XXIX

"-we place no faith in princes."

Deety:

            We had a busy night. I had Gay display bingo dots for every stop we made- then circles around any that were supply dumps.

            There were indeed supply dumps!

            I spent the whole trip thinking: Where would I be if I were a supply dump? Where would 'thopters have to land? Where could they get more water? Squeaky, Hilda, Pop, Zebadiah-and possibly Gay-were thinking the same thing.

            We got back at half after one, the job done. The Hillbilly turned the results over to Squeaky and we went to bed.

            Next morning at eleven our "roadable" arrived-without Squeaky. He sent an apologetic note saying that Lieutenant Bean knew what we expected and would add anything we asked for. -

            Captain Auntie had not taken breakfast in bed. I woke about nine local, found her at work-packing her dress clothes and Pop's back into plastic pillow covers, then into a borrowed portmanteau. Our fresh laundry, given to us by the night maid on our return, was in another piece of borrowed luggage.

            The Hillbilly was on her knees in our drawing room. She looked up, smiled and said, "Good morning. Better slide into your jump suit, dear; maids come in and out rather casually."

            "Doesn't bother me, I've been caught twice already-"

            "But it bothers them. Not kind, dear, with servants. Especially with involuntary servants. They'll be in to load the sideboard any moment. Will you fetch yours and Zebbie's dress clothes here? I'll pack for you."

            "I'll pack 'em, thanks. I was thinking about sliding back into bed with a nice warm man but your mention of food changed my mind. Hillbilly, what's the rush?"

            "Deety, I'm carrying out my own orders. When I brush my teeth after breakfast, the toothbrush goes into my purse. As for the rush, our husbands will wake soon. I have found that it is more practical to present a man with a fait accompli than a discussion."

            "I hear you three times, doll baby. When they get up, they'll want to eat. When our roadable shows up, they'll be sitting over second cups of coffee. Then they'll say, 'We'll do it when we come back. Mustn't keep the Brigadier waiting.' Okay, I'll grab our gear and we'll sneak it out before they wake. I'll carry the heavy ones."

            "We are not permitted to carry anything, Deety. But the place is swarming with maids. You sound much married."

            "Five years' practice on Pop. But, Hillbilly, even Pop is easy to handle if you think ahead."

            "I'm learning. Deety, what shall we do about the maids?"

            "Huh?"

            "In the days when servants were common, it was polite for house guests to tip servants who served them personally. But how, Deety? I have two twentyfive-newdollar bills in the lining of my purse. Waste paper."

            "Pop and Zebadiah have gold. I know exactly because it was mass enough that I had to figure it into the loading, mass and moment arm. Here's a giggle. These misers we married had each squirreled away the same weight of gold to four significant figures. So maids are no problem if you know how much to tip-I don't. We'll be buying local money today to pay for a number of things."

            "Leftenant" Bean-or "Brian"-is a delightful fuzzy puppy and a volunteer in order to have served "Beyond the Sky." He managed to call me "Deety" and Zebadiah "Zeb" when invited, but he could not bring himself to shift from "Captain Burroughs" to "Hilda"-"Captain Hilda" was as far as he would go, and Pop was "Professor."

            He was pleased that we liked his "roadable." You wouldn't believe it! A large, wooden flatbed wagon with an upright steam engine in back; a trailer with cordwood; a sailing-ship's wheel in front of the engine; this controlled the front wheels by ropes that ran underneath. Midway was a luggage pen, then in front were four benches, for twelve to sixteen people.

            With a crew of five!

            Engine driver, fireman, conductor, and two steersmen- The conductor sat on a high perch braced to the pen and told the others what to do and occasionally rang a bell or blew a whistle. The bell told other traffic to get out of the way; the whistle warned that the vehicle was about to start or stop. There was much traffic but few "roadables"-most common were pedalled tricycles, for passengers and freight. Large versions had as many as a dozen men pedalling at once.

            "I daresay you know," said Brian, "that we have not been able to raise

horses. We haven't given up-we will develop a breed that will prosper here. But once we have horses, this will, I venture to predict, become a proper colony-and not just a place to send reformable evildoers and to obtain raw pharmaceuticals."

            "Pharmaceuticals?"

            "Oh, definitely! The thing that makes the colony self-supporting. I daresay the descendants of these convicts will be wealthy. I will show you the fields- all in the weed-a cant word for Cannabis Magnifica Martia-except acreage for food crops. Brigadier Hird-Jones suggested Norfolk Plantation." He smiled. "Shall we?"

            "Just a moment," Aunt Hilda said. "If I understood the Brigadier's note, we can vary the program?"

            "Captain Hilda, the carriage and I are at your disposal as long as you wish. My orders and my pleasure."

            "Brian, I have clothing being made up. I was told that sewing would continue through the night. Where should we go to inquire?"

            "Here and now. I fancy I saw a package being delivered while we've been chatting; it could be yours. It would go to the chief housekeeper, who would have it placed in your digs-the Princess Suite, is it not?"

            "Yes. Brian, I'll slip upstairs and see."

            "Please, no!" Brian made a small gesture; a private soldier appeared out of nowhere. "Smathers, my greetings to Mrs. Digby. Has a package arrived for Captain Burroughs?"

            "Sir!"

            "Hold it! Brian, if it has arrived, I want it fetched here."

            I could see the look in Brian's eye that Pop gets just before he starts demanding explanations for female "unreasonable" behavior. But Brian simply added, "If the package has arrived, tell Mrs. Digby that it must be delivered here at once. Double time, so to speak."

            "Sir!" The private stomped an about-face and broke into a run. Hilda said, "Thank you, Brian. If I place it in our craft, it is one less detail to remember. Your kindness eases my mind."

            "A pleasure, Captain Hilda."

            "Hilda, that clothing is not yet paid for."

            "Oh, dear! You are right, Jacob. Leftenant, where does one exchange gold for local money? Do you know the rate of exchange? In grams?"

            "Or in Troy ounces," I added.

            Brian behaved as if he had not heard us. He turned toward his "roadable." "Parkins! Take a turn around the circle! When you return, I want that steam up high. So that we won't creep in starting."

            "Roight, sir." The wagon moved off, at a headlong slow walk.

            When no one else was in earshot Brian said quietly, "I missed what you Were saying because of engine noise. But let me mention in passing that Possession of gold by individuals is not permitted so I-am-happy-to-learn-thatYOu-have..none," he said, not letting himself be interrupted. "Let me add," he went on, "that since I handle secret and most-secret despatches, I know things that I don't know, if I make my meaning clear. For example, I am grateful that you four were willing to lose sleep last night. Others feel strong obligations to such good friends. The Brigadier mentioned that you might have purchases to make or bills to pay. I was instructed to charge anything you need or want- or fancy-to the Imperial Household, signing his name and appending my signature."

            "Oh, that's most unfair!"

            "Truly, Captain? I fancy that those in authority will find something to add until you feel that you have been treated generously."

            "That's not what she means, son," put in Pop. "Unfair' in the opposite direction. We pay for what we get."

            Brian lost his smile. "May I suggest that the Professor discuss that with the Brigadier? I would find it extremely embarrassing to have to report to the Brigadier that I was unable to carry out his orders."

            "Captain."

            "What, Deety?"

            "I am required to advise you."

            "Advise away, my dear. I see my packages coming."

            "Captain Auntie, you've got a bear by the tail. Let go."

            The Hillbilly grinned and stuck out her tongue at me, then turned to Brian. "The Brigadier's thoughtful arrangements are appreciated. We accept."

            It was still a few minutes before we left, as it turned out that Zebadiah's power packs were ready, in the hands of the Household engineer. At last Hilda's clothes and the power packs were in Gay; we boarded the char-à-banc, and whizzed away at 10 km/hr. "Norfolk Plantation, Captain Hilda?"

            "Brian, at what time did you breakfast?"

            "Oh, that's not important, Ma'am."

            "Answer my question."

            "At oh-seven-hundred hours, Captain."

            "So I suspected. You eat at Imperial House?"

            "Oh, no, Captain Hilda, only the most senior of the Governor's official family eat there. I eat at the officers' club."

            "I see. We'll see wogs last. I am told there is a commissary. Is it open to us?"

            "Captain Hilda, everything is open to you."

            "I must buy supplies. Then I wish to go to the best restaurant in Windsor City and watch you eat a proper luncheon; we ate breakfast three hours later than you did."

            "But I'm hungry," said my husband. "I'm a growing boy."

            "Poor Zebbie."

            There was not much to buy that would keep. I bought a tin of Huntley & Palmer's biscuits and quite a lot of Dutch chocolate-quick energy for growing boys-and tightly packaged staples.

            Brian had us driven to that restaurant just past noon. I was glad that Aunt Hilda had decided to get everything else done before we went to look at vermin.

Even so, I did not have much appetite-until I decided to stand up and forthrightly turn coward. Not look at vermin! Cui bono? Aunt Hilda was the expert.

            That restored my appetite. We stopped across the parade ground from Imperial House. We twigged in this order-Zebadiah, Pop, me, Aunt Hilda-that it was the officers' club. She was several meters inside when she stopped. "Brian, what are we doing here?"

            "The Captain said '-the best restaurant-'. The club's chef was executive chef at Claridge's until he ran into misfortune. Don't look at me that way, Captain Hilda; the Brigadier picks up the chit; it's charged against 'official visitors' and winds up in London against H.I.M.'s Civil List. Believe me, His Majesty gets paid more than leftenants, or even brigadiers."

            But the president of the mess signed the chit-a colonel who told the Hillbilly that he was buying her lunch because he wanted to ship with us as scullery maid.

            I was telling Aunt Hilda that I would skip vermin viewing, thank you, when I did. One. Then six. Then a whole field of them. I was explaining to God that I didn't like this dream so please let me wake up when Brian had the conductor halt the contraption and I saw that there were men in that field, too. The men carried whips; vermin were muzzled. This one vermin-well, "wog"-this wog had managed to pull its muzzle aside and was stuffing this weedy plant into its mouth. . . when a whip cracked across its naked back.

            It cried.

            The field on the other side of the road was not being worked, so I stared at it, After a while I heard Brian say, "Captain Hilda, you are serious, really?"

            "Didn't the Brigadier authorize it?"

            "Ah, yes. I thought he was pulling my leg. Very well, Ma'am."

            I had to see what this was all about. . . and discovered that muzzled vermin, afraid of men with whips, weren't frightening; they were merely ugly. Aunt Hilda was taking pictures, movies and stereo. Brian was talking to a man dressed like any farmer except for the Broad Arrow.

            Brian turned and said, "Captain Hilda, the foreman asks that you point out the wog you want to dissect."

            Aunt Hilda answered, "There has been a mistake."

            "Ma'am? You don't want to dissect a wog?"

            "Leftenant, I was told that one or more died or was slaughtered each day. I want to dissect a dead body, in an appropriate place, with surgical instruments and other aids. I have no wish to have one of these poor creatures killed."

            We left shortly. Brian said, "Of the two, the abattoir and the infirmary, I suggest the latter. The veterinarian is a former Harley Street specialist. By the bye, there is no case of humans contracting disease from these brutes. So the infirmary isn't dangerous, just, ah, unpleasant."

            We went to the wog hospital. I did not go inside. Shortly Pop came out, looking green. He sat beside me and smiled wanly. "Deety, the Captain ordered me outside for fresh air-and I didn't argue. Aren't you proud of me?"

            I told him that I'm always proud of my Pop.

            A few minutes later Brian and Zebadiah came out, with a message from Hilda that she expected to work at least another hour, possibly longer. "Captain Hilda suggests that I take you for a drive," Brian reported.

            The drive was only as far as the nearest pub; the sillywagon was sent back to wait for the Hillbilly. We waited in the lounge, where Pop and Brian had whisky and splash, and Zebadiah ordered a "shandygaff'-so I did, too. It will never replace the dry martini. I made it last till Aunt Hilda showed up.

            Brian asked, "Where now, Captain Hilda?"

            "Imperial House. Brian, you've been most kind."

            I said, "Cap'n Auntie, did you whittle one to pieces?"

            "Not necessary, Deetikins. They're chimpanzees."

            "You've insulted every chimp that ever lived!"

            "Deety, these creatures bear the relation to 'Black Hats' that a chimpanzee does to a man. The physical resemblance is closer, but the difference in mental power- Doctor Wheatstone removed the brain from a cadaver; that told me all I needed to know. But I got something that may be invaluable. Motion pictures."

            Zebadiah said, "Sharpie, you took motion pictures in the fields."

            "True, Zebbie. But I have with me the Polaroids you took for me at Snug Harbor; some show the splints that creature used to disguise its extra knees and elbows. Doctor Wheatstone used surgical splints to accomplish the same with one of his helpers-a docile and fairly intelligent wog that didn't object even though it fell down the first time it tried to walk while splinted. But it caught on and managed a stiff-legged walk just like that ranger-and like 'Brainy' now that I think about it-then was delighted when Doctor Wheatstone dressed it in trousers and an old jacket. Those pictures will surprise you. No makeup, no plastic surgery, a hastily improvised disguise-from the neck down it looked human."

            When we reached Imperial House, we transferred packages into Gay Deceiver-again were not permitted to carry; Brian told the conductor, the conductor told his crew. We thanked them, thanked Brian as we said good-bye, and Aunt Hilda expressed a hope of seeing him soon and we echoed her-me feeling like a hypocrite.

            He saluted and started toward the officers' club. We headed for the big wide steps. Aunt Hilda said, "Deety, want to share some soap suds?"

            "Sure thing!" I agreed.

            "Whuffor?" asked Zebadiah. "Sharpie, you didn't get a spot on you."

            "To remove the psychic stink, Zebbie."

            "Mine isn't psychic," I said. "I stink, I do."

            But damn, spit, and dirty socks, we had hardly climbed into that tub when a message arrived, relayed by my husband, saying that the Governor requested us to call at his office at our earliest convenience. "Sharpie hon, let me translate that, based on my eighty years man and boy as flunky to an ambassador. Means Bertie wants to see us five minutes ago."

            I started to climb out; Aunt Hilda stopped me. "I understood it, Zebbie; I

speak Officialese, Campusese, and Bureaucratese. But I'll send a reply in clear English, female idiom. Is a messenger waiting?"

            "Yes, a major."

            "A major, eh? That will cost Bertie five extra minutes. Zebbie, I learned before you were born that when someone wants to ~ee me in a hurry, the urgency is almost never mutual. All right, message: The commanding officer of Spacecraft Gay Deceiver sends her compliments to the Governor General and will call on- him at her earliest convenience. Then give the major a message from you to Bertie that you happen to know that I'm taking a bath and that you hope I'll be ready in twenty minutes but that you wouldn't wager even money on thirty."

            "Okay. Except that the word should be 'respects' not 'compliments.' Also, the major emphasized that he wants to see all of us. Want Jake and me to keep Bertie happy until you are ready?" Pop had his head in the door, listening. "We wouldn't mind." Pop nodded.

            "Zebbie, Zebbie! After four years under my tutelage. Until I know what he wants I can't concede that he is senior to me. 'Compliments,' not 'respects.' And no one goes until I do. . . but thank you both for the offer. Two more things: After giving the major my message, will you please find my clothes, all but Deety's Keds, and take them to the car? That's Jacob's shirt, Deety's sailor pants, a blue belt, and a blue hair ribbon. In the car you will find new clothes on my seat. In one package should be three jump suits. Please fetch one back."

            Pop said, "Hilda, I'd be glad to run that errand. Run it twice, in fact, as you don't want to send down what clothes you have until you know that your new clothes fit."

            "Jacob, I want you right here, to scrub our backs and sing for us and keep us amused. If that jump suit does not fit, I may appear in a bath towel sarong. But I plan to appear a minute early to make Bertie happy. Do not tell the major that, Zebbie! Officially it is twenty minutes with luck, thirty minutes more likely, could be an hour, Major; you know how women are. Got it all?"

            "Roger Wilco. Sharpie, someday they'll hang you."

            "They will sentence me to hang but Jacob and you will rescue me. Trot along, dear." Aunt Hilda started to get out. "Stay there, Deety. I'll give you three minutes' warning-two to dry down, one to zip into yourjump suit. Which leaves ten minutes to relax."

            The jump suit did fit; the Hillbilly looked cute. We left not a thing in that suite because Aunt Hilda checked it while waiting for Zebadiah. A few items went into my purse or hers. It was eighteen minutes from her message to our arrival at the Governor's office-and I had had a fifteen-minute tub, comfy if not sybaritic.

            Besides Bertie and the Brigadier, that fathead Moresby was there. Aunt Hilda ignored him, so I did. Bertie stood up. "How smart you all look! Did you have a pleasant day?" The poor dear looked dreadful-gaunt, circles under his eyes.

            "A perfect day-thanks to you, thanks to the Brigadier, and thanks to a curly lamb named Bean."

            "A fine lad," Squeaky boomed. "I'll pass on your word, if I may." The Brigadier did not look fresh; I decided that neither had been to bed.

            Bertie waited until we were seated, then got to business. "Captain Burroughs, what are your plans?"

            Aunt Hilda did not answer his question. She glanced toward Major General Moresby, back at Bertie. "We are not in private, Excellency."

            "Hmm-" Bertie looked unhappy. "Moresby, you are excused."

            "But-"

            "Dismissed. You have work to do, I feel sure."

            Moresby swelled up but got up and left. Squeaky bolted the outer door, closed the inner door, while Bertie stood up to lift the rug over his recorder switch. Aunt Hilda said, "Don't bother, Bertie. Record if you need to. What's the trouble, old dear? Russians?"

            "Yes. Hilda, you four are refugees; yesterday you showed me why. Would you care to remain here? My delegated power is sufficient that I can grant naturalization as fast as I can sign my signature."

            "No, Bertie. But we feel greatly honored."

            "I expected that. Do reconsider it. There are advantages to being a subject of the most powerful monarch in history, in being protected by a flag on which the Sun never sets."

            "No, Bertie."

            "Captain Hilda, I need you and your ship. Because of millions of miles of distance, many months required for a message, I hold dejure viceregal power almost equal to sovereign. . . and de facto greater in emergency because no Parliament is here. I can recruit foreign troops, arm them, make guarantees to them as if they were British, award the King-Emperor's commission. I would like to recruit all of you and your ship."

            "Commodore for you, Captain for your second-in-command, Commander for your Chief Pilot, Lieutenant Commander for your Copilot. Retirement at full pay once the emergency is over. Return of your purchased ship as a royal gift after the emergency. Compensation for loss or damage."

            "One rank higher for each of you?"

            "All four of us must be at least one rank senior to Major General Moresby."

            "Hilda! That's my own rank. Equivalent rank-Vice Admiral."

            "Bertie, you can't hire us as mercenaries at any rank or pay. That hyperbole was to tell you that we will not place ourselves under your chief of staff. That settled, what can we do to help you?"

            "I'm afraid you can't, since you won't accept the protection under international law of military status. So I'm forced to cut the knot. Do you understand the right of angary?"

            (I thought he said "angry" and wondered.)

            "I believe so. Are Great Britain and the Russias at war?"

            "No, but there are nuances. Shall I call in my legal officer?"

            "Not for me. My own legal officer is here: Doctor Zebadiah Carter, my consultant in international law."

            "Doctor Carter-oh, fiddlesticks! My friend Zeb. Zeb, will you discuss the right of angary?"

            "Very well, Governor. One nuance you had in mind was that, in addition to wartime, it applies to national emergency-such as your current one with the Russians."

            "Yes!"

            "Angary has changed in application many times but in general it is the right of a sovereign power to seize neutral transport found in its ports or territory, then use same in war or similar emergency. When the emergency is over, seized transport must be returned, fair rentals must be paid, loss or damage requires compensation. It does not apply to goods or chattels, and most especially not to persons. That's the gist. Do we need your legal officer?"

            "I don't think so. Captain Burroughs?"

            "We don't need him. You intend to requisition my craft?"

            "Captain. . . I must!" Bertie was almost in tears.

            "Governor, you are within your legal rights. But have you considered how you will drive it?"

            "May I answer that, Governor?"

            "Go ahead, Squeaky."

            "Captain Hilda, I have an odd memory. 'Photographic' it is called but I remember sounds as automatically. I am sure I can fly every maneuver used last night-that is to say: sufficient for our emergency."

            I was seething. But Aunt Hilda smiled at the Brigadier and said in her sweetest voice: "You've been most thoughtful throughout our stay, Squeaky. You are a warm, charming, hospitable, bastardly fink. One who would sell his wife to a Port SaId pimp. Aside from that you are practically perfect."

            "Doubled and redoubled!" (That was my Pop!) "Later on, Jones, I'll see you at a time and place of your choosing. Weapons or bare hands."

            "And then I will see you, if Jake leaves anything." My husband flexed his fingers. "I hope you choose bare hands."

            Bertie interrupted. "I forbid this during this emergency and after it in territory where I am suzerain and while Hird-Jones holds the Sovereign's commission under my command."

            Aunt Hilda said, "You are legally correct, Bertie. But you will concede that they had provocation."

            "No, Ma'am! Hjrd-Jones is not at fault. I tried to get you and your crew to fly it on any terms at all. You refused. Hird-Jones may kill himself attempting to fly a strange flyer. If so he will die a hero. He is not what you called him."

            "I don't think well of you, either, Bertie. You are a thief-stealing our only hope of a future."

            "He certainly is!" I cut in. "Governor, I can whip you-I can kill you, with my bare hands. I'm Black-Belt three ways. Are you going to hide behind your Commission and your self-serving laws?" I dusted my hands together. "Coward.

Two cowards, with their chests covered with ribbons boasting about their brave deeds."

            "Astrogator."

            "Captain."

            "Let it drop. Bertie, under right of angary we are entitled to remove our chattels. I insist on a witness so that you will know that we have done nothing to damage the craft. If the Brigadier can drive it, it will be turned over to him in perfect shape. But my jewelry is in our craft and many other things; I must have a witness. You, sir. My stepdaughter can certainly kill you or anyone her size or a bit more than her size, with her bare hands. But I grant you safeconduct. Will you have it in writing?"

            Bertie shook his head. "You know I can't take time to witness. Pick anyone else."

            "I won't grant safe-conduct to anyone else. Anyone who has not ridden with us would not know how to watch for sabotage. So it must be either you or HirdJones. . . and Hird-Jones would never live to get out of our car. He has three of the deadliest killers in two universes quite annoyed. Angry over angary."

            "Any of you who will not give parole must wait up here."

            "Wait a half, Gov," my husband drawled. "Parole' applies to prisoners. Captain, this might be a good time to read aloud our safe-conduct from the Governor General. See how many ways this fake 'officer and gentleman' has broken his word-and the written guarantees of his sovereign. He has broken all three essential guarantees to all four of us. That's twelve. Almost a Russian score. Safe-conduct amounting to diplomatic immunity, all of us free to leave at any time, we four never to be separated involuntarily. Now he wants hostages. Pfui!"

            "None is broken," Bertie asserted.

            "Liar," my husband answered.

            "All of you are safe here. . . until the Russians conquer us. I slipped in speaking of parole; you are not prisoners. You all may stay together-living in the Princess Suite if you so choose. If not, in any quarters you choose in territory I control. You are all free to leave at any moment. But you must not approach that requisitioned flyer. Captain, your jewels will be safe. But others will unload the flyer."

            "Bertie-"

            "What? Yes. . . Hilda?"

            "Dear, you are both stubborn and stupid. You can't open the doors of our car, much less drive it. Attempt to force it open and no one will ever drive it. I conceded the legality of the right of angary. But you insist on making it impossible to apply it. Accept my safe-conduct and come witness or there that car sits until the Russians come, while we live in luxury in this palace. You know that 'the right to leave at any time' means nothing without our transport. Now, for the last time, will you do it my way.. . or will you waste the precious minutes of a war crisis trying to open that car by yourself? Make up your mind, this offer will not be repeated. Answer Yes or No. . . and be damned quick about it!"

            Bertie covered his face with his hands. "Hilda, I've been up all night. Both Squeaky and I."

            "I know, dear. I knew when we came in. So I must help you make up your mind. Deety, check your purse. Something is missing."

            I hastily checked, wondering what she meant. Then I noticed that a secret pocket that should have been hard was not. "Oh! Do you have it?"

            "Yes, Deety." Aunt Hilda was seated, her choice, so that she had both Bertje and Squeaky in her line of fire-and none of us. "I mentioned three killers. Now you have four facing you. . . in a soundproofed room with its door bolted from inside." (I never saw her draw my Skoda gun. But she was holding it on them.) "Bertie, I'm making up your mind for you. You are accepting my safeconduct. Consider how poor the chances are that anyone would find your bodies in the time it takes us to run down one flight and reach our car."

            Squeaky lunged at Hilda. I tripped him, kicked his left kneecap as he fell, then said, "Don't move, Fink! My next kick is a killer! Captain, has Bertie come to his senses? Or shall I take him? I hate to kill Bertie. He's tired and worried and not thinking straight. Then I would have to kill Squeaky. He can't help his eidetic memory, any more than I can help this clock in my head. Squeaky, did I break your kneecap? Or can you walk if I let you get up?"

            "I can walk. You're fast, Deety."

            "I know. Captain. Plans?"

            "Bertie, you are accepting my safe-conduct. We are all going out together, we four around you two, laughing and talking and heading for our car-and if anyone gets close, you two are dead. One of you will get it with this-"

            "And the other with this." (My husband, with his stubby police special-)

            "Why, Zebbie! How naughty of you! Jacob, do you have a holdout too?"

            "Just this-" Pop now had his hunting knife.

            "Deety?"

            "Did have. You're holding it. But I still have five weapons."

            "Five?"

            "Both hands, both feet, and my head. Squeaky, I must frisk you. Don't wiggle. . . or I'll hurt you." I added, "Stop easing toward your desk, Bertie. You can't kill four of us before we kill you. Pop, don't bother with the gun, or trap, or whatever, in Bertie's desk, Let's get out of here, laughing and joking, as the Captain ordered. Oh, Squeaky, that didn't hurt! Captain, shall I let him up?"

            "Brigadier Hird-Jones, do you honor the safe-conduct granted to us by your commanding officer?" Aunt Hilda asked.

            "Brigadier, I order you to honor it," Bertie said grimly.

            Maybe Squeaky had to catch his breath; he was a touch slow. "Yes, sir."

            Aunt Hilda said, "Thanks, Squeaky. I'm sorry I had to say harsh things to

You.. . but not having muscles I must fight with words. Zebbie, frisk Bertie.

But quickly; we leave now. I leave first, on Bertie's arm. Deety follows, on

Squeaky's arm-you can lean on her if you need to; she's strong. Help him up,

Deety, Jacob and Zebbie trail along behind. Bertie, if anyone gets close to us,

or either you or Squeaky try to signal anyone, or if anything is pointed at us-

first you two die. Then we four die; that's inevitable. But we'll take some with us. What do you think the total may be? Two.. . and four. . . then five? Six? A dozen? Or higher?"

            It took us forty-seven seconds to the bottom of the steps, thirty-one more to Gay Deceiver, and I aged seventy-eight years. Squeaky did lean on me but I made it look the other way around and he managed to smile and to sing with me: Gaudeamus Igitur. Hilda sang The Bastard King to Bertie which seemed both to shock him and make him laugh. The odd way she held his arm told me that she was prepared to plant 24 poisoned darts in Bertie's left armpit if anything went sour.

            No one bothered us. Bertie returned a dozen or more salutes.

            But at Gay Deceiver we ran into a bobble. Four armed soldiers guarded our Smart Girl. By the starboard door was that fathead Moresby, looking smug. As we came close, he saluted, aiming it at Bertie.

            Bertie did not return his salute. "What's the meaning of this?" he said, pointing. Plastered to Gay's side, bridging the line where her door fairs into her afterbody, was H.I.M.'s Imperial seal.

            Moresby answered, "Governor, I understood you perfectly when you told me that I had work to do. Verb. sap., eh?"

            Bertie didn't answer; Moresby continued to hold salute.

            "Major General Moresby," Bertie said so quietly that I could just hear it.

            "Sir!"

            "Go to your quarters. Send me your sword."

            I thought Fathead was going to melt down the way the Wicked Witch did when Dorothy threw the pail of water over her. He brought down the salute and left, moving quickly.

            Everybody acted as if nothing had happened. Hilda said, "Gay Deceiver, open starboard door"-she did and that seal broke. "Bertie, we're going to need people to carry things. I don't want our possessions stacked outdoors."

            He looked down at her, surprised. "Is the war over?"

            "There never was a war, Bertie. But you tried to push us around, and I don't push. You requisitioned this craft; it's legally yours. What I insisted on was that you must witness removal of our chattels. That took coaxing."

            "Coaxing'!"

            "Some people are harder to coax than others. Squeaky, I'm sorry about your knee. Can you hobble back? Or shall we get you a wheelchair? That knee must be swelling up."

            "I'll live. Deety, you play rough."

            "Squeaky," said the Governor General, "slow march back toward the House, grab the first person you see, delegate him to round up a working party. Hilda, will a dozen be enough?"

            "Better make it twenty. And about four more armed guards."

            "Twenty and four additional sentries. Once you pass that word, put the senior rating in charge, and climb into a tub of hot water."

            "Cold water."

            "What, Hilda? Cold?"

            "Hot is okay if he uses lots of Epsom salts. Otherwise ice-cold water will bring the swelling down faster, even though it's uncomfortable. But not for long. Ice water numbs pain while it reduces swelling. By morning you'll be fit. Unless Deety cracked the bone." -

            "Oh, I hope not!" I blurted.

            "Squeaky, you had better listen to Captain Hilda."

            "I'll do it. Ice water. Brrrrr!"

            "Get on with it. But order that working party."

            "Right away, sir."

            "Bertie, will you follow me?" Hilda went inside. The Governor followed her, started to say something but Hilda cut him off: "Jacob, get out the items forward here while Zebbie keeps inventory as you do. Bertie, I have something for Betty before that mob gets here. Will you help me undog this door or perhaps Deety can do it easier GayDeceiverCloseDoorsGayBounceGayBounceGayBounce. Bertie, take off your clothes." She held onto a door dog with her left hand, had my little gun aimed at his face.

            "Hilda!"

            "Captain Hilda, please; I'm in my spacecraft under way. Take off every stitch, Bertie; I'm not as trusting as Zebbie. I assume that you have a holdout he didn't find. Gay Bounce. Hurry up, Bertie; you're going to stay in free fall with no Bonine until you are naked. Zebbie, he may require help. Or inducement."

            He required both. But eleven minutes later Bertie was wearing one of Pop's coveralls and his clothes were abaft the bulkhead. Zebbie did not find a weapon but Aunt Hilda took no chances. At last we were all strapped down, with Bertie between me and the Captain.

            Hilda said, "All hands, report readiness for space. Astrogator."

            "Captain Auntie, we are in space."

            "But quite unready. Astrogator."

            "Seat belt fastened. Ready."

            "Chief Pilot."

            "Door seal checked. No loose gear-I stuffed Bertie's clothes in with the cabin bed clothes. Four charged power packs in reserve. Juice oh-seven-oh. All systems go. Ready."

            "Copilot."

            "Seat belt tight. Continua device ready. Door seal checked. I'd like a Bonine if we're going to be in free fall long. Ready for space."

            "Astrogator, three antinausea pills-captain, copilot, passenger. Passenger."

            "Oh! Oh, yes! Safety belt tight."

            "Captain states seat belt fastened. Ready for space. Gay Termite."

            It was just sunrise at our streamside "home." "Aunt Hilda, why did we run through all that rigamarole if we were coming straight here?"

            "Deety, when you are captain you will know."

            "Not me. I'm not the captain type."

            She ignored me. "Lieutenant General Smythe-Carstairs, will you give me your unconditional parole until I return you home? On your honor as an officer and a gentleman."

            "Am I going home? I had assumed that I had not long to live."

            "You are going home. And I do have something for Betty. But whether or not you give parole affects other matters. Make up your mind-at once!"

            It took him six seconds; Aunt Hilda let him have them. "Parole. Unconditional."

            "I'm surprised, Bertie. You have a tradition against giving parole, do you not?"

            "We do indeed, Captain. But I concluded that my only chance of serving my sovereign lay in giving my word. Am I right?"

            "Quite right, Bertie. You now have opportunity to persuade me to support you in your crisis. Your King-Emperor is not our prince; we place no faith in princes. We have no reason to love Russians but we spanked the only one who gave us trouble. In what way is the British colony superior to the Russian one? Take your time."

            Aunt Hilda turned her attention to the rest of us. "Standing orders apply:

Two at a time, one being armed. Deety and I will cut and wrap sandwiches, make coffee and prepare a snack for growing boys who can't remember a bounteous luncheon three hours ago. One guard at all times at the car. Bertie, I'm assigning you that duty. You know how to use a rifle?"

            Zebadiah said, "You're arming him?"

            "Chief Pilot, I assume that you are questioning my judgment. If you convince me that I am wrong, there will be a new captain even more quickly than I had planned. May I have your reason?"

            "Sharpie, I didn't mean to get your feathers up."

            "Not at all, Zebbie. Why are you surprised that I intend to use Bertie as guard?"

            "Ten minutes ago you had me do a skin search to make sure he wasn't armed. Now you are about to hand him a gun."

            "Ten minutes ago he had not given parole."

            Bertie said hastily, "Zeb is right, Hilda-Captain Hilda; Zeb has no reason to trust me. I don't want to be a bone of contention!"

            I'm still trying to figure out whether Aunt Hilda is more logical than other people or is a complete sophist. She gave Bertie a freeze, looking him up and down. "Smythe-Carstairs, your opinion was neither asked nor wanted."

            Bertie turned pink. "Sorry, Ma'am."

            "Although you were a person of some importance in your own land, you are now something between a prisoner and a nuisance. I am trying to give you the dignity of crew member pro tern. Hold your tongue. Zebbie, what were you going to say?"

            "Shucks, if you aren't afraid to have him with a gun at your back, I'm not. No offense intended, Bertie."

            "None taken, Zeb."

            "Zebbie, please assure yourself that Bertie can handle a rifle, and that he

knows what to shoot at and when not to shoot, before you turn the guard over to him. Put the other rifle at the door for bush patrol. Bertie, watch and listen. Gay Deceiver, open your doors."

            Our Smart Girl opened wide. "Gay Deceiver, close your doors." Gay complied. "Bertie," Aunt Hilda went on, "you do it."

            Of course he failed-and failed again on other voice programs. The Hillbilly explained that it took me a tedious time with special equipment to cause this autopilot to respond to a particular human voice. "Bertie, go back and explain to Squeaky; make him understand that I saved his life. This car can be driven in three modes. Two Squeaky can't use at all; the third would kill him as dead as Caesar."

            "Plus a fourth hazard," added my husband. "Anybody who doesn't understand the Smart Girl but tries to take her apart to see what makes her tick would find himself scattered over a couple of counties."

            "Booby-trapped, Zebadiah?" I asked. "I hadn't known it."

            "No. But juice is very unfriendly to anybody who doesn't understand it."

            "Come and get it!" The snack Aunt Hilda offered was a much-stuffed omelet. "Bertie, place your gun near you, locked. Between bites, you can tell us why your colony is worth defending. By us, I mean. For you, it's duty."

            "Captain Hilda, I've done some soul-searching. I daresay that, in the main, we and the Russians are much the same, prison colonies with military governors. Perhaps, in a hundred years, it won't matter. Although I see us as morally superior."

            "How, Bertie?"

            "A Russian might see this differently. Our transportees are malefactors under our laws-but once here, they are as free as other Englishmen. Oh, they must wear the Broad Arrow until discharged-but at home they would wear it in a grim prison. The Russian prisoners are, if our intelligence is correct, the people they used to send to the Siberian salt mines. Political prisoners. They are serfs but I am told that most of them were not serfs in Russia. Whether they are treated better or worse than serfs in Russia I do not know. But one thing I do know. They work their fields with men; we work ours with wogs."

            "And whip them!" Suddenly I was angry.

            We had an argument, Bertie maintaining that the whips were not used unnecessarily, I asserting that I had seen it with my own eyes.

            I guess he won, as he told us that they had to muzzle the beasts in weed fields, or they would stuff themselves on it, pass out, wake somewhat, do it again, and starve-but the muzzles were designed to allow them to chew a blade at a time all day long, to keep them happy. "The raw weed is addictive, to wog and man. We won't allow a man to work in the fields more than three months at a time. . . and pull him out if he can't pass the weekly medical tests. As for wogs, Deety-yes, we exploit them. Human beings exploit horses, cattle, sheep, poultry, and other breeds. Are you vegetarian?"

            I admitted I was not. "But I don't want to eat wogs!"

            "Nor do we. In Windsor colony wog meat goes only to wogs, and wogs don't care. In the wild they eat their own dead, kill and eat their aged. Captain Hilda, that's all the defense I can offer. I admit that it doesn't sound as strong as I had always believed."

            "Captain, I'd like to put one to Bertie."

            "Jacob, I treasure your thoughts."

            "Bertie, would you polish off the Russians if you could?"

            Bertie snorted. "That's academic, Doctor. I don't command the force it would take. I can't set up a string of stockpiles-and wouldn't know what to do with them if I could; I don't have the troops or 'thopters. But I must add: If my King tells me to fight, I will fight."

            Aunt Hilda told Bertie to wash dishes with Pop sent along as guard. As soon as they started down, Aunt Hilda said, "We are going to do it, to a maximum cost of one power pack. Deety, start working on a program stringing together the dumps we located last night."

            "Already have," I told her. "In my head. Last night. To put me to sleep. You want it preprogrammed? I would rather tell Gay each bounce, I would."

            "Do it your way, hon. The purpose in sending Bertie to wash dishes and Jacob to guard him was to get them out of the way while I rig a frameup. At the end of the coming run, we drop Bertie and bounce. . . and at that instant I cease to be captain. I want to hold the election now-a one-ballot railroad. I will ask for nominations. Zebbie, you nominate Jacob. Deety, you don't need to say anything but speak if you wish. If Jacob nominates either of you, don't argue. I'll rig it so that Bertie declares the ballots. If you two are with me, the only surprise will be that fourth vote. Three for Jacob, and let's all write 'Jacob,' not 'Pop' or 'Jake,' and one for the dark horse. Are you with me?"

            "Wait a half, Sharpie. Why not give Deety a crack at it?"

            "Not me!"

            "Deety should have the experience, but, please, Zebbie, not this time. Jacob has given me a dreadful time. Endless insubordination. I want to pass him on to Deety well tenderized. Deety ought not to have to put up with her father second-guessing her decisions-and, if you two help, she won't have to. I want to give my beloved the goddamndest 'white mutiny' ever, one that he will remember with shudders and never again give a skipper any lip."

            "Sounds good," I agreed, "but I don't know what a 'white mutiny' is."

            "Sweetheart," my husband told me, "it's killing him with kindness. He says 'Frog,' we hop. Utter and literal obedience."

            "This he won't like? Pop will love it!"

            "So? Would you like to command zombies who never make suggestions and carry out orders literally without a grain of common sense?"

            Fifteen minutes later Bertie read off: "Jacob' and this reads 'Jacob' and so does this one, that seems to settle it. But here is one, folded: 'A bunch of smarties, you three. Think I didn't guess why you sent me down to ride shot-

gun? Very well, I vote for myself!' It is signed 'Jake.' Madame Speaker, is that valid?"

            "Quite. Jacob, my last order will be liftoff after we drop Bertie."

            Bertie said, "Jake, I think congratulations are in order."

            "Pipe down! All hands, prepare for space."

            "A piece of cake," Bertie called it. We started at the easternmost dump, worked west. Pop out at four klicks and dive, a dry run to size up the target; where wood alcohol was stored, ornithopters on the ground and how arranged. . . while Gay ululated from intensity six to eight. Frightfulness. I did not let it go up to ten because it wasn't intended to damage but to send anyone on target scattering.

            Zebadiah's idea: "Captain, I've got nothing against Russians. My only purpose is to burn their fuel and their flaphappies to make it difficult to attack our friends-and I don't mean you big brass, Bertie. I mean the transportee maid who brought us tea this morning, and Brian Bean, and Mr. Wheatstone who was a top surgeon before some fool judge slammed him and is now doing his best for wogs, and the chef at the officers' club, and five cons who drove that sillywagon, and dozens more who smiled when they could have scowled. I don't want them killed or enslaved; I want them to have their chance. Governor, England is slapping the Broad Arrow on some of your best potential- you English will live to regret it."

            "You could be right, Zeb,"

            "I don't want to kill Russians, either. Could be most of them are decent blokes. Each strike will be a double run-one pass to scatter 'em, a second to destroy the dump. Captain, if that doesn't suit you, find another gunner."

            Aunt Hilda said, "Astrogator."

            "Captain."

            "Strike as described by Chief Pilot. Take the conn. Attack."

            At the first target we lingered after the strike bounce. The dry pass did show them running away-they could hear us clear in their bones. Those subsonics are so horrid I keyed Gay to kill the noise at code-word "Bounce"- and did not use it on the strike pass.

            Zebadiah made strikes from bearings planned to take out as many 'thopters as possible while setting fire to fuel.

            From four klicks the first strike looked good. The dump was burning, 'thopters he had hit showed smoke, and one that he had not hit was burning. Splashed by flaming methanol, I suppose.

            If that first target was indication, in thirty-four minutes the Russians lost all fuel and about 70% of the deployed flaphappies. I took us up high after the last. "Next stop, Windsor City."

            "l'm taking the conn, Astrogator. Bertie, don't forget my little ring for Betty."

            "I'll give it to her in the morning."

            "Good," Captain Hilda said. "Unbelt, crowd past Jacob, place yourself against the door-feet on deck, chest against door. Jacob, push against the small of his back. Bertie, when the door opens, dive and roll clear."

            They positioned themselves. "Gay Parade Ground Gay Deceiver open starboard door. . . Gay Deceiver close doors, GayBounce, GayBounce! Jacob, do you relieve me?"

            "Beloved, I relieve you. Ten minima H axis transit-and executed. All hands, unbelt."

            I unbuckled with extreme speed~ and clumsiness, getting Pop in the chin with my foot.

            "Deety! Watch where you're going!"

            "I'm sorry, Captain. I'm out of practice with free fall."

            "You've been in free fall every day!"

            "Yes, Captain. I've been in free fall every day, belted down."

            "Pipe down! Hilda, don't cover the instrument board. Hold onto something. No, not me, damn it. Zeb! Grab something and catch Hilda!"

            "Roger Wilco, Captain! Right away!" My husband snagged Aunt Hilda, grabbed a seat belt with his other hand, trapped our captain against the dogs of the bulkhead door with his buttocks. "What now, sir!"

            "Get your goddam fanny out of my face!"

            "Sorry, sir," Zebadiah answered humbly while turning and digging an elbow into Pop's ribs. I closed in from the other side and we had Pop trapped again- ballet and trampoline make a fine background for free fall. Zebadiah went on cheerfully, "What shall we do now, sir?"

            Pop didn't answer. From watching his lips I saw that he was counting backwards, silently, in German. That's stage three.

            Then he said quietly, "Zeb, get into the copilot's seat and belt down."

            "Aye aye, sir." Zebadiah did so.

            Pop snatched Hilda while hanging onto a dog. "Deety, belt down in the chief pilot's seat."

            "Roger Wilco, Captain"-I did so.

            "My dear, I want you behind Deety. Do you need help?"

            "Yes, thank you, Captain; it's sweet of you to offer." White mutiny? The Hillbilly is about as helpless as Zebadiah but thinks God created men to pamper women. I've heard less reasonable philosophies.

            After "helping" Hilda, Pop strapped down in the starboard after seat. "All hands! We have moved clockwise ninety degrees. I am now captain. Hilda, you are astrogator and second-in-command. Deety, you are chief pilot. Zeb, you are copilot. In order of seniority, any questions?"

            The Hillbilly said in a small voice, "As second-in-command I am required to advise the Captain-"

            "Certain circumstances. Speak up."

            "Captain, I know very little about astrogation."

            "That's why you have the job. You will seek advice from Deety as needed, both of you seek advice from Zeb when necessary-and if all three of you are stumped, I will tackle it and be responsible for mistakes. No burden, the

Captain is always responsible for all mistakes. When in doubt, do not hesitate to consult me.

            "Deety, you have not driven this car in atmosphere. But you are a competent, decisive, and skillful driver of duos"-I am, Pop?-you're years late in saying so-"and we have come this high to give you time to acquaint yourself with it. I placed Zeb by you to coach you and, in time, to report to me that you are fully qualified." Pop smiled. "Fortunately, should you get into trouble, we have programs that will get you out instantly such as 'Gay Bounce'-"

            Gay bounced.

            Pop did not notice but I had my eye on radar distance since learning that I was responsible. Pop, who invented those safety scrams? Think hard. Hint:

One of your offspring.

            "Zeb, you know the knobs and scales et cetera of the controls we refer to as the verniers but you have not had time to practice. Now you will practice until you can handle anything, by eye, or by clicks in the dark. Permit me to pay you this compliment: You will give yourself your own final examination. When you feel ready, tell me and I will have the Astrogator log it.

            "Advice to future captains-I will not be happy until all are competent in each of four seats, and all feel easy in all twenty-five possible arrangements-"

            "Twenty-four, Pop," I blurted out. I hastily added, "Sorry, Captain-'twentyfive."

            Pop has a terrible time with kitchen arithmetic; it has been so long since he has done any. He will pick up a hand computer to discover 2x3=6; I've seen him do it.

            He stared at me, lips moving slightly. At last he said, "Chief Pilot."

            "Captain."

            "You are ordered to correct me when I make a mistake. 'Twenty-four' permutations, certainly."

            "Sir, may the Chief Pilot have more information before she answers RogerWilco?"

            "Fire away!"

            "Captain, what categories of mistakes?"

            "Eh? Any sort! A mistake is a mistake. Daughter, are you baiting me?"

            "No, Captain. I am unable to acknowledge your order as I do not understand it. 'A mistake is a mistake' is semantically null. If I see you about to sugar your coffee twice shall I-"

            "Tell me! Of course."

            "If I see you treating your wife unjustly shall I-"

            "Wait a moment! Even if I did or have-which I decline to stipulate-it is not proper for you to interfere."

            "Yes, sir. We've established that there are two sets. But the Captain has not defined the sets and the Chief Pilot lacks authority to do so. May I resPectfully suggest that the Captain take notice of the quandary, then reframe the order at a time of his choosing. . . and in the meantime permit the Chief Pilot not to correct the Captain's mistakes?"

            Zebadiah winked at me with his head turned so that I saw it but Pop could not.

            Pop fumed, complaining that I wasn't showing common sense and, worse, I had broken his train of thought. He finally got around to a definition at about 8th grade level: I was to correct him only in errors involving figures or related symbols such as angles. (On your own head be it, Pop!) I gave him Roger-Wilco.

            "In fact," he went on expansively, "it may be my duty to see that this training course is completed before, with great relief, I turn this seat over to my successor."

            (I started figuring how many children I would have by then and decided to look for ways to hike up the "white mutiny.")

            "Captain?"

            "Astrogator."

            "This advice concerns a mistake that could occur in the near future. I assume that the Captain has the conn?"

            "Hilda, I have the conn. Speak up."

            "We are falling, sir. I advise placing us in orbit."

            I sighed with relief, as radar distance I was beginning to think of as Habove-G and did not like our closing rate.

            Pop said, "Surely, put us in orbit. Take the conn and do it. Good practice. Deety can show you how. Or Zeb."

            "Aye aye, sir. I have the conn. Chief Pilot, keep her level with respect to planet."

            "Roger. Level now."

            "Copilot, add speed vector positive axis L three point six klicks per second."

            "Uh . . . set!"

            "Hold it!" Pop unbelted, steadied himself by Zebadiah's chair, checked the setting. "Okay. Execute!"

            "Excuse me, Captain," Zebadiah said, "but was that order directed at me or the Astrogator?"

            Pop opened his mouth-then turned red. "Astrogator, I am satisfied with your solution and the setting. Please have the maneuver executed."

            "Aye aye, sir. Execute!"

            What Pop planned seemed reasonable. "So far we have used juice, supplies, and four days' time, and have merely established that there are at least two analogs of our universe, one quantum and ten quanta away on Tau axis. The latter has beasts-wogs-that are not the vermin we fled from, but-according to Hilda-closely related. To me, this makes Tau axis not our best place to seek a new home.

            "Zebadiah has suggested that we sample the universes available by rotation rather than translation-six axes taken four at a time-before we search Teh axis. Let me remind you that we could die of old age searching Teh axis alone. I will decide but I will listen to arguments pro or con."

            Twenty-three minutes later Aunt Hilda shrilled, "Copilot, by plan, as set- Rotate!"

XXX

"Difference physical laws, a different topology."

Jacob:

We rotated to. . . Nowhere- So it seemed. Free fall and utter blackness- The cabin held only the faint

radiance from the instruments.

My daughter said in hushed tones, "Captain! May I turn on inside lights?" This was a time to establish discipline and doctrine. "Permission refused.

Copilot, I would like to see in all directions."

"Yes, sir," Zeb acknowledged.

            After a few moments I added, "Copilot? Why are you waiting?"

            "I am awaiting orders, sir."

            "What the hell, Zeb? Get with it! I said I wanted to see in all directions. We have preprograms for that."

            "Yes, Captain."

            "Well? Why aren't you using them? Can't you carry out orders?" (I was amazed at Zeb.)

            "Captain, I have not as yet received any orders, and I am not at the conn."

            I started to answer sharply-and bit down on it. Precisely what had I said? I recalled that the autopilot stayed in recording mode during maneuvers; I could play back the last few minutes-

            -and decided not to. We were wasting time and it was possible that I had not expressed myself in the form of a direct order. Nevertheless I could not

ignore Zeb's pigheaded behavior. "Copilot, I am aware that I have not given you direct orders. However, it is customary to treat a captain's requests as politely worded orders."

            "Yes, sir."

            "Well? God damn it, why don't-"

            "Captain! Captain Jacob! Please listen! Please!" I took a deep breath. "What is it, Hilda?"

            "Captain, I am required to advise you."

            "Eh? Advise away-but be quick about it."

            "Captain, you have given the Copilot neither orders nor requests. The autopilot's record will confirm this. You mentioned preprograms-but voice programs are not normally handled by the Copilot."

            "I can order the Copilot to use a voice program." Hilda did not answer. Again I waited, then said, "Well?" Then I said, "Astrogator, you did not answer me." "Sorry, Captain. Answer what?"

            "My question."

            "Captain, I was not aware that you had asked me a question. Would you mind repeating it?"

            "Oh, forget it, forget it! Chief Pilot!"

            "Captain."

            "Deety, what's the voice program to rotate us a full circle around W axis?"

            "Shall I spell it, sir? S.G. is awake."

            "No, do it. Turn out your instrument lights. Pilots watch forward, Captain and Astrogator will watch the sides. Do it. Execute."

            Instrument lights dimmed to zero, leaving us in the darkest dark I have ever experienced. I heard a repressed moan and felt a burst of sympathy for my daughter; she had never liked total darkness. But she carried out my orders:

            "Gay Deceiver, Tumbling Pigeon."

            "Forward somersault-whee!"

            "Execute."

            I felt pressure against my belts-being forward of the center of mass we were starting a gentle outside loop. I started counting seconds as I recalled that this program took twenty seconds.

            I had reached seventy-eight seconds and was beginning to wonder when Deety announced "Twenty seconds" as the autopilot announced, "End of program."

            Deety said, "You're a Smart Girl, Gay."

            "If I were smart, would I be doing this? Over."

            "Roger and out, Gay. Captain, 'I request permission to switch on cabin lights."

            "Permission granted. Report observations. Copilot?"

            "Skipper, I saw nothing."

            "Deety?"

            "Nothing."

            "Hilda?"

            "Jacob, I didn't see anything. Can't we get out of this universe? It stinks."

            "That stink is me," our copilot said. "The reek of fear. Captain, of what use is an empty universe?"

            "Zeb, 'empty universe' is a meaningless expression. Space-time implies mass-energy, and vice versa."

            "Captain, it looks empty to me."

            "And to me. I'm faced by a dilemma in theory. Is the mass in this spacetime so far away that we can't see it? Or is it in a state of 'Cold Death,' level entropy? Or did we create this universe by rotating?"

            "Create it'-.---Huh?"

            "A possibility," I pointed out. "If we are the only mass in this universe, then this universe had no existence until we created it by rotation. But it will not collapse when we rotate out, because we will be leaving behind quanta we are radiating."

            "Hmm- Captain, I'm bothered by something else. We started from universe-ten and made one ninety-degree rotation. Correct?"

            "Yes. We rotated around 'x' and thereby moved each of the other five axes ninety degrees. We are now experiencing duration along 'y.' Teh and 'z' are spatial coordinates now, and 'x' remains spatial because we rotated on it. Tau and 't' are now null, unused."

            "Mmm- Deety, what Greenwich time is it?" Zeb glanced at the instrument board.

            "Uh- Seventeen: thirteen: oh-nine."

            "Smart Girl says you are twenty seconds slow." Zeb looked at his navigator's watch. "But my watch splits the difference. How many minutes since we left Windsor City?"

            "Thirty-nine minutes, thirteen seconds. Ask me a hard one."

            "I'm going to ask your father a hard one. Captain, if you tell G.D. to scram to Windsor P.G. right now mark!-what will the Greenwich time be?"

            "Look at your clock. About a quarter past seventeen hundred."

            "But you told me that, since rotating, we've been experiencing duration along 'y' axis."

            "But- Oh! Zeb, I'm stupid. No time has elapsed on 't' axis since the instant we rotated If we reversed the rotation, we would go back to that exact instant."

            "Deety hon?" Zeb asked. "Do you agree?"

            (I felt annoyed that my son-in-law consulted my daughter as to the correctness of my professional opinion-then suppressed the thought. Deety will always be my little girl, which makes it hard for me to remember that she is also my professional colleague.)

            My daughter suddenly looked upset. "I- Pop! That first trip to the world Without the letter 'J'-time did pass, it did!"

            Zeb said gently, "But that was translation, Deety. You continued to experience duration along 't' axis."

            Deety thought about it, then said sorrowfully, "Zebadiah, I no longer know What time it is. Pop is correct; we experience duration on one axis only, and

that is now 'y' axis. We can't experience duration on two axes at once." She heaved a sigh. "Will I ever get the clock in my head set right again?"

            "Sure you will," my son-in-law reassured her. "Like crossing a time zone. Shortly after we grounded on Mars-ten, your head started keeping time both in Greenwich and in Mars Touchdown meridian time, even though Touchdown time kept falling farther behind hour after hour. A simple index correction won't bother you. My sweet, you don't realize how smart you are."

            Zeb patted her hand, then looked around at me. "Captain, may I propose a change in schedule?"

            "Let's hear it."

            "Sir, I would like two sequences. First, go back to Windsor P.G. with the verniers preset for a hundred thousand klicks straight up, and execute at once. Then translate back to our own universe-zero-but not to Earth-zero. Instead, set up an orbit around Mars-zero. That orbit becomes our base of operations."

            I said, "Simple enough. But why?"

            "So that we will always have somewhere to go back to. Deety can write us a program that will place us back in that orbit. Something like G, A, Y, H, 0, M, E, but based on Mars-zero-with elbow room."

            I asked, "Daughter, can you write such a program?"

            "I think so, Pop. An emergency scram? G, A, Y, plus something?" Deety paused. "Sagan.' G, A, Y, S, A, G, A, N means to return to orbit around Marszero. Built-in mnemonic."

            "Satisfactory. Is that all, Copilot?"

            "No, sir. Our schedule breaks up naturally into a five group, a four group, a three, a two, and a one. I would like to add to each group a return to orbit around Mars-zero. Captain, if you were on the verniers, I wouldn't worry; you know them so well. I don't. If I do fifteen rotations, one right after the other, I'm afraid I'll make some tiny mistake and we'll wind up in analog-AndromedaNebula in universe a thousand-and-two on 'z' axis, with no idea how wa got there or how to get home."

            "Copilot, you worry too much."

            "Probably. Captain, my whole life is based on being chicken at every opportunity. I'll breathe easier if I come back to a familiar orbit at the end of each group. . . and know that the next group is one less. It won't take ten minutes longer to do it my way and I'll be less likely to make mistakes. But tackling all fifteen at a slug scares me."

            "Captain Jacob-"

            "Not now, Hilda. I must settle this with-"

            "Captain, I am required to advise you."

            "Eh? All right, all right! Make it snappy."

            "You know-we all know-that Zebbie's premonitions must not be ignored. I advise you officially- Gay Deceiver, record this 'I-tell-you-three-times."

            "Hilda, I hear you three times."

            "Captain Jacob, I, your second-in-command, advise you officially to revise the schedule of rotations in the fashion recommended by the copilot. End of I-tell-you-three-times."

            (Have you ever found yourself boxed in? Damn it, I intended to let Zeb do it his way; I am not unreasonable. I can't say that I believe in Zeb's premonitions; I suspect that he is simply a man with extremely fast reflexes. But both our wives believe in them and Zeb does himself. I found myself faced with mutiny unless I did exactly what I had intended to do anyway! How does one describe 50 ironical a situation?)

            Shortly I found myself saying, "Copilot, by revised schedule, set second rotation of first group." We were in "Sagan" orbit around Mars of Universezero (i.e., the one we had grown up in: Galactic coordinates X0, Y0, Z0, & t0- Earth-zero, Mars-zero, Sun-zero, Universe-zero). I tend to think of this as the "real" universe even though I am aware that there is no evidence or mathematical theory for preferring one frame of reference over another-to do so is egocentric provincialism at its worst. But I offer this in mitigation: for us it was simplest and thereby helped us to avoid getting lost.

            "Set," Copilot Zeb reported. I went forward, checked the setting (rotation around 'y,' with 'z' and 't' dropping out, null), then returned to my seat. "We can spare a minute to look at Mars. Deety, tilt the nose down to let us look. Do you know how?"

            "Like this, Captain?"

            "Right," I agreed. "Keep it up."

            Deety raised the craft's nose and swung right, catching me with belts not yet fastened. I said forcefully, "Deety! What the hell are you doing?" while I floundered and grabbed.

            "Sir, you ordered 'right' and 'up," Deety answered.

            "I did no such thing!"

            "But, Jacob-Captain-you did tell her that, I heard you."

            "Hilda, you keep out of this!"

            Hilda answered stiffly, "Captain, I respectfully request that you either relieve me of the conn, or that you give orders to my pilots through me."

            "Damn it, you don't have the conn. I do."

            "Then the Captain neglected to relieve me."

            "Uh- Take the conn! Carry out the planned schedule."

            "Aye aye, sir. Chief Pilot, orient the car for best view of Mars."

            "Aye aye, Ma'am!"

            I was fuming, not looking, hardly listening. I had said to Deety, All right, keep on with it-or had I? Gay could play it back. . . and could also check on Hilda's incredible allegation. If I were wrong (I felt certain I was not!), I would face up to it like a man and- Zeb broke in on my thoughts:

            Captain, do you care what attitude this craft is in at rotation?"

            "No. Only for transitions."

            "Hmm- Then it follows as the night from day thou canst not then predict the attitude we'll be in whenever we arrive in a new universe."

            Only with respect to our arbitrary zero reference frame. Why should it matter?"

            "It Won't as long as we arrive with plenty of room. I've been noodling how to be sure of that. I don't see an answer. But I don't want to try translations

or rotations parked on the ground. I hope the Captain won't order any."

            "Copilot, I have no plans to. Astrogator, haven't we had enough sightseeing?"

            "Very well, Captain," my wife acknowledged. "Deety, secure those binoculars. Zebbie, immediately after each rotation, set next rotation and report 'Set.' Deety, after each rotation, use .voice program to put us through one Pigeon-Tumble with all lights out. I will watch to port, Deety forward, Zebbie starboard. Questions?"

            I said, "Astrogator, you did not assign me a sector."

            "I have no authority to assign duties to the Captain. Does the Captain wish to select a sector and assume responsibility for it?"

            She waited. I said hastily, "No. Perhaps it will be best for me to watch in all directions. General supervision."

            "Very well, Captain. Copilot-execute."

Again we rotated into darkness. Deety switched out all lights. Zeb reported, "Set!"

            "Stop!" I called out. I added, "Zeb, you reported 'Set' in total darkness. How did you set it?"

            "Rotation around 'z' axis, with 'x' and 'y' dropping out. Duration along Teh. Third combo first group, sir."

            "I mean, 'How did you do it in darkness?' By clicks?"

            "Captain, I didn't do it in darkness."

            I said, "It was pitch dark when you reported 'Set."

            "So it was, Captain."

            "It's not necessary to call me 'Captain' every ten seconds. I want a straight answer. So far you have reported that you set it in darkness and that you set it with lights on."

            "No, sir."

            "God damn it, you just did!"

            "Captain, I protest your swearing at me. I request that my protest be logged."

            "Zeb, you are-" I shut up. I counted thirty in French under my breath, by which time I was ready to speak. "Zeb, I'm sorry that my language offended you. But I am still trying to find out what you did and how. Will you please tell me, in simple language?"

            "Yes, sir. I set the third rotation by clicks-"

            "But you said the lights were on-"

            "The lights were on. I set the rotation with my eyes closed-"

            "For God's sake, why?"

            "For practice. I set them with eyes closed. Then I check to see whether it matches what I intended to set. Deety leaves the light on until I give her the 'kill it' sign. Then she kills the glim and does her act."

            "Zeb, there wasn't time to do it that way."

Zeb gave a most irritating grin. "Captain, I'm fairly quick. So is Deety." I said, "Perhaps I had better check the setting."

            Zeb made no answer; both women kept still. I began to wonder what everyone was waiting on. . . then realized that I was the "what." Unbelt and check

on Zeb's setting? I remembered that irritating grin. So I said, "Deety, carry out the tumbling routine."

The somersault completed, I asked, "Anyone see anything?" Hilda said, "I. . . think so. Captain, could we do that again?" "Do it, Deety," I ordered.

            Pigeon-Tumble resumed; Hilda suddenly said, "There!" and Deety snapped, "GayDeceiverStop!"

            I asked, "Hilda, do you still see it?"

            "Yes, Jacob. A fuzzy star. You can see it if I pull back and you lean forward."

            I suppose we each did so-for I spotted something. "I see it! Zeb-the binoculars, please."

            An invisible hand pushed them against my neck. I got them lined up with difficulty, got that faint light, focused with great care. "It looks like a lenticular galaxy seen not quite edge on. Or it might be a family of galaxies. Whatever it is, it is a long way off. Millions of light-years-I have no way of guessing."

            "Can we reach it by transition?" asked Zeb.

            "Possibly. I would set middle range on 'six,' then keep punching until it showed change in width. It might be possible to reach it in an hour or so. Do you want to look at it?"

            "From your description, I don't think so," Zeb answered. "That is fossil light-isn't it?"

            "Eh? Yes, the light has been traveling for millions of years."

            "That's my point, Captain. We might find that those stars had burned out. Fossil light doesn't tell us anything we can use. Let's designate this 'Last Chance' and get out."

            Eminently sensible- "Stand by to rotate. Copilot-execute!"

            Blinding light- "Zeb! Rotate! Execute!"

            Suddenly we were in a starry void, almost homelike. I heaved a sigh of relief. "Zeb, what did we fall into?"

            "I don't know, Captain." He added, "I had my eyes closed, setting the next rotation by clicks. So I didn't get dazzled. But I never had a chance to check my setting by eyesight, either; I rotated at once."

            "You got us out-thanks. I did get dazzled; I've got purple blotches in front of my eyes. New standing order: At each rotation all hands close eyes and duck heads for that moment needed to be sure that we have not again run into dazzle. Zeb, that need not slow you up since you are setting by touch and click anyhow-but if we do hit dazzle, rotate us out; don't wait for my orders. And-All Hands!-we are all free at all times to use any of the escape programs to get us out of danger."

            "Next rotation set, Captain."

            "Thank you, Copilot. Hilda, do you or Deety have any notion as to what we fell into?"

            "No, Captain," my daughter answered.

            "Captain Jacob, I have three hypotheses, none worth much."

            "Let others judge that, my dear."

            "Interior of a glObal star cluster-or near the nucleus of a galaxy, or-

possibly-the early part of an expanding universe when new stars are almost rubbing shoulders."

            "Hmm- Real garden spots. Zeb, could we have picked up excessive radiation?"

            "Captain, the shell of this buggy is opaque to most radiation, and that windscreen is heavily leaded-but no way to tell."

            "Zebadiah, if the film in the camera is ruined, some heavy stuff got through. If the next picture is okay, we're probably okay."

            Hilda said, "I'm glad you thought of that, Deety. I don't like the idea of radiation while I'm pregnant. You, too, hon."

            "Aunt Hilda, we're almost completely shielded where it matters. It could addle our brains but not our bellies."

            "Hilda, do you wish to shoot one frame?" I asked.

            "No, Jacob, it would waste film."

            "As you wish. My eyes are coming back. Deety, put us through one PigeonTumble."

            My daughter did so; I saw nothing. "Report! Hilda?"

            "Lots of big beautiful stars but nothing close."

            "Me, too, Pop-but what a beautiful sky!"

            "Null report, Captain."

            "Hilda, mark it down as 'promising.' All hands, stand by for fifth rotation. Keep eyes closed and heads down. Execute!"

            Zeb gasped. "Where in Hell are we?"

            "In Hell, maybe, Zebbie."

            "Captain!"

            "Hilda may not be too far off," I answered. "It's something I could not have believed three weeks ago: some sort of inside-out universe."

            "Pellucidar!" said Deety.

            "No, my dear daughter. One: We are not inside our home planet; we are in another universe. Two: This universe has physical laws that differ from our own. The inside of a spherical shell cannot have a gravitational field by the laws of our universe. Yet I see a river and we seem to be falling toward it. Deety, are we in air or in vacuo?"

            Deety wiggled the controls. "Got some air. Probably could get support with wings fully spread."

            "Then do so." Deety brought the car into a dead-stick glide.

            Zeb said grimly, "I don't want to homestead here! So big-ten thousand kilometers across at a guess. Yet it's all inside. No sky! No horizons. Never again a night sprinkled with stars. That light in the center- Looks like our sun but it's too small, much too small. When we leave, I don't want to come back; the god who takes care of fools and explorers let us arrive in empty space instead of maybe ten kilometers underground. But next time- I hate to think about it."

            I said, "It may not have been luck, Zeb, but logical necessity."

            "Huh. You've lost me, Captain."

            "You're thinking of this as a spherical shell. But there is no basis for assuming that it has an outside."

            "What? Endless millions of light-years of solid rock?"

            "No, no! Nothing. By 'nothing' I do not mean space; I mean a total absence of existence of any sort. Different physical laws, a different topology. We may be seeing the totality of this universe. A small universe with a different sort of closed space."

            "I can't visualize it, Jake."

            "Deety, my dear, rephrase it for your husband."

            "I'll try, Pop. Zebadiah, the geometry of this place may require different postulates from those that work back home. I'm sure you have played with Möbius strips-"

            "A surface with only one side, one edge. But this is a sphere."

            "Pop is saying that it may be a sphere with only one side, the inside. Have you ever tried to figure out a Klein bottle?"

            "I got cross-eyed and a headache."

            "This could be a Klein-bottle sort of thing. It might turn out that if you tunneled straight down anywhere down there, you would emerge at the opposite point, still inside. And that straight line might be shorter than the distance across. Maybe much shorter."

            "Point three-one-eight-three-zero-nine is the ratio by the simplest postulates," I agreed. "But the geometry may not be that simple. However, Zeb, assuming that this is a total universe, our chances of arriving in open space were far greater than the chance of conflicting with a mass. But I would not wish to homestead here-pretty as it is. Nevertheless we might check for obstetricians."

            "No obstetricians," Zeb answered firmly.

            "Why?" I demanded.

            "If there are human beings here, they do not have an advanced culture. Deety has been following that river. Did you notice where that other river joined it? Also look ahead where it meets the sea. No cities. No warehouses. No river traffic. No air traffic, no signs of roads. Yet this is choice real estate. Therefore, no advanced culture anywhere and a small population, if any. If anyone wants to refute me, please do so in the next two minutes; Deety can't hold this heap in the air much longer without using juice."

            "I check you, Zebbie. They might be so advanced that they can make the whole joint look like a park. I wouldn't bet on it."

            "Deety?" I asked.

            "Aunt Hilda is right, Captain. But it's so pretty!"

            "Hilda, expend one film, as a souvenir. Then we rotate." My daughter nosed the car down to permit a better picture.

            A click- "Got it!" Hilda cried. "GaySagan!"

            Mars of Universe-zero lay to starboard. Zeb sighed. "I'm glad to be out of there. Sharpie, did you get a picture?"

            "Can't rush it," my wife answered. "Nnnn, yup, picture coming."

            "Good!"

            "Zebbie, I thought you didn't like that inside-out world?"

            "I don't. If that picture is sharp, you two knocked-up broads weren't hit by radiation where it counts. Any fogging?"

            "No, Zebbie, and brighter color every second. Here-look."

            Zeb brushed it aside. "My sole interest is in radiation. Captain, I'm having misgivings. We've tried five out of fifteen and only one was even vaguely homelike. The pickings have been slim and the dangers excessive. But we know that Earth analogs Tau and Teh axes are Earthlike-"

            "With monsters," put in Hilda.

            "Tau axis, probably. We haven't explored Teh axis. Jake, are we justified in exposing our wives to dangers we can't imagine?"

            "In a moment, Copilot. Astrogator, why did you rotate? I don't think I ordered it. I have been trying to run a taut ship."

            "So have I, Captain. I must ask to be relieved as astrogator."

            "I am sorry to say that I have been thinking along the same lines, my dearest. But you had better explain."

            "Captain, three times you have replaced me at the conn without relieving me. The last time I let it continue, wondering and waiting. Just now we were losing altitude, dangerously. So I acted. Now I ask to be relieved."

            Hilda seemed calm and not angry. But resolved. Had I really done anything out of line? It did not seem so to me.

            "Zeb, have I been overriding the officer at the conn?"

            Zeb took too long to answer. "Captain, this is a time when a man must insist on written orders. I will make a written reply."

            "Hmm-" I said. "I think you have replied. Deety, what do you think? More written orders?"

            "I don't need written orders. Pop, you've been utterly stinking!"

            "You really feel so?"

            "I know so. Aunt Hilda is right; you are dead wrong. She understated the case. You assign her responsibilities-then ignore her. Just now she carried out her assigned duties-and you chewed her out for it. Of course she wants to be relieved."

            My daughter took a deep breath and went on: "And you bawled her out for ordering a scram escape. Twenty-seven minutes ago you said-and I quote:

'All Hands!-we are all free at all times to use any of the escape programs to get us out of danger.' End of quotation. Pop, how can you expect orders to be obeyed when you can't remember what orders you've given? Nevertheless, we have obeyed you, every time and no back talk-and we've all caught hell. Aunt Hilda caught the most-but Zebadiah and I caught quite a bit. Pop, you've been- I won't say it, I won't!"

            I looked out the port at Mars for long unhappy minutes. Then I turned around. "I've no choice but to resign. Effective as I ground her. Family, I must admit to great humiliation. I had thought that I was doing quite well. Uh, back to our streamside, I think. Gay-"

            "GayDeceiverOverride! Not on your tintype! You'll serve as long as I did-

not a second less! But Sharpie is right in refusing to take the conn under you; you've been mistreating her. Despite being a colonel, you have never learned that you can't assign responsibility without delegating authority to match- and then respect it. Jake, you're a lousy boss. We're going to keep you in the hot seat until you learn better. But there's no reason for Sharpie to resign over your failings."

            "I still have something to say," said my daughter.

            "Deety," Zeb said forcefully, "leave well enough alone!"

            "Zebadiah, this is to ~ou quite as much-or more-as it is to Pop. Complaints of another sort."

            My son-in-law looked startled. "Oh. Sorry. You have the floor."

XXXI

"-the first ghosts ever to search for an obstetrician."

            Hilda:

            If Zebbie and Jacob have a fault in common, it is overprotectiveness. Having always been the runt, I am habitually willing to accept protection. But Deety ~ rebels.

            When Zebbie asked Jacob whether or not they were justified in exposing us to unknown dangers, Deety stuck her oar in-and Zebbie tried to hush her.

            Zebbie should have known better.

            But he is barely getting acquainted with her, whereas I've known her since her diaper days. Once when Deety was, oh, possibly four, I started to tie her shoes. She pulled away. "Deety do!" she announced indignantly-and Deety did: on one shoe a loose half bow that came apart almost at once, on the other a Gordian knot that required the Alexandrian solution.

            It's been "Deety do!" ever since, backed by genius and indomitable will.

            Deety told him, "Zebadiah, concerning completing this schedule: Is there some reason to exclude Hilda and me from the decision?"

            "Damn it, Deety, this is one time when husbands have to decide!"

            "Damn it, Zebadiah, this is one time when wives must be consulted!"

            Zebbie was shocked. But Deety had simply matched his manner and rhetoric. Zebbie is no fool; he backed down. "I'm sorry, hon," he said soberly. "Go ahead."

            "Yessir. I'm sorry I answered the way I did. But I do have something to say-and Hilda, too. I know I speak for both of us when I say that we appreciate

that you and Pop would die for us. . . and that you feel this more intensely now that we are pregnant.

            "But we have not been pregnant long enough to be handicapped. Our bellies do not bulge. They will bulge, and that gives us a deadline. But for that very reason we will either sample those rotation universes today. . . or we will never sample them."

            "Why do you say 'never,' Deety?"

            "That deadline. We've sampled five and, scary as some have been, I wouldn't have missed it! We can look at the other ten in the next few hours. But if we start searching Teh axis there is no way to guess how long it will take. Thousands of universes along Teh axis and it seems likely that each holds an analog of Earth. We may check hundreds before we find what we are looking for. Let's say we find it and Hilda and I have babies with skilled medical attention. Then what? Zebadiah, are you going to be more willing to take women with babies into strange universes than you are without babies?"

            "Uh. . . that's not the way to put it, Deety."

            "How would you put it, sir? Are you thinking that you and Pop might check those ten while Hilda and I stay home with the kids?"

            "Well. . . yes, I suppose I am. Something of the sort."

            "Zebadiah, I married you for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health. I did not marry to walk the Widow's Walk! Where you go, I go!.-till death do us part."

            "Deety speaks for me," I said, and shut up. Deety had it figured: If Jacob and Zebbie didn't finish those rotations today, they would have that "far horizons" look for the rest of their lives-and they wouldn't want us along. Not with kids. Sharpie wasn't going to hold still for that. No, sir!

            "Deety, are you through?"

            "Not quite, sir. All humans are created unequal. You are bigger and stronger than Pop; I am bigger and stronger than Hilda. I have the least years of experience; Pop has the most. Pop is a supergenius. . . but he concentrates so hard that he forgets to eat-unless he has a nursemaid to watch him-as Mama did, as I did, as Hilda now does. You, sir, are the most all-around competent man I've ever met, whether driving a duo, or dancing, or telling outrageous tales. Three of us have eight or nine earned degrees. . . but Aunt Hilda with none is a walking encyclopedia from insatiable curiosity and extraordinary memory. We two are baby factories and you two are not-but two men can impregnate fifty women-or five hundred. There is no end to the ways that we four are unequal. But in one supremely important way all of us are equals.

            "We are pioneers.

            "Men alone are not pioneers; they can't be. Pioneer mothers share the dangers of pioneer fathers and go on having babies. Babies were born in the Mayflower, lots were born in covered wagons-and lots died, too. Women didn't stay home; they went along.

            "Zebadiah, I do not ask to be taken to those next ten universes-"

            "It sounds like it."

            "You didn't listen, sir. I would like to finish sampling those fifteen. It's my preference but not my demand. What I do demand I have stated: Where you go, I go. Today and to the end of our lives. Unless you tell me to get out, that you don't want me anymore. I have spoken."

            "You certainly have, dear. Hilda?"

            Fish or cut bait, Sharpie-what do you want? I didn't care; any new universe was bound to be strange. But Deety had laid down the party line; I didn't want to fuzz it up-so I answered instantly, "Deety speaks for me in every word."

            "Jake? Back to my original question: 'Are we justified in exposing our wives to conditions we can't even imagine?"

            "Zeb, you are the one who convinced me that it would be prudent to sample the universes accessible through rotation before searching by translation."

            "True. But that was before we sampled five of them."

            "I don't see that the situation has changed. An imaginable danger is not necessarily better than an unimaginable one; it may be worse. Our home planet had grave shortcomings before we tangled with the vermin. No need to list them; we all know that the Four Horsemen are ready to ride again. But I can think of a very close analog of our home planet that would be far worse than Earth-zero even if it didn't have a single 'Black-Hat' vermin on it."

            "Go on."

            "One in which Hitler got atomic weapons but we did not. I can't see that vermin are more to be dreaded than Hitler's S.S. Corps. The sadism of some human beings-not just Storm Troopers; you can find sadists in any country including the United States-is more frightening to me than any monster."

            "Not to me!" Deety blurted it out.

            "But, my dear, we don't know that those vermin are cruel. We got in their way; they tried to kill us. They did not try to torture us. There is a world of difference."

            "Maybe there is, Pop, but those things give me the creeps. I'll bet they'd torture us if they could!"

            "My very dear daughter, that's muddy thinking. How old are you?"

            "Huh? Pop, you know if anybody does."

            "I was reminding you ~f what you said: you have the least years of experience. I was much older than you are before I was cured of that sort of muddy thinking. By Jane, your mother. Hilda?"

            "Jacob is telling you not to judge a book by its cover," I said. "I learned it from Jane, too, as Jacob knows. A creature's appearance tells nothing about its capacity for sadism."

            Jacob said, "Does anyone have anything to add? Since it appears that I am not permitted to resign now, I must rule on it. We will complete the scheduled rotations." Jacob cleared his throat loudly, looked at Deety. "During my remaining hours in what Zeb so accurately calls the 'Worry Seat,' I will endeavor to keep my orders straight.. . but, should I fail, I ask that my attention be invited to it at once -not saved up for a scolding later. Daughter?"

            "Okay, Pop. Aye aye, Captain."

            "Thank you, my dear. Is anyone tired or hungry?" No one spoke up; Jacob continued, "Hilda, will you take the conn?"

            "No, Captain"-I'll omit the internal debate I held with myself; Jacob on his best behavior is hard to refuse.

            "Very well, my beloved; I won't press you. It's an odd situation. Copilot, by schedule, set to rotate."

            "Second group, first of four-set, sir."

            "Check seat belts, stand by to rotate. Execute!"

            We were in sunlight in a blue sky and upside down. For a few seconds we were thrown around a bit-Deety isn't the pilot Zebbie is. But she did get us leveled off. I heard Deety say, "Gay Deceiver."

            "Hi, Deety!"

            "Hold course, speed, and height-above-ground."

            "Got it, girl!"

            "You're a Smart Girl, Gay."

            "But we can't go on meeting like this! Over."

            "Roger and out, Gay. Whew! Time out while the Chief Pilot has a nervous breakdown. Zebadiah, what does that altimeter say?"

            "Seven klicks H-above-G."

            "Pop, what's the probability of winding up this close to a planet without getting killed?"

            "Impossible to theorize, Deety. Maybe we're dead and don't know it. Copilot, deadman switch; I'm going to check the air."

            'Captain!" I yelped.

            "Not now, Hilda, I'm-"

            "NOW! Am I still second-in-command? If I am, I must advise you; you are about to make a bad mistake!"

            Jacob hesitated. I think he was counting. "My dear one, if I am about to make a bad mistake, I want your advice no matter what your status is."

            "Thank you, Jacob. You should not be guinea pig. I should be. I-"

            "Hilda, you're pregnant."

            "All the more reason why I want the most competent and least expendable- you, Zebbie, and Deety-to take care of yourselves in order to take care of me. It's my duty as science officer in any case, whether I'm number two or not. But, Jacob, you are doing it just the way Zebbie did it when we landed on Mars-ten-and that's all wrong!"

            "Thank you, Sharpie!"

            "Zebbie dear! You risked your life and it's not necessary-" Zebbie interrupted me. "Not necessary to waste juice this way! Yack-yackyack!"

            "Copilot, pipe down!" Jacob said sharply. "Gay Bounce! Chief Pilot, when we reenter, place the car on dead-stick glide, manual or automatic. Don't use juice. Now, All Hands, listen to the Science Officer. Go ahead, Hilda."

            "Yes, Captain. Three days ago it was necessary for somebody to be the

canary-but it should have been me, not Zebbie. What was necessary three days ago is reckless today. That deadman switch- Unless it has been rewired, it takes us back two klicks over a crater-and that's not what we want. The correct scram for this is T, E, R, M, I, T, E. But that's just half of it. Deety has taught the S.G. how to ground herself no-power on any level bit of ground. We can ground first. Then anyone can be guinea pig, doesn't matter. Whoosh back to our stream bank-bang, open the doors."

            Zebbie said, "Captain, that makes sense. Sharpie-I mean 'Science Officer.' May I apologize with a back rub?"

            "You can apologize with a kiss. But I'll take the back rub, too."

            "Zebadiah, don't commit yourself too far; an air test isn't necessary. Pop! Captain Pop, may I take her up thirty klicks?"

            "I suppose so. May I ask why?"

            "Captain, I know where we are. From that high I can prove it."

            "Deety, that's imp-"

            "Don't say 'impossible,' Captain-I'll refer you to my father."

            "Miss Smarty Pants. Take her up."

            "Thanks, Pop. GayBounceGayBounceGayBounce. Gay Deceiver, vertical dive, execute. Everybody tell me where we are."

            I had noticed earlier what pretty countryside was under us. Now I studied it in detail. Zebbie said, "Be durned. Big rectangular oasis completely surrounded by desert. Populated, too. That's a fair-sized town in the middle."

            "Yes," I agreed. "Don't you recognize it, Zebbie? From a map."

            My husband said, "Now, Hilda, this is an unexplored universe. How could you have seen a-"

            "Pop!" interrupted Deety. "You've seen the map. See the Yellow Brick Road off to the left? Try the binoculars; you can follow it clear to Emerald City."

            "Deety my love," said Zebbie, "you are out of your mind. Or I am. Either way, somebody call an ambulance. Don't forget the straitjacket. Sharpie, something worries me. I failed to get my warning. . . yet we came so close to hitting that real estate I'm still shaking."

            "That means there wasn't any danger, Zebbie."

            "Then why am I trembling?"

            "You're a fraud, dear. We've all been dead quite a while now-killed in my parking lot. Deety and I may be the first ghosts ever to search for an obstetrician. In further support of my theory I am having a pregnancy with no morning sickness-a miracle that makes the Land of Oz as commonplace as faithful husbands."

            "I don't think I want to analyze that. Is that the Castle of the Tin Woodman there in the east?"

            "Yes, but that's the west, dear. Deety, is that sun rising or setting?"

            "Setting. Directions are reversed here. Everybody knows that."

            "A retrograde planet," my husband commented. "Nothing dangerous about that."

            "Pop, admit it. You know the Oz books almost as well as I do-"

            "Better. Don't give yourself airs, Daughter. I agree that this appears to

match stories and map, while trying to reserve judgment. Deety, how would you like to raise kids in the Land of Oz?"

            "Pop, I'd love it!"

            "Are you certain? As I recall, nobody dies in the Land of Oz yet the population doesn't increase. I don't recall babies being born in Oz stories. I don't recall M.D.'s or hospitals. Or machinery. Zeb, that inside-out universe had different physical laws from those of our universe. If we ground here, will we be able to leave? Oz works by magic, not by engineering." Jacob added, "Copilot, I want your professional opinion."

            "Captain, you see a difference between magic and engineering. I don't."

            "Oh, come now, Zeb!"

            "I believe in just two things: Murphy's Law, and Place Not Your Faith in an Ace Kicker. Permit me to point out that we are already in the Land of Oz, even though at altitude. I can think of worse places to be stranded. No common cold. No income tax. No political candidates. No smog. No churches. No wars. No inflation. No-"

            Deety interrupted. "We are now passing over the Palace of Glinda the Good."

            "Why pass over it?" I asked. "Jacob, why aren't we grounding?"

            "Me, too," Deety added. "Captain Pop, I request permission to ground near the Palace. I'm certain that nothing can upset Glinda the Good; she already knows about it from her Book. Besides, a palace that size must have plumbing. . . and I'm beginning to feel as if I had attended a watermelon picnic."

            "Methinks a bush would suffice," said Zebbie. "Even in another universe and with an armed guard. How about it, Captain?"

            "Chief Pilot, ground at will. Hilda, do the Oz books have bathrooms in them? I don't recall."

            "Nor do I, Jacob," I answered. "But there are plenty of bushes."

            In three or four minutes Deety had us grounded, with Gay using Deety's new program. I thanked my husband for deciding to ground. "There was never any doubt," he said. "Not only would you and Deety never have spoken to me again, I would never have spoken to me again. But if I meet a living scarecrow, I may go stark, raving mad."