You could have explained. When Hilda sent you back to get me. I would have come at once."

            "That makes the ninth time you've been wrong in twenty minutes-" I blurted, "Tenth, Zebadiah. I counted."

            Pop gave me his "Et-tu,-Brute" look.

            "-tenth without being right once. I could not have explained to you."

            "Merely because of a group of men?"

            "Eleventh. I was not sent back to get you-twelfth. I was under orders to tell you that-quote!-'We lift in five minutes.' Tell you that and no more, then turn and leave at once, without discussion. I carried out my orders."

            "You hoped that I would be left behind."

            "Thirteen."

            I butted in again. "Pop, quit making a fool of yourself! Zebadiah asked you an essential question-and you've dodged. Captain Auntie, could we have the doors closed? There might be one of them out there-and the guns are locked up.

            "Certainly, Deety. Gay Deceiver, close your doors."

            Pop said, "Deety, I was not aware that I had been dodging. I thought I was conducting a reasonable discussion."

            "Pop, you always think so. But you are reasonable only in mathematics. Zebadiah asked you whether or not, under the circumstances, did he have reason to ask for a conference? You haven't answered it."

            "If Hilda had not told him not to-"

            "Pop! Answer that question or I will never speak to you again in my life!"

            My husband said, "Deety, Deety! Don't make threats."

            "My husband, I never make threats, either. Pop knows it."

            Pop took a deep breath. "Zeb, under the circumstances you have described, you were justified in asking the Captain for an immediate private conference."

            I let out my breath. "Thanks, Pop."

            "I did it for myself, Deety. Hilda? Captain?"

            "What is it, Jacob?"

            "I should have gone with you at once when you first asked me to."

            "Thank you, Jacob. But I did not 'ask' you; I ordered you. True, it was phrased as a request. . . but orders of a commanding officer are customarily phrased as requests-a polite protocol. You explained this custom to me yourself. Although I already knew it." Aunt Hilda turned to look at Zebadiah.

            "Chief Pilot, the departure for Minus-J is postponed until late tomorrow. I will give you the time after I have consulted the Brigadier. I want to see one of those vermin, alive, photograph it stereo and cinema, and, if possible, dissect one. Since I intend to remain overnight, I hope to pick up clothes for MinusJ, too-but the reasons for delay are to learn more about vermin and to carry out my commitment to Brigadier Hird-Jones."

            Aunt Hilda paused, continued: "All hands, special orders. Do not remove

anything from the car that you cannot afford to abandon. This car may lift on five minutes' warning even in the middle of the night. You should keep close to me unless you have a guarantee from me of longer time. Tonight I will sleep in the car. If we lift in the night, I will send word to Princess Suite. Zebbie, I will retain the captaincy until we ground on Minus-J. Schedule: Dinner tonight is eight-thirty pip emma local time, about three hours hence. Black tie for gentlemen. Deety suggests that we wear what we wore our wedding night; she has our outfits packed together. The Brigadier will send someone to Princess Suite shortly after eight local to escort us to a reception. I will settle tomorrow's schedule with him. Jacob, I will slip down to the car after the House is quiet. If someone sees me, I will be running down for a toothbrush. Questions?"

            "Captain?" said Pop.

            "Copilot."

            "Hilda, must you sleep in the car?"

            "Jacob, 'twere best done quickly!"

            "I'm begging you."

            "You want me to be your whore one last time? That's not too much to ask. . . since you were willing to marry me knowing my thoroughly tarnished past. Yes, Jacob."

            "No, no, no! I want you to sleep in my arms-that's all I ask."

            "Only that? We can discuss it after we go to bed. All hands, prepare for space. Report!"

            I splashed the Hillbilly and giggled. "Cap'n Auntie chum, that flatters me more than anything else you could ever say. While I can't imagine needing a jigger-if I did-or if I needed any sort of help and it took one who loves me no matter what, you know to whom I would turn. The one who loves me even when I'm bad. Who's that?"

            "Thank you, Deety. We love and trust each other."

            "Now tell me- Did you ever have any intention of sleeping tonight in the car?"

            She pulled the chain again. Under that racket she said into my ear, "Deety doll, I never had any intention of sleeping tonight."

XXVIII

"He's too fat."

Zeb:

            Sharpie sat on the Governor's right with my wife on his left, which gave Jake and me the privilege of sharing Lady Herbert, a loud shout away. The space was filled with mess jackets, dinner coats, and wives in their best. We each had one footman to insure that we did not starve; this platoon was bossed by a butler as impressive as the Pope, who was aided by a squad of noncom butlers. Female servants rushed in and out to serving tables. His Supremacy the Butler took it from there but used his hands only in offering splashes of wine to the Governor to taste and approve.

            All were in livery-decorated with the Broad Arrow. The British colony consisted of a) wogs, b) transportees, c) discharged transportees, d) officers and enlisted men, e) civil servants, and f) spouses and dependents. I know even less about the Russian colony. Military and serfs, I think.

            The ladies were in Victorian high-style dowdiness, which made Deety and Sharpie birds of paradise among crows. Jump suit and sailor pants had shocked people at tea. But at dinner-Deety wore the velvet wrap she had the night we eloped; Sharpie wore her sunset-shade mink cape; Jake and I unveiled them on the grand staircase leading down to the reception hall. Naw, we didn't rehearse; we were mysterious strangers, guests of the Governor General and His Lady, so all eyes were upon us. Maids, hurrying up, met us there to take our ladies' wraps.

            I had questioned the propriety of house guests coming downstairs in wraps. Sharpie had answered, "Utterly correct, Zebbie-because I set the style. I did so this afternoon; I shall until we leave." I shut up; Sharpie has infallible instinct for upstaging.

            Have I mentioned how Sharpie and Deety were dressed at Sharpie's party? They practically weren't. I wish I had had that hail bugged to record the gasps when Jake and I uncovered our prizes.

            These two had last been seen at tea, one in a jump suit, the other in an outfit that looked donated by the Salvation Army, with no makeup. We had been to our suite before tea only for a hasty wash.

            But now-Sharpie did Deety's hair; Deety did Sharpie's; Sharpie styled both faces, including too much lipstick, which Deety doesn't often wear. I asked Sharpie if she knew the history and significance of lipstick. She answered, "Certainly do, Zebbie. Don't bother us." She went on making Deety beautiful. Deety is beautiful but doesn't know it because her features have that simple regularity favored by Praxiteles.

            Having put too much lipstick on Deety, Sharpie removed some, then carried her makeup onto her breasts so that it disappeared under the dress. Which is pretty far because they saved material on that dress at the top in order to give it a full, floor-length skirt. You can't quite see her nipples-in the flesh I mean; they generally show through her clothes, always when she's happy- because Deety stands tall. Her mother had told her, "Deety, if a woman is tall, the answer is to look at least three centimeters taller than you are."

            Deety always believed her mother; she stands tall, sits straight; she never leans or slouches; she can get away with that dress by half a centimeter. I'm not sure of the material but the color is the shade of green that goes best with strawberry hair. That dress, her height, long legs, broad shoulders, a waist two sizes too small setting off breasts two sizes too big-the combo could get her a job as a show girl.

            When Sharpie finished gilding Deety I couldn't see that she had been made up at all.. . but knew durn well that she did not look the way she had before. Sharpie picked her jewelry, too-sparingly, as Deety had all her pretties with her, her own and those that had belonged to her mother. Sharpie based it on an emerald-and-pearl neckpiece, plus a matching pin and ring.

            As for Sharpie, twice my darling's age and half as big, restraint was not what she used. The central diamond of her necklace was smaller than the Star of Africa.

            She wore other diamonds here and there.

            Here is something I don't understand. Sharpie is underprivileged in mammary glands. I know she was not wearing cheaters as I returned to get my tie tied just as Deety was about to lower it onto her. No bra, no underwear. But when that dress was fastened, Sharpie had tits-little ones but big enough for her size. Stuffing built into the dress? Nope. I went out of my way to check.

            Is that why some couturiers get such high prices?

            Still. . . the Captain looks best in her skin.

            So we uncovered these confections and gave the British colony, male, female, and the others, something to talk about for months.

            I can't say the English ladies were pleased. Their men gravitated toward our darlings like iron filings toward a magnet. However, Betty, Lady Herbert, is sweet all through. She rushed toward us (a bow wave of juniors getting out of her way), stopped short, looked only at our ladies, and said with the delight of a child at Christmas: "Oh, how beautiful you are!" and clapped her hands.

            Her voice projected against dead silence, then conversation resumed. Lady Herbert took them, an arm around each, and toured the hall (busting up a receiving line). Brigadier Hird-Jones rolled with the punch, gathered in Jake and me, made sure we met those who had not been at tea.

            Shortly before dinner a colonel said to me, "Oh, I say, is it true that the tiny beauty is in command of your ship?"

            "Quite true. Best commanding officer I've ever had."

            "Haw. Astounding. Fascinating. The taller girl, the strawberry blonde- introduced simply as 'Mrs. Carter.' She's part of your ship's company. Yes?"

            "Yes," I agreed. "Astrogator and second-in-command. Doctor D. T. Burroughs Carter, my wife."

            "Well! My congratulations, sir."

            "Thank you."

            "I say, Carter, would it be rude of me to ask why the ladies have the senior posts while you and Doctor Burroughs appear to be junior? Or am I intruding?"

            "Not at all, Colonel. We each do what we do best. Mrs. Burroughs is not only best as commander; she is also best cook. While we take turns at cooking, I'll happily volunteer as scullery maid if it will persuade the Captain to cook."

            "Amazing. Could you use a colonel of lancers about to retire? I'm a wonderful scullery maid."

            The dinner was excellent (Irish chef, transported for shooting his landlord) and Lady Herbert was delightful, even though she drank her dinner and her words became increasingly difficult to understand. But any answer would do as long as it was friendly. Jake displayed the charm he can when he bothers and kept her laughing.

            One thing marred it. Lady Herbert started to slump and nursing sisters appeared and took her away. What is protocol for this?

            I checked Hilda and the Governor; they didn't seem to see it. I glanced at Hird-Jones; the Brigadier did not seem to see it-but Squeaky sees everything. Ergo: no member of the colony could "see" it.

            Someone else gathered the ladies while the gentlemen remained for port and cigars. While we were standing as the ladies left, Hird-Jones leaned close:

"Your captain has asked me to tell you that the Governor invites you to join them later in his study."

            I tasted the port, lit the cigar (I don't smoke-fake it when polite) when the Brigadier caught my eye and said, "Now." Bertie had left, leaving a stooge, a wit who had them all laughing-that colonel of lancers.

            When Jake and I came in, Deety and Hilda were there, with a large man,

tall as I am and heavier-Major General Moresby, chief of staff. Bertie stood while waving us to chairs. "Thanks for coming, gentlemen. We are settling tomorrow's schedule and your captain prefers to have you present."

            The Governor reached behind him, moved out a globe of Mars. "Captain, I think I have marked the places we visited yesterday."

            "Deety, please check it," Sharpie directed.

            My darling looked it over. "The Russian settlements extended almost one hundred fifty kilometers farther east than this borderline shows-ninety-one English miles, seventy-nine nautical miles-call it two and a half degrees."

            "Impossible!" (The bulky Major General-)

            Deety shrugged. "Might be a few miles more; all we took were spot checks."

            Jake said, "General Moresby, you had better believe it."

            Bertie stepped in with: "Is that the only discrepancy, Doctor Deety?"

            "One more. But there is something I want to ask about. May I borrow a marking pen? Grease pencil?"

            Bertie found one; she placed three bingoes in an equilateral triangle, well detached from both zones. "What are these, sir? This one is a village, the other two are large farms. But we did not determine nationality."

            Bertie looked at her marks. "Not ours. Moresby, how long ago did we reconnoitre that area?"

            "There are no Russians there! She's doing it by memory. She's mistaken."

            I said, "Moresby, I'll bet my wife's marks are accurate within two kilometers. How high do you want to go? What is a pound worth here in gold?"

            Bertie said, "Please, gentlemen-wagers another time. What was the other error, Astrogator Deety?"

            "Our touchdown point. Where we tangled with the Russians. Your memory is off by many degrees. Should be here."

            "Moresby?"

            "Governor, that is impossible. Either they did not land there or they had trouble with Russians somewhere else."

            Deety shrugged. "Governor, I have no interest in arguing. Our time of arrival at 'Touchdown' just after dawn day before yesterday was fourteen-ohsix in the afternoon Windsor City local time. Six past two pip emma. You saw the remains of that ornithopter today. What did shadows and height of the sun tell you as to local time there, and what does that tell you about longitude from here ?" She added, "With one degree of longitude being four minutes of local time difference, you can treat one minute of arc as equal to one kilometer and measure it on this globe. The errors will be smaller than your own error in estimate of local time."

            "Astrogator, I'm not good at this sort of problem. But it was about eightthirty in the morning where we saw the burned ornithopter."

            "That's right, Governor. We'll lay that out as kilometers and see how close it comes to my mark."

            Moresby objected, "But that globe is scaled in miles!"

            Deety looked back at Bertie with a half smile, an expression that said wordlessly: (He's your boy, Bertie. Not mine.)

            Bertie said testily, "Moresby, have you never worked with a French ordnance map?"

            I'm not as tolerant as Deety. "Multiply by one-point-six-oh-nine."

            "Thanks but we will assume that the Astrogator is correct. Moresby, reconnaissance will cover two areas. Captain, how many spot checks can be made per hour?"

            "Just a moment!" Captain Sharpie interrupted. "Has this discussion been directed at the ride I promised Brigadier Hird-Jones?"

            "I'm sorry, Ma'am. Wasn't that clear?"

            "No, I thought you were telling General Moresby what you saw today. Isn't the Brigadier available? I want to settle the time with him."

            Moresby answered, "Madam, that has been changed. I'm taking his place."

            Sharpie looked at Moresby as if he were a side of beef she was about to condemn. "Governor, I do not recall offering this person a ride. Nor has the Brigadier told me that he is not going."

            "Moresby, didn't you speak to Hird-Jones?"

            "Certainly I did, sir. I dislike to tell you but he was not cooperative. I had to remind him that there was rank involved."

            I looked around for somewhere to hide. But Sharpie did not explode. She said sweetly, "Certainly there is, Major General Bores-me. My rank. I am commanding; you are not." She turned to Bertie. "Governor, I may offer other rides after I keep my promise to the Brigadier. But not to this person. He's too fat."

            "What! I weigh only seventeen stone-trim for a man with my height and big bones." Moresby added, "Homeside weight, of course. Only ninety pounds here. Light on my feet. Madam, I resent that."

            "Too fat," Sharpie repeated. "Bertie, you remember how tightly we were packed yesterday. But even if Bores-me did not have buttocks like sofa cushions, he's much too fat between the ears. He can't enter my yacht."

            "Very well, Captain. Moresby, please have Hird-Jones report to me at once."

            "But-"

            "Dismissed."

            As the door closed, the Governor said, "Hilda, my humblest apologies. Moresby told me that it was all arranged. . . which meant to me that he had seen you and Squeaky and arranged the exchange. Moresby hasn't been here long; I'm still learning his quirks. No excuse, Captain. But I offer it in extenuation."

            "Let's forget it, Bertie. You used 'reconnaissance' where I would have said 'joy ride.' 'Reconnaissance' is a military term. Did you use it as such?"

            "I did."

            "Gay Deceiver is a private yacht and I am a civilian master." She looked at me. "Chief Pilot, will you advise me?"

            "Captain, if we overfly territory for the purpose of reconnaissance, the act is espionage."

            "Governor, is this room secure?"

            "Hilda-Captain, in what way?"

            "Is it soundproof and are there microphone pickups?"

            "It is soundproof when I close that second door. There is one microphone. I control it with a switch under the rug-right here."

            "Will you not only switch it off but disconnect it? So that it cannot be switched on by accident."

            "If that is your wish. I could be lying. Other microphones."

            "It's accidental recording I want to.avoid. Bertie, I wouldn't trust Moresby as far as I could throw him. I have learned to trust you. Tell me why you need to reconnoitre?"

            "I'm not certain."

            "Reconnaissance is to learn something you are not certain about. Something that can be seen from Gay Deceiver-but what?"

            "Uh.. . will you all swear to secrecy?"

            "Hilda-"

            "Not now, Jacob. Governor, if you don't want to trust us, tell us to leave!"

            Smythe-Carstairs had been standing since turning the rug to remove the switch. He looked down at Hilda and smiled. "Captain, you are an unusually small woman. . . and the toughest man I've dealt with in many a year. The situation is this: The Russians have sent another ultimatum. We have never worried about Russians as we settled halfway around the planet from them and logistics here are almost impossible. No oceans. No navigable streams. Some canals if one enjoys suicide. Both sides have attempted to raise horses. They don't live long, they don't reproduce.

            "Both sides have ornithopters. But they can't carry enough or fly far enough. I was startled when you said that they had given you trouble where you had first touched down-and proved it by showing me wreckage of a 'thopter.

            "Any logistics problem can be solved if you use enough men, enough time. Those Russian craft must have, behind them, stockpiles about every fifty miles. If they have the same continuing this way, when they get here, they will wipe us out."

            "Is it that bad?" I inquired. Sharpie said, "Governor, our Chief Pilot is the only one of us with combat experience."

            "Yes," agreed Jake with a wry smile, "I was awarded rank in lieu of combat. I signed papers."

            Bertie gave the same mirthless smile. "Welcome to the lodge. Twenty years since I last heard a bullet say 'wheat!' Now I may be about to lose my last battle. Friends, my rank states that I am qualified to command an army corps. . . but I have possibly one platoon who will stand and die."

            Jake said, "Governor, this city must be two hundred thousand people."

            "More than that, Jake. Over ninety-nine percent are convicts or discharged convicts or their wives and children. Do you imagine that they are loyal to me? Even if they were, they are neither trained nor armed.

            "I have a nominal regiment, a battalion in numbers-and a platoon in strength. Friends, my troops, officers and men, and my civil servants, are, with few exceptions, transportees quite as much as the convicts. Example: An officer with a court staring him in the face can often get the charges dropped by volunteering for Mars. I don't get murderers. What I do get is worse. . . for

me. The mess treasurer who dips into mess funds because he has a 'sure thing' at a racing meet. The- Oh, the devil take it! I don't get villains; I get weaklings. There are a few good ones. Hird-Jones. Young fellow named Bean. Two old sergeants whose only shortcomings are that one had two wives and, while the other had only one, she wasn't his. If the Russians get here, they'll kill our wogs-they don't domesticate them; they hunt and eat them-they'll kill anyone in uniform.. . and transportees will learn that being a serf is worse than being a free man not on the planet of his choice. Squeaky! Where have you been?"

            "In the card room, sir. First table to the right."

            "So? How long ago did you get my message?"

            "About twenty seconds ago, sir."

            "Hm! How long have you been in the card room?" "A bit over an hour."

            "I see. Bolt the outer door, close the inner door, sit down."

            Twenty minutes later Sharpie was asking, "Deety, what time is sunrise here ?" She indicated a point 300 east of the western boundary of the westernmost of the two loci Bertie wanted investigated.

            "In about twenty minutes. Shall I have Gay check it?"

            "No. Sunset over here?"

            "More leeway there. One hour fifty-seven minutes."

            "Very well. Zeb, those zeroed packs?"

            "Being charged, they told me. Ready in the morning."

            "Good. Squeaky, if I get you to bed by oh-two-hundred hours could you take us to the fields about eleven-hundred hours?"

            "Oh-eight-hundred, if you wish, Captain Hilda."

            "I don't wish. This job requires sunlight, so we will work whatever it takes. I intend to sleep late. Bertie, would your kitchen service extend to breakfast in bed about ten ack emma?"

            "Tell the night maid. The sideboard in your dining room will be loaded and steaming whenever you say and the day maid will be delighted to bring you a tray in bed."

            "Heavenly! All hands and Brigadier Hird-Jones: Lift in thirty-nine minutes. Car doors open five minutes before that. Questions?"

            "Just a comment. I'll fetch sandwiches."

            "Thank you, Squeaky! Bertie."

            "Eh? Ma'am!"

            "Deety and I expect to be kissed good-bye.. . in case something goes wrong."