XXXII

"Where Cat is, is civilization."

            Deety:

            I found a clearing in the woods, a hundred meters from the Palace and screened from it by elms and walnut trees. I had Gay range it, told her three times that it was a scram spot-then she landed herself, slick as Zebadiah.

            I unstrapped, opened the bulkhead door, and crawled aft to get clean suits- and thought better of it. Aunt Hilda had followed me and headed straight for a special locker. I rolled into lotus and asked, "Hillbilly, what are you going to wear?"

            "The dress I got married in and the wedding ring Jacob had made for me in Windsor City."

            "Jewelry?"

            "Nothing fancy."

            Mama Jane told me years ago that Aunt Hilda's instinct for clothes was infallible. I got the dress I wore to hook Zebadiah, a pendant Pop had given me, my wedding ring, my dancing slippers. Put my darling in mess jacket? No, but in tights topped off with a white silk bolero shirt I made for him at Snug Harbor. Red sash, dancing pumps, jockey shorts-yes, that was all he needed.

            I wiggle-wormed forward, clutching clothing. Our men were still in their seats, Gay's doors closed. I said, "Why the closed doors? It's warm and stuffy."

            "Look out to the left," said Zebadiah.

            I looked. A little storybook cottage with a sign over the door: WELCOME.

It had not been there when we grounded. "I see," I agreed. "Shuck off your work clothes and pull on shorts and tights. Pop, Hilda has your trousers."

            "Deety, is that all you have to say?"

            "What should I say, sir? Pop, you have taken us to some strange places. But in Oz I am not a stranger in a strange land. I know what to expect."

            "But damn it all-"

            "Shush, Zebadiah. One does not say 'damn' in Oz. Not any sort of profanity or vulgarity. These are no longer teats; they aren't even breasts-it's my bosom and I never mention it. Vocabulary limited to that of the Mauve Decade. Mildest euphemisms."

            "Deety, I'm durned if I'll be anything but myself."

            "Sir, I speak professionally. One does not use FORTRAN to a computer that knows only LOGLAN. Captain, can we open up?"

            "Just a moment," my father put in. "Deety, you called me 'Captain.' But I resigned, effective on grounding."

            "Wait a half!" Zebadiah interrupted. "You'll do at least as much punishment time as I did-you earned it, old buddy."

            "All right," Pop agreed, "but you decided that time on the ground counts. We'll likely need a new captain when we lift. Let's elect the victim now."

            "Reelect Pop," I suggested. "He flunked and should do it over."

            "Daughter!"

            "Joking, Pop-as long as you bear in mind that you did flunk and never again give a captain a bad time. I nominate my husband."

            "Let's do this right." Pop got out four file cards.

            I wrote "Zebadiah" on mine, handed it to Pop. Hilda declared them, showing us each one: Deety-Deety-Deety--Deety. I gasped. "Hey! I demand a recount! No, a new election-somebody cheated." I made so much fuss that they let me have it. I wrote "Zebadiah" on my fresh ballot, placed it face up on the Chief Pilot's seat, placed the other three, one by one, on top of it, then declared them myself: Deety-Deety-Deety-then, in my own handwriting: Deety.

            I gave up. (But resolved to have a word with the Wizard.)

            It was a pretty cottage with a broad stoop and a climbing rose-but not to live in, just one room with a table and no other furniture. The table held a bowl of fruit, a pitcher of milk, four tumblers. There was a door to the right and a door to the left; the one on the left had painted on it a little girl in a sunbonnet, the other had a boy in a Buster Brown suit.

            Hilda and I headed for the sunbonnet. I snatched a glass of milk and a bunch of grapes, and put on a milk moustache; I hadn't tasted milk in ages. Delicious!

            Hilda was drawing a tub and had peeled off her dress. The window was open but up high, so I peeled off mine. We made ourselves clean and "beautiful," i.e., we restored our fanciest hairdos but without jewelry. Whatever we needed, that bath and dressing room had, from a sponge to lipstick Aunt Hilda's shade.

            We hurried and did it in forty-two minutes. Zebadiah looked beautiful and Pop looked just as smart in dark trousers and a richly simple Aloha shirt.

            "We thought you," said my husband, "had gone down the drain."

            "Zebadiah, we took forty-two minutes. If you did it in less than thirty, you aren't clean."

            "Smell me."

            I sniffed him-a faint fragrance of soap, a touch of shaving lotion. "You took more than thirty minutes. Kiss me."

            "Thirty-six minutes, by my watch. Say 'Please."

            I said "Please" and he caught me with my lips open, he always does. Zebadiah just suits me and I haven't been sulky with him and stubborn only when necessary.

            There was a path toward the Palace. Pop, with Aunt Hilda on his arm, led off; we followed. Aunt Hilda was carrying her high-heeled sandals, so I took mine off, and glanced back toward the clearing. The little cottage was missing, as I expected. Zebadiah noticed it but said nothing. His face was an interesting study.

            The grassy path debouched into a garden in front of the Palace; the path through it was hard, so Hilda and I put on our shoes. Glinda's Palace was more like a Norman chateau or Bertie's "Stately Home of England" than it was like those dreary castles on the Rhine-but it had fairyland grace, like the Taj.

            As we started up the sweeping marble steps to the great doorway Zebadiah stumbled. "What the hell?"

            "Sssh!" I said. "Language, dear. A magic staircase. Glinda would not make her guests climb. Pretend that Escher designed it. Look proud and walk as if they were level."

            As we reached the broad landing two tall trumpeters stepped out of the great doorway, raised their long trumpets, and sounded four flourishes. An old man with a merry grin, a fringe of whiskers, a shiny bald head, a wooden left leg, and wearing a sailor's oilskins, came out as the flourishes ended. I wondered why he was here rather than Emerald City.

            He took a pipe from his mouth and said, "Welcome to the Palace of Glinda the Good! I'm Cap'n Bill. You, sir, are Doctor Burroughs the Wizard, with your wonderful wife the Princess Hilda. You must be Cap'n Zeb Carter-Howdy, Cap'n!-and everybody knows Deety; she's spent so much of her life in Oz. Howdy, Deety! Last time I seen you you warn't more'n knee high to a tall duck. And now look at you! Almost up to my shoulder and married! Congratulations, Cap'n! Yer a lucky man!"

            "I think so, Captain."

            "I know so. Deety, Ozma sends her love and sez to tell you that you and your family are welcome in the Royal Kingdom as long as you like."

            "Please thank Her Royal Majesty for me, Cap'n Bill." (Actually I'm taller than Cap'n Bill now-but of course I'll always be a little girl to him. It's nice.)

            "Oh, I will, I will! Come inside, folks: we ain't formal here. Or I ain't. This ain't my reg'lar job; I'm standing this watch for a friend." He took my hand;

his hand was horny and felt like Zebadiah's-and just as gentle. He led ~ inside. "Where's Trot?" I asked.

            "Around somewhere; you'll see her. Prob'ly picking out her best hair ribbon

in your honor. Or maybe helping Betsy with Hank-little Betsy ain't happy unless she's workin'; Neptune knows that mule gets more attention than all the mules that ever came out of Mizzoura. This way to the Library, friends."

            How does one describe Glinda the Good? Everyone knows that she is tall and stately and beautiful and never frowns and wears all day long what I think of as beautiful evening gowns with sweeping trains. But those are just words. Perhaps it is enough to say that, just as Dejah Thoris is the most beautiful woman of her world, the Sorceress is the most beautiful of hers.

            She was surrounded by her bevy of the most beautiful girls from all over Oz. But Glinda outshone them all without trying. The name of the Egyptian Queen Nefertiti means both "beautiful" and "good," in one word; I think that explains Glinda.

            She got up from her Great Book of Records and glided toward us-kissed Hilda first, kissed me and said, "Welcome home, Deety!" and I choked up and couldn't talk; I just curtsied. She offered a hand each to Zebadiah and Pop; they bowed simultaneously and kissed her hands.

            She waved at chairs (that hadn't been there) and invited us to sit down. Zebadiah whispered, "You seem to own this place."

            "Not really," I whispered back. "But I've lived in Oz longer than anywhere else"-Mama and Pop lived at several campuses while I was growing up but I always took Oz along wherever we moved.

            "Well. . . I'm glad you made me dress up."

            We were introduced to Glinda's girls and each one curtsied; it felt like being in Imperial House-except that these girls were neither compelled nor paid. When I stopped to think about it, I couldn't recall that money was used in Oz; it didn't have an "economy."

            The girls were beautifully dressed, each differently but each girl's dress was predominately the color of her own country, Munchkin blue, Gillikin purple, Winkle yellow, a few in green. One girl in red-Quadling of course, where we were-looked familiar. I said to her, "Is your name Betty?"

            She was startled. "Why, yes, Your Highness-how did you know?" She dropped a curtsy.

            "I've been here before; ask Captain Bill. I'm not 'Your Highness'; I'm just Deety. Do you have a friend named Bertie?"

            "Yes, Your- Yes, Deety. He's not here now, he's at the College of Professor Wogglebug." I made note to tell Betty about it.. . someday.

            I can't tell all about everyone we met at Glinda's Palace; there were too many and more kept arriving. Everyone seemed to expect us and pleased to see us. Pop did not go stark, raving mad when he met the Scarecrow because he was already deep in conversation with Professor H. M. Wogglebug and with Oz the Great, Royal Wizard to Queen Ozma-Pop was barely polite, shook hands and said, "Howd'you do, Mr. Scarecrow," and went right on talking to Professor Wogglebug and the Wizard. I'm not sure he looked at the Scarecrow. He was saying, "You put it neatly, Professor. I wish Professor Mobyas Toras could hear your formulation. If we set alpha equal to zero, it is obvious that-"

            I wandered off, because when Pop says, "It is obvious that-" what is really obvious is that Deety should leave.

            Dinner was in the banquet hail and the crowd of guests exactly filled itGlinda's banquet hall is always the right size for the number of persons eating there-or not eating, as the case may be, for Jack Pumpkinhead, Tik-Tok, the Tin Woodman, the Sawhorse, the Scarecrow, and other people who don't eat were seated there, too, and also people who aren't human people: the Cowardly Lion, the Hungry Tiger, the Woozy, the King of the Flying Monkeys, Hank, Toto, and a beautiful long-haired cat with supercilious manners.

            Glinda the Good was at the head of the table at one end and Queen Ozma was at the head at the other end. Pop was on Glinda's right and Zebadiah was on Ozma's right. The Wizard was on Glinda's left, and Professor Wogglebug was on Ozma's left. Aunt Hilda and I were opposite each other at the middle of the long table. She had the Tin Woodman on one side and the Scarecrow on the other and was doing her best to charm both of them and both were trying to charm her and all three were succeeding.

            I had three dinner companions. I started with two, the Cowardly Lion and the Hungry Tiger. The Lion ate what others ate but the Tiger had a bowl of cornflakes the size of a small washtub and ate from it very tidily with a spoon that matched the bowl. The Cowardly Lion and I had just started seafood cocktails when this cat brushed against my leg to get my attention, looked up and said, "You smell like a cat person. Make a lap, I'm coming up"-and jumped.

            I said, "Eureka, do you have Dorothy's permission?"

            "What a silly way to talk. Dorothy must get my permission. Feed me the lobster first, then the shrimp. You may have the last piece of shrimp for yourself."

            The Hungry Tiger put down his big spoon and said, "Highness, may I abate this nuisance?"

            "Don't trouble yourself, Old Boy," the Lion said. "I'll abite it instead, in one bite. But please pass the Tabasco sauce; cats have so little taste."

            "Pay no attention to those peasants, wench, and get on with the lobster. Animals should not be allowed to eat at the table."

            "Look who is calling whom an animal," growled the Cowardly Lion.

            "It's not an animal, Leo," the Hungry Tiger objected. "It's an insect. Highness, I'm a vegetarian-but I would be happy to break over this once and slice it into my cornflakes. Shall I?"

            "Dorothy wouldn't like it, Rajah."

            "You have a point, Ma'am. Shall I ask Toto to chase it out?"

            "Eureka may stay. I don't mind."

            "Wench, the correct answer is 'I am honored.' Ignore these jungle beasts; they are not cats. Be it known that Felis domestica has been civilized more generatio~5 than all you lesser breeds combined. As my serene ancestress, Bubastis, Goddess of the Nile, was wont to say: 'Where Cat is, is civilization.' Hurry up with that lobster."

            So I hurried. Eureka accepted each bit daintily, barely flicking my finger

tips with her scratchy tongue. At last she averted her mouth. "Don't overdo it; I'll tell you when I require more. Scratch behind my left ear-gently. I shall sing, then I shall sleep. Maintain a respectful silence."

            I did as ordered. Eureka purred very loudly. As the buzzing gave way to soft snores I slowly stopped scratching. I had to eat with one hand; the other was needed to keep her from falling.

            As Aunt Hilda has placed a record in Gay by interviewing all of us and combining it, I will stick to essentials. After the rest had gone home or retired to their rooms we four were invited into the Library. It was smaller than it had been, cozy, as Glinda's girls had gone to their rooms. Glinda was at her Great Book of Records as we were ushered in; she smiled and bowed without getting up as we sat down.

            "Friends," she said, "Doctor, Captain, Princess Hilda, and Deety, I will save time by telling you that, during the dancing, I conferred with Ozma, the Wizard, and Professor Wogglebug. I had studied the Records of your strange adventure, and I read a résumé to them before we discussed your problems. First, let me say that Ozma repeats her invitation. You are welcome to stay here forever; you will find hospitality wherever you go. Deety knows this, and Princess Hilda knows it, too, although she is not as sure of it as Deety is.

            "But to reassure you gentlemen, the Wizard and I have made the Land of Oz one quarter inch wider in all directions, a change too small to be noticed. But you, Doctor, will recognize that this provides ample Lebensraum for four more good people, as well as for your sky chariot Miss Gay Deceiver. A quarter of an inch, Captain, is six and thirty-five hundredths millimeters.

            "While we were about it, on the advice of Professor Wogglebug, we made small changes in Miss Gay Deceiver-"

            Zebadiah gave a start and looked upset. Gay was his sweetheart long before I was; he takes care of her as carefully as he takes care of me. But he should have trusted Glinda.

            Glinda smiled warmly. "Don't be alarmed, Captain, no harm has been done to the structural integrity or to the functioning of your beloved craft. When you notice-you will notice-if you do not like the changes, all you need do is to say aloud, 'Glinda, change Miss Gay Deceiver back the way she was.' I will read it here in my Book and will carry out your wish. But I do not think that you will ask me to do this. That is not prophecy; a good witch does not prophesy. But it is my firm opinion.

            "Now to major matters- There are no 'Black Hat' vermin in Oz. Should one be so foolish as to come here, I would know it from my Book, and it would be ejected into the Deadly Desert. What would happen to it there, the less said, the better-but evil is not tolerated in Oz.

            "As to the problem of vermin in your home world, it does not lie in Ozma's jurisdiction. My powers are limited there. While my Great Book tells me what happens there, it does not distinguish between vermin disguised as human beings and human beings who by their nature are evil. I could cast a spell over you which would keep you away from all 'Black Hats.' Do you wish that?"

            Pop glanced at Zebadiah; my husband said, "Just a moment, Glinda the Good. Just what does that mean?"

            "Spells are always literal, Captain; that's why they can cause so much trouble. I rarely use them. This one means what I said: You would be kept away from any vermin of the sort you call 'Black Hats."

            "In that case we couldn't recognize one, could we? Or get close enough to destroy it."

            "I think one would have to devise ways to do each at a distance. Spells do not reason, Captain. Like computers, they operate literally."

            "Could they recognize us? Booby-trap us? Bomb us?"

            "I do not know, Captain. My Book records only what they have done, not what they may do. Even then, as I have said, the Records do not unmask a disguised 'Black Hat.' Therefore, I know little about them. Do you wish the spell? You need not decide at once. If you remain in Oz, you won't need it."

            I blurted out, "We ought to stay here!"

            Glinda smiled at me, not a happy smile. "Dear Deety- You have decided not to have your baby?"

            "Huh? I mean, 'Excuse me, Glinda?"

            "You have been in Fairyland more than the others. You know that your little girl will not be born here.. . just as no one ever dies here."

            Aunt Hilda spoke up so quickly I couldn't get a word in. "Glinda, thank you very much but I will not be staying."

            I gulped. "I won't be staying, either, Aunt Glinda."

            "So I suspected. Do you want my advice, dear?"

            "Yes. Certainly!"

            "Having decided to be a woman and not a little girl like Dorothy or Trot, leave here quickly.. . lest you be tempted to stay in Fairyland forever."

            Pop glanced at Zebadiah, then said, "Madame Glinda, we'll be leaving in the morning. We are grateful for your lavish hospitality.. . but I think that is best."

            "I think so, too, Doctor. But remember: Ozma's invitation stands. When you are weary of the world, come here for a holiday and bring the children. Children are happy here and never get hurt. Oz was designed for children."

            "We will, we certainly will!"

            "Is there anything more to discuss? If not. .

            "Just a second!" put in Aunt Hilda. "You told Deety-will you tell me?"

            Glinda smiled. "My Book states that you are growing a boy."

XXXIII

"-'solipsism' is a buzz word."

Zeb:

            I didn't sleep with Deety that night. I didn't plan it that way. A footman showed me to a room; Deety and Hilda were standing at the top of the stairs (more magical stairs-okay as long as you don't look down) and talking excitedly, with Jake nearby.

            When I saw that the room had only a single bed, the footman had vanished. I stepped outside; Deety and Hilda and Jake were gone, the upper hall was dark. So I said a word one mustn't use in Oz and went back into my room. Even a single bed looked inviting; I went to sleep at once.

            Glinda had breakfast with us, in the banquet hail, considerably shrunken. The food in Imperial House is wonderful, but you can't beat ham and basted eggs and toast and jelly and fresh orange juice. I drank three cups of coffee and felt ready to rassle alligators.

            Glinda kissed Deety and Hilda good-bye at the top of those Escher steps, and Jake and I bent over her hands. She wished us good luck.. . which must mean more from her.

            Gay Deceiver looked good in morning sunlight. Tik-Tok was standing at her nose. "Good mor-ning," he said. "I have been con-ver-sing with Miss Gay De-cei-ver all night. She is a ve-ry Smart Girl."

            "Howdy, Zeb."

            "Howdy, Gay. What have I told you about picking up strange men?"

            "You've told me nothing, Zeb. And Tik-Tok is not a strange man. He is a gentleman, which is more than I can say for some people."

            "Tru-ly, Cap-tam, I meant no im-pro-pri-e-ty."

            "Just kidding, folks. Thanks for keeping Gay company, Tik-Tok."

            "It was a plea-sure and a pri-vi-lege. I ar-ranged with the night watch-man to wind me up each hour in or-der that our con-ver-sa-tion be not a-brupt-ly ter-mi-nat-ed."

            "Smart of you. Thanks again and we'll see you again. We'll be back for a visit, first chance. Gay, open up."

            "You didn't say 'Please," my autopilot answered, but she opened her doors.

            "I am de-ligh-ted to hear that you are re-tur-ning. Miss Gay De-cei-ver and I have much in corn-mon."

            Sharpie said good-bye to Tik-Tok, went inside. Deety not only said goodbye but kissed his copper cheek-Deety would kiss a pig if the pig would hold still for it (if he didn't, I would turn him into sausage; kissing Deety is not to be scorned).

            Hilda reappeared, still in evening gown. "Deety, come here. Hurry!"

            I shook hands with Tik-Tok (odd!) and suggested that he back off a little. Then I went inside. No sign of our wives- I called to them, "Shake it up in there. I want a pilot suit."

            Deety called out, "Zebadiah, wiggle your way through the bulkhead."

            "I can't change clothes back there."

            "Please, dear. I need you."

            When Deety says she needs me, I go. So I wiggled through, and the space didn't seem as cramped as it had been when I was working on it at Termite Terrace. "Where are you?"

            "In here. Port side," came Deety's muffled voice. I turned around, banging my head, and found a door where a door shouldn't be. I had to stoop but once through it I could stand up. A room slightly bigger than a telephone booth- a door aft, a door forward, Sunbonnet Sue to the left, Buster Brown to the right. Deety opened the door on the left. "Come look!"

            A luxurious dressing room and bath- "It's the same one as in the 'Welcome' cottage," said Deety, "except that the window is frosted and doesn't open. But the air is fresh."

            I said "Hmmm-" Then I added, "Well, well!" I checked out Buster Brown. Yes, the same bathroom Jake and I had used yesterday.

            Jake stuck his head in. I said, "Perfesser, give me the benefit of your wisdom."

            "Zeb, I'm fresh out."

            "Jake-your opinion, please. Is this craft ready for space?"

            "Zeb, I don't know."

            "Let's check the outside."

            We went over the shell with eyes and fingers, port and starboard. That car was unblemished-outside. But from inside I heard a toilet flushing.

            I went inside, on back, still on back, and knocked on Sunbonnet Sue. Sharpie let me in. "Just leaving, Zebbie," She had elected to wear one of her new jump suits and looked like a Cracker Jack prize. "Deet' is about ready."

            "Wait a half, Sharpie. Jake and I have decided to trust Glinda."

            "Was there any doubt?"

            I stepped inside; Deety twisted around at the dressing table, smiled through a mouthful of bobby pins. "Your father and I have approved this craft for space-tentatively-Captain Deety."

            "I approved it at breakfast-and not tentatively. What do you have there, dear one?" She accepted a list from me, read it over:

            Name              Additional and/or Relief Duty

            D. T. B. Carter Commanding

            Hilda S. Burroughs     2nd in Command &     Science Officer & Chef

                        Navigator

            Z. J. Carter      Chief Pilot      Relief Navigator

            J. J. Burroughs Copilot           Sous-Chef

            "It's intended to make your life easier, Cap'n Deety. Jake didn't get the going-over he should have had. But with Jake in the right-hand seat and me over him, I can keep him in hand-and he'll be so busy with his verniers that he won't have time to talk back. 'Sous-Chef' is a fancy way of saying that he'll be under his wife's thumb when we're grounded."

            "It's well thought out, Zebadiah. Thank you."

            "Suits you?"

            "Let me study it."

            I got fidgety, ducked into Buster Brown and killed time until she called me. "Slight revision, Zebadiah."

            Name              Additional and/or Relief Duty

            Deety  Captain           Instructor Computers

            Zebadiah         2nd in Command &     Instructor Duo, Air

                        Chief Master at Arms

            Jake     Chief Pilot      Instructor Verniers

            Hilda   Copilot           Science Officer & Executive

                                    Chef

Note: Cooking will rotate D-J-Z unless changed by the Executive Chef.

            "A 'Slight revision'!"-I felt offended.

            Deety looked at me anxiously. "I'm submitting it for your advice, Zebadiah. I want to continue Pop's policy of everybody learning every job, at least well enough to limp home. Hilda will learn the verniers quickly; she's deft, she doesn't have to be told twice, and the inventor I have placed at her elbow. Pop needs practice in air; he isn't as good as he thinks he is and he's never driven a car this fast. You'll be behind him, ready to bounce him out of trouble. Dear- will it work?"

            I was forced to admit that Deety's T.O. was better than mine.

            "It's better than mine, so you owe me a forfeit. Where are my handcuffs and nightstick?"

            "As second-in-command you are vested with the duty to keep order and to see that the commanding officer's orders are carried out, are you not?"

            "Of course, Deety-Captain Deety-why rub their noses in it?"

            "You know why, Zebadiah. I am reminding everyone that I mean to have a taut ship-and no back talk! You don't need handcuffs or a club. But in that right-hand dressing-table drawer is a ten-centimeter roll of adhesive tape- the size gangsters use for gags."

            "Oh. Oho!"

            "Zebadiah! Don't use it without my direct order. I shall maintain a taut ship. But when I've served my time, I would much rather my father was still speaking to me. It's a last resort, my husband. A sharp Pipe-down from you is all P- anybody will ever need. I intend to keep you at the conn most of the time-unless you ask me to relieve you, or I tell you I want to conn something personally."

            "Suits."

            "Very well, sir. You have the conn. Give them their assignments, prepare the car for space, take the reports, let me know here when you are ready. Revision in plan: Take us straight up one thousand klicks. Let us look at Oz from a distance, then continue by plan."

            "Aye aye, Captain." I started to leave while thinking that Deety might leave a reputation equal to that of Captain Bligh.

            Zebadiah!"

            "Yes, Captain?"

            "Don't go 'way without kissing me or I won't take the bloody job!"

            "I didn't realize that the Captain cared to be kissed."

            "Captains need kisses more than most people," she answered, her face muffled against my shoulder.

            "Got a fresh new stock. Will there be anything else, Ma'am?"

            "Yes."

            "What?"

            "When I've served my time, will you use your influence to put me on the verniers? And-sometime-will you teach me supersonic?"

            "Verniers, yes. Supersonic- A man who takes his wife as a pupil is breeding a divorce. Gay will teach you supersonic if you will let her. At super- or hypersonic she's safest on autopilot. She won't hurt herself-but if you override, you may hurt her, she may hurt you."

            "But you override. How am I to learn?"

            "Easy. Give her a program. Leave it loose enough for her to correct your goofs. Keep your hands and feet very lightly on the controls. Be patient, and eventually you'll be part of Gay and Gay will be part of you. Shut up and kiss me."

            Captains kiss better.

            Ten minutes later we were ready for space. I asked, "Did anyone leave

anything in our annex?" I wasn't thinking about it; Jake had reported: "Juice one point zero-full capacity!"

            "Hilda and I hung up our dresses."

            "Captain, do you realize that our magical space warp will probably go back wherever it came from the instant we leave?"

            "Want to bet? Glinda wouldn't pull a trick like that."

            "It's your dress, Cap'n. But your exec advises you officially to warn all hands never to leave anything essential in there during maneuvers." I wiped the matter from my mind; Deety would do it her way. "Gay, are you going to go on being talkative on your own?"

            "Zeb, back on watch, I'll be strictly business. But a girl is entitled to a night out once in a while."

            "You're a Smart Girl, Gay."

            "So Tik-Tok told me, Zeb."

            "Roger and out, Gay. Sharpie, set transition one thousand klicks H axis, plus."

            "A thousand kilometers straight up, minimum-range scale, vernier setting three. Jacob, will you check me, please?"

            Jake reported the setting correct; I snapped, "Execute!"

            Jake put her nose-down: an Earthlike planet so covered with haze that I could make out no details other than straight down, where Oz was still sharp and framed by the impassable deserts. "Sharpie, please hand me the binox, then shift hats to 'Science Officer' and find out whether or not our new addition came along."

            I had to help her undog the bulkhead door-Sharpie, in free fall, can't brace herself to apply enough torque to loosen a dog I had fastened on the ground. Meanwhile Deety had been using the binox. "Zebadiah, it's hazy everywhere but below us. Emerald City shines out green as Erin, and Glinda's Palace gleams in the sunshine. But the rest might as well be Venus. Only it's not."

            "Daughter-Captain, I mean-have you looked at the stars?" Jake added, "I think it's our own universe."

            "It is, Pop? On which side of Orion is the Bull?"

            "Why, on-_Jesus, Allah, and Zoroaster! It's turned inside out!"

            "Yes, but not the way that other inside-out place was. Like Oz itself. East for west."

            I asked my wife, "Captain Deety, is there anything odd about duration here?"

            "Doesn't feel odd. But it's been about a century since those three little girls moved to Oz. I don't know what it feels like to them, and I carefully didn't ask. Did anybody notice that there were no clocks and no calendars?"

            "Zebbie!"

            "Yes, Sharpie?" I answered.

            "Our new plumbing works just dandy. Be careful going in; it's not free fall; the floor i~ down. I did a spectacular somersault."

            "Hilda my love, are you hurt?"

            "Not a bit, Jacob. But next time I'll hang on to something, pull myself down even with the deck, and slide in."

            "Science Officer, secure all doors, return to your seat and strap down. Then swap hats and set next rotation by schedule."

            "I fastened the doors. I'm dogging the bulkhead door. Okay, I'm strapping down. Where are the binoculars?"

            "Jake stowed them. All hands, stand by to rotate."

            Another totally black one- I said, "Captain, we'll tumble now unless you prefer to check our new plumbing first."

            "Plumbing isn't Deety's job! I'm Science Officer and that includes hygiene, plumbing, and space warps."

            Deety said to me, "I relieve you, dear"-then more loudly, to Hilda: "Copilot, pipe down. Pop, dowse the lights and tumble us. Aunt Hillbilly, attempt to set next rotation by touch and sound, in the dark. That's number eight, third of second group."

            "Aye aye, Captain Bligh."

            The tumble showed nothing. Jake switched on lights, reported that Sharpie had set the next rotation correctly. Deety asked me to relieve her at the conn, then said, "Science Officer, I am about to inspect the addition to your department; please accompany me." Without a word Sharpie did so.

            They were gone quite a while. At last I said, "Jake, what do women talk about in can conferences?"

            "I'm afraid to find out."

            They came back full of giggles; I concluded that Deety's disciplinary methods worked. As they strapped down, Deety said, "Dear, it's black as sin out there- and sunlight streaming in both bathroom windows. Riddle me that."

            "Science Officer's department," I evaded. "Stand by to rotate."

            This time Jake not only had air, I could hear it. Jake got her leveled out hastily. "Copilot, H-above-G!"

            "Thirteen hundred meters."

            "Too close! Zeb, I'm going to retire and take up tatting. Where are we? I can't see a thing."

            "We're over water, Pop, with a light fog. I see a shoreline to starboard." Jake turned Gay to the right, I picked out the shoreline. Gay's wings were spread; Jake held her at an easy glide and placed her on automatic. "We'll leave this kite sealed now; I won't check the air without going up high."

            "Sail ho!"

            "Where away, Sharpie?"

            "Starboard bow. A sailing ship."

            Durn if it wasn't. A square-rigger out of the seventeenth century, high forecastle and sterncastle. Jake took us down for a better look. I wasn't afraid; people who sail ships like that don't use guided missiles-so I kept telling myself.

            It was a pretty sight. Jake dropped the starboard wing so that we could have a good look. But we must not have been a "pretty sight" to them; sailors were rushing around and the helmsman let her get away from him and she

fell into irons, her canvas flapping foolishly. Not wanting to get the poor fellow keelhaUled, I told Jake to level off and head for land.

            Deety said, "Good God, Pop, you scared me silly."

            "Why, Deety?-Captain Deety. They were scared-but surely you aren't scared by black-powder cannon?"

            "You almost put the starboard wing into the water."

            "Don't be silly, Deety; I was above two hundred meters. Well, maybe a hundred and fifty when I did that steep turn. But plenty of room."

            "Take a look at your altimeter. And pressure."

            Jake looked and so did I. The radar altimeter stated that we were nineteen meters above the water; Jake had to change scales to read it. Pressure showed well over a thousand millibars-a sea-level high. So I snapped, "Gay Bounce!"

            Gay did and I caught my breath.

            "Deety, how did I make that error?" Jake asked.

            "I don't know, Pop. I can see the right wing tip; you can't. When it looked to me as if you might cut the water, I looked at the instruments. I was about to yell when you straightened out."

            "Captain, I was driving seat-of-my-pants by the ship's masts. I would swear I never got within three hundred meters of that ship, on the slant. That should put me plenty high."

            Sharpie said, "Jacob, don't you recognize this place?"

            "Hilda, don't tell me you've been here before?"

            "Only in books, Beloved. A child's version in third grade. A more detailed version in junior high. Finally I laid hands on the unexpurgated version, which was pretty racy for the age I was then. I still find it pleasantly bawdy."

            "Sharpie," I demanded, "what are you talking about?"

            Jake answered. "Zeb, what sort of ship could cause me to think I was high in the air when in fact I was about to pole-vault into the sea?"

            "I've got it!" said Deety.

            "I give up," I admitted.

            "Tell him, Pop."

            "One manned by sailors fifteen centimeters high."

            I thought about it. We were approaching land; I told Jake to glide to two klicks by instrument and told Gay to hold us there-it seemed much higher. "If anyone runs across Dean Swift, will you give him a swift kick for me?"

            Deety said, "Zebadiah, do you suppose the land of the giants-Brobdingnag-is on this continent?"

            "I hope not."

            "Why not, dear? It should be fun."

            "We don't have time to waste on either Lilliputians or giants. Neither would have obstetricians able to take care of you two. Sharpie, get ready to take us up a hundred thousand klicks. Then to rotate. Does anyone have any theory about what has been happening to us? Aside from Sharpie's notion that we are dead and don't know it?"

            "I have another theory, Zebbie."

            "Give, Sharpie."

            "Don't laugh-because you told me that you and Jacob discussed the heart of it, the idea that human thought exists as quanta. I don't know quanta from Qantas Airways, but I know that a quantum is an indivisible unit. You told me that you and Jacob had discussed the possibility that imagination had its own sort of indivisible units or quanta-you called them 'fictons'-or was it ficta? Either way, the notion was that every story ever told-or to be told if there is a difference-exists somewhere in the Number of the Beast."

            "But, Hilda my love, that was merely abstract speculation!"

            "Jacob, your colleagues regard this car as 'abstract speculation.' Didn't you tell me that the human body is merely complex equations of wave forms? That was when I bit you-I don't mind being a wave form, waves areS pretty; I bit you for using the adverb 'merely."

            "Zebadiah, there is a city on the left. Shouldn't we look at it before we leave?"

            "Captain, you must decide that. You saw what a panic we caused in that ship. Imagine yourself fourteen centimeters tall and living in that city. Along comes a great sky monster and dives on you. Would you like it? How many little people will faint? How many will die of heart failure? How many are you willing to kill to satisfy your curiosity?" I added, "To those people we are monsters worse than 'Black-Hat' vermin."

            "Oh, dear! You're right, Zebadiah-dismally so. Let's get out of here."

            "Copilot, set to transit straight up one hundred thousand klicks."

            "Transition 'H' axis, positive, vernier setting five-set!"

            "Execute." I continued, "Captain, I'd like to sit here a while."

            "Very well, Zebadiah."

            "Sharpie, let's hear your theory. Captain, I've been scared silly by too many narrow escapes. We know how to translate from one Earth-analog to the next; just use plenty of elbow room. But these rotations are making me white-haired. The laws of chance are going to catch up with us."

            "Zebbie, I don't think the laws of chance have anything to do with it. I don't think we have been in any danger in any rotation."

            "So? Sharpie, I'm about to swap jobs with you as quickly as I can get the Captain's permission."

            "No, no! I-"

            "Chicken!"

            "Zebbie, your hunches are part of why I say that the laws of chance are not~ relevant."

            "Sharpie, statistical laws are the most firmly established of all natural~ laws."

            "Do they apply in the Land of Oz?" asked Deety.

            "Uh- Damned if I know! Touché!"

            "Zeb, Hilda has not expressed it as I would; nevertheless I agree with her.) To call the equations used in statistics 'laws of nature' is a misnomer. Those,~ equations measure the degree of our ignorance. When I flip a coin and say~ that the chance of heads or tails is fifty-fifty, I am simply declaring totai,~ ignorance as to outcome. If I knew all conditions, the outcome might be subject~

to precalculation. But we have experienced two universes having physical laws unlike those of our home universe."

            "Three, Jacob. Lilliput makes three."

            "I don't follow you, my dear."

            "The cube-square law that runs through all biology does not apply here. A human brain can't be placed in a space the size of a thimble by our biophysical laws. But we're getting away from the theory Zebbie wanted me to expound. Shall I go on?"

            "Yes," Deety ruled. "Everybody shut up but Aunt Hilda. I'm zipping my own lip. Hillbilly-proceed."

            "All right. It's not chance that we have been in three universes-InsideOut, the Land of Oz, and Lilliput-in. . . less than twenty-four hours, isn't it, Deety?"

            "Less than twenty-one, Aunt Hilda."

            "Thanks hon. It's not chance that those three are 'fictional' universes-I have to call them that for lack of a better word-well known to each of us. By coincidence-and again I don't have a good word but it's not 'chance'-all four of us are addicted to fanciful stories. Fantasy. Fairy tales. We all like the same sort of stories. How many of us like detective stories?"

            "Some-not all," said Deety.

            "My sole loyalty is to Sherlock Holmes," I said.

            "Waste of time," said Jake.

            "I'd like to try an experiment," Hilda went on. "Write down the twenty stories you have enjoyed most. Or groups of related stories-the Oz books would count as one, so would the Edgar Rice Burroughs Mars series, and so would the four voyages of 'Gulliver's Travels.' Make them stories you reread for pleasure when you are too tired to tackle a new book."

            "Sharpie, is it cheating to ask how you mean to use this?"

            "No, Zebbie. If my theory is right, the next time we rotate and find ourselves near a planet, it will turn out to be the scene of a story or group of stories that appears on all four lists. We'll arrive high enough that Jacob will have plenty of time to level off but close enough that we can ground. But we will never rotate into a mass or any danger that we can't handle. This isn't chance; we haven't been dealing with chance. The Land of Oz surprised me. Lilliput didn't surprise me at all; I expected it. Or at least a place that all of us know through Stories."

            "How about those empty universes?" I demanded.

            "Maybe they are places about which stories will be written or maybe stories have already been told but aren't favorites of us four, so we don't emerge close to their scenes. But those are guesses. So far as my theory is concerned, such Universes are 'null'-they don't count one way or the other. We find our universes."

            "Sharpie, you have just invented pantheistic multiperson solipsism. I didn't think it was mathematically possible."

            Zeb, anything is mathematically possible."

            Thanks, Jacob. Zebbie, 'solipsism' is a buzz word. I'm saying that we've

stumbled onto 'The Door in the Wall,' the one that leads to the Land of Heart's Desire. I don't know how and have no use for fancy rationalizations. I see a pattern; I'm not trying to explain it. It just is."

            "How does that hollow world fit your theory?"

            "Well, Deety called it Pellucidar-"

            "It was!"

            "-but I've read dozens of stories about worlds underground; I'll bet all of us have. Jules Verne, S. Fowler Wright, H. G. Wells, C. L. Moore, Lovecraft- all the great masters of fantasy have taken a crack at it. Please, can we stop talking? I want all four lists before we rotate again."

            Jake changed attitude so that Lilliput's planet was dead ahead and told Gay to hold it there. The planet looked very small, as if we were a million kilometers out-reasonable, I decided, and wrote down "The Dorsai yarns."

            At last Deety announced, "I'm through, Aunt Hillbilly."

            Soon after, her father handed Sharpie his list. "Don't count those I've lined out, dear-I had trouble holding it down."

            "Twenty' is arbitrary, Jacob. I can leave your extras in."

            "No, dear, the four I eliminated do not stand as high as the twenty I retained."

            After some pencil-chewing I announced, "Sharpie, I'm stuck at seventeen. Got a baker's dozen more in mind, but no choice."

            "Seventeen will do, Zebbie-if they are your prime favorites."

            "They are."

            Hilda accepted my list, ran her eye down it. "A psychoanalyst would have a wonderful time with these."

            "Wait a half! Sharpie, if you're going to let a shrink see those lists, I want mine back."

            "Zebbie darling, I wouldn't do that to you." She added, "I need a few minutes to tally."

            I glanced at Lilliput. "Need help?"

            "No. I've tallied a 'one' after all on my list. I've checked Deety's against mine and tallied a 'two' where they match, and added to the bottom of my list, with one vote tallied against each, those she picked but I didn't. I'm doing the same with Jacob's list, tallying three's and two's and one's. Then Zebbie and we'll wind up with a four-vote list-unanimous-and a list with three each-~ and a list with two, and with one."

            Sharpie kept busy some minutes, then took a fresh sheet, made a list, folded~ it. "This should be in a sealed envelope to establish my reputation as a for-~ tuneteller. Zebbie, there are nine soi-disant fictional universes listed. Any close approach we make by rotation should be near one of them."

            I said, "You included Pellucidar?"

            "Pellucidar got only two votes. I stick to my theory that the inside-out world~ is a composite of underground fantasies. But our vote identified that third universe-the blinding lights, the one that worried you about radiation."

            "The hell you say!"

            "I think it did. Four votes for Doctor Isaac Asimov's 'Nightfall.' I expected~

his Foundation stories to make it but they got only three votes. Too bad, because his library planet might be able to tell us what those vermin are, where they come from-and how to beat them."

            "My fault, Aunt Hillbilly. Pop told me I should read the Foundation series.. . but I never did."

            "Sharpie," I said, "we can put you down in New York in five minutes. The Good Doctor is getting on in years-turns out less than a million words a year now-but still likes pretty girls. He must know whatever is in the Galactic Library; he invented it. So telephone him. Better yet, sit on his lap. Cry if necessary."

            "Zebbie, if there is one place I'm certain is loaded with 'Black Hat' vermin, it's New York City! You sit on his lap!"

            "Not me. If we learn how to delouse our home planet, I'll work on a way to spread the word. But I'm number one on their death list."

            "No, Jacob is."

            "No, Sharpie. Jake and Deety are dead, you are kidnapped, and I'm marked down to be 'terminated with extreme prejudice.' But I'll risk grounding on the Hudson River VTOL flat long enough for you to visit the Good Doctor. Your husband can escort you; I'm going to hide in the bathroom. I figure that is actually in Oz and therefore safe."

            "Go lay an egg!"

            "Sharpie dear, none of us is going to Earth-zero. Hand that list to Deety; she won't peek. Captain, shall we rotate? The Science Officer has me half convinced that we can get away with it; let's do it before I lose my nerve. Fourth and last universe in the second group, isn't it?" I asked Sharpie.

            "Yes, Zebbie."

            "Anybody as chicken as I am, speak up! .. . Isn't anybody going to get us outof this!

            Execute!"

XXXIV

"-all my dreams do come true!"

Zeb:

            Gay Deceiver was right side up five hundred meters above a sunlit, gentle countryside. Jake set her to cruise in a circle. I asked, "Are we back in Oz? Sharpie, check your setting."

            "Not Oz, Zebbie. I've stuck to schedule."

            "Okay. Does your magic list tell you where we are?"

            "If it's one of the nine, then it's-" Hilda wrote a word on a sheet, folded it, handed it to me. "Stick this in your pocket."

            I tucked it away. "Jake, bounce us, then range-and-target to ground us in that meadow. We'll test the air when we're down. Safer."

            Jake zeroed Gay in; she grounded. "Zeb," he said fretfully, "how can I tell what juice we have? The gauge still reads 'Capacity."

            "Let me think about it."

            "All right. Has the Captain worked out that new scram?"

            'I think so, Pop. Take G.D. straight up a hundred thousand klicks, but do it in two words, in total darkness, or with eyes dazzled, or anything. As long

as anyone can get out two syllables we'll zip far enough away from trouble that we'll have time to work out what to do next."

            "Good enough. Can you program it before I open a door?"

            "I think so, Zebadiah. If she's asleep, GD. will wake up and do it at once."

            "Okay, will you program it? Hilda, set up the same thing on your dials as a back-up. Meanwhile I'm going to give the plumbing a field test. Don't touch the doors till I get back."

            I returned in a few minutes. "Our magic space warp is still with us-don't ask me why or I'll scream. New program inserted?"

            "Yes, Zebadiah. On tell-me-three-times and protected against execution without the doors being closed and locked. I've written down the magic words. Here." Deety handed me a scrap of paper.

On it was: "Gay-Zoom!"

            "It's the shortest program with an unusual monosyllable that I can think of."

            "Its shortness may save our necks. Swap seats with me, Sharpie, it's my turn to be pioneer mother. Everybody, hold your breath; I'm going to sniff the air."

            "Zebbie, this planet is Earthlike to nine decimal places."

            "Which gives me a cheap chance to play hero." I opened her door a crack, sniffed.

            Shortly I said, "I feel okay. Anybody woozy?"

            "Open the door wide, Zebbie; this place is safe."

            I did so and stepped out into a field of daisies; the others followed me. It certainly seemed safe-quiet, warm, peaceful, a meadow bounded by a hedge row and a stream.

            Suddenly a white rabbit came running past, headed for the hedge. He barely paused, pulled a watch from his waistcoat pocket, glanced at it, then moaned, "Oh dear! Oh dear! I shall be too late!" and ran even faster. Deety started after him.

            "Deety!" I yelled.

            She stopped short. "I want to find the rabbit hole."

            "Then keep your eye on her. You're not going down the hole."

            "On whom?" Deety turned back toward the hedge row. A little girl in a pinafore was hurrying toward the spot where the rabbit had disappeared. "Oh. But it didn't hurt her to go down the hole."

            "No, but Alice had lots of difficulties before she got out. We haven't time; this is not a place we can stay."

            "Why not?"

            "Nineteenth-century England did not have advanced medicine."

            "Zebbie," put in Hilda, "this isn't England. Read that slip."

            I unfolded the scrap of paper, read: Wonderland. "Just so," I agreed, and handed it to my wife. "But it is modeled on England in the eighteen-sixties. It either has no medicine, like Oz, or pre-Pasteur medicine. Possibly pre-Semmelweiss. Deety, do you want to die from childbed fever?"

            "No, I want to go to the Mad Tea Party."

            "We can have a mad tea party; I went mad several universes back-and it's time for lunch. Sharpie, you win the Order of Nostradamus with diamond cluster. May I ask two questions?"

            "One may always ask."

            "Is H. P. Lovecraft on that list?"

            "He got only one vote, Zebbie. Yours."

            "Chthulhu be thanked! Sharpie, his stories fascinate me the way snakes are said to fascinate birds. But I would rather be trapped with the King in Yellow than be caught up in the worlds of the Necronomicon. Uh. . . did any horrids get four votes?"

            "No, dear, the rest of us prefer happy endings."

            "So do I! Especially when I'm in it. Did Heinlein get his name in the hat?"

            "Four votes, split. Two for his 'Future History,' two for 'Stranger in a Strange Land.' So I left him out."

            TI didn't vote for 'Stranger' and I'll refrain from embarrassing anyone by asking who did. My God, the things some writers will do for money!"

            "Samuel Johnson said that anyone who wrote for any other reason was a fool."

            "Johnson was a fat, pompous, gluttonous, dirty old fool who would have faded into the obscurity he so richly deserved had he not been followed around by a spit-licking sycophant. Spell that 'Psycho-', as in 'Bloch." I added, "Did Poul Anderson get in? Or Niven?"

            "Zebbie, that's far more than two questions."

            "I haven't even reached the second question. . . which is: What do we have for a mad tea party?"

            "Surprise! Glinda had a picnic basket placed in our dressing room."

            "I missed it," I admitted.

            "You didn't look in the wardrobe." Sharpie grinned. "Can sandwiches from Oz be eaten in Wonderland? Or will they 'softly and silently vanish away'?"

            "'Be off, or I'll kick you downstairs!'"

            Several hundred calories later I noticed a young man hovering nearby. He seemed to want to speak but was too diffident to do so. Deety jumped up, trotted toward him. "The Reverend Mister Dodgson, is it not? I'm Mrs. Zebadiah Carter."

            He quickly removed his straw boater. "Mr. Dodgson,' yes, uh, Mrs. Carter. Have we met?"

            "Long ago, before I was married. You are looking for Alice, are you not?"

            "Dear me! Why, yes, I am. But how-"

            "She went Down the Rabbit-Hole."

            Dodgson looked relieved. "Then she will be back soon enough. I promised to return her and her sisters to Christ Church before dark."

            "You did. I mean, 'you will.' Same thing, depending on the coordinates. Come meet my family. Have you had luncheon?"

            "Oh, I say, I don't mean to intrude."

            "You aren't intruding." Deety took him by the hand, firmly. Since my treasure is stronger than most men, he came along. . . and let go her hand hastily as soon as she loosened her grip. We men got to our feet; Hilda remained in lotus.

            "Aunt Hilda, this is Mr. Dodgson, Lecturer in Mathematics at Christ Church College, Oxford. My stepmother, Mrs. Burroughs."

            "How do you do, Mrs. Burroughs. Oh dear, I am intruding!"

            "Not at all, Mr. Dodgson. Do sit down."

            "And this is my father, Dr. Burroughs, Professor of Mathematics. And my

husband Captain Carter. Aunt Hilda, will you find a clean plate for Mr. Dodgson?"

            The young don relaxed once introductions had been made but he was still far more formal than Deety intended to permit. He sat down on the turf, placed his hat carefully beside him, and said, "Truly, Mrs. Burroughs, I've just finished tea with three little girls."

            Deety ignored his protests while she piled his plate with little sandwiches and cakes. Sharpie poured tea from a Thermos jug. They nailed him down with cup and plate. Jake advised, "Don't fight it, son, unless you really must leave. Are Alice's sisters safe?"

            "Why, yes, Professor; they are napping in the shade of a hayrick nearby. But-"

            "Then relax. In any case, you must wait for Alice. What branch of mathematics do you pursue?"

            "Algebraic logic, usually, sir, with some attention to its applications to geometry." The Reverend Mr. Dodgson was seated so that he faced Gay Deceiver and sat in the shadow of her port wing but nothing in his manner showed that he noticed the anachronism.

            "Have your studies led you into multidimensional non-Euclidean geometries?" Jake asked.

            Dodgson blinked. "I fear that I tend to be conservative in geometry, rathuh."

            "Father, Mr. Dodgson doesn't work in your field; he works in mine."

            Dodgson raised his eyebrows slightly. Jake said, "My daughter did not introduce herself fully. She is Mrs. Carter but her maiden name is Doctor D. T. Burroughs. Her field is mathematical logic."

            "That is why I am so pleased that you are here, Mr. Dodgson. Your book 'Symbolic Logic' is a milestone in our field."

            "But, my dear lady, I have not written a work titled 'Symbolic Logic."

            "I've confused things. Again it is matter of selection of coordinates. At the end of the reign of Queen Victoria you will have published it five years earlier. Is that clear?"

            He answered very solemnly, "Quite clear. All I need do is to ask Her Majesty how much longer she is going to reign and subtract five years."

            "That should do it. Do you like to play with sorites?" For the first time, he smiled. "Oh, very much!"

            "Shall we make up some? Then trade and solve them?" "Well. . . not too lengthy. I really must get back to my young charges." "We can't stay long, either. Anyone else want to play?" No one else elected to play. I stretched out on the grass with a handkerchief over my face; Jake and Sharpie went for a walk. "Shall we hold the statements down to groups of six?" Dodgson suggested.

            "All right. But the conclusion must be true. Not nonsense. Agreed?" (Deety had taught me this game; she's good at it. I decided to be a silent witness.)

            They kept quiet while I snored convincingly, Deety was a "lady" for a while, then sprawled on her belly and chewed her pencil. I watched with one eye from under my handkerchief.

            First she covered several pages with scratch work in developing statements incomplete in themselves but intended to arrive at only one possible conclusion. Having done so, she tested them by symbolic logic, then wrote out her list of statements, mixing them randomly-looked up.

            The young mathematician was looking at her solemnly, note pad in hand.

            "Finished?" my wife asked.

            "Just finished. Mrs. Carter, you remind me of my little friend Alice Liddell."

            "I know," she said. "That's how I recognized her. Shall we trade?"

            Dodgson tore a sheet from his pad. "This is to be solved in the first person; its conclusion applies to you."

            "All right, I'll try it." Deety read aloud:

            "1) Every idea of mine, that cannot be expressed as a syllogism, is really ridiculous;

            "2) None of my ideas about Bath-buns are worth writing down;

            "3) No idea of mine, that fails to come true, can be expressed as a syllogism;

            "4) I never have any really ridiculous idea, that I do not at once refer to my solicitor;

            "5) My dreams are all about Bath-buns;

            "6) I never refer any idea of mine to my solicitor, unless it is worth writing down."

            Deety chortled. "How sweet of you! It is true; all my dreams do come true!"

            "You solved it so quickly?"

            "But it's only six statements. Have you solved mine?"

            "I haven't read it yet." He also read aloud:

            "1) Everything, not absolutely ugly, may be kept in a drawing room;

            "2) Nothing, that is encrusted with salt, is ever quite dry;

            "3) Nothing should be kept in a drawing room, unless it is free from damp;

            "4) Time-traveling machines are always kept near the sea;

            "5) Nothing, that is what you expect it to be, can be absolutely ugly;

            "6) Whatever is kept near the sea gets encrusted with salt."

            He blinked at the list. "The conclusion is true?" he asked.

            "Yes."

            For the first time he stared openly at Gay Deceiver. "That, then-I infer- is a 'time-traveling machine."

            "Yes. . . although it does other things as well."

            "It is not what I expected it to be.. . although I am not sure what I expected a time-traveling machine to be."

            I pulled his handkerchief off my face. "Do you want to take a ride, Mr. Dodgson?"

            The young don looked wistful. "I am sorely tempted, Captain. But I am responsible for three little girls. So I must thank you for your hospitality and bid you good-bye. Will you offer my apologies to Professor and Mrs. Burroughs and explain that duty calls me?"

XXXV

"It's a disturbing idea-"

Jake:

            "Deety, how does it feel to say good-bye without getting kissed?"

            "Zebadiah, I didn't make it possible. Lewis Carroll was terrified by females over the age of puberty."

            "That's why I stayed close. Deety hon, if I had gone with Jake and Hilda, he would have left at once."

            "I can't figure out how he got here in the first place," said my dear wife Hilda. "Lewis Carroll was never in Wonderland; he simply wrote about it. But this is Wonderland-unless rabbits in England wear waistcoats and watches."

            "Aunt Hilda, who can possibly be as deeply inside a story as the person who writes it?"

            "Hmm- I'll have to study that."

            "Later, Sharpie," Zeb said. "Stand by to rotate. Mars, isn't it?"

            "Right, Zebbie," Hilda agreed.

            "Gay. . . Sagan!"

            Mars-zero lay ahead, in half phase at the proper distance.

            "Set!" Hilda reported. "To tenth universe, third group."

            "Execute." It was another starry void with no familiar groupings; we ran through routine, Zeb logged it as "possible" and we moved on to the second of the third group-and I found myself facing the Big and Little Dippers. Again we ran through a routine tumble-but failed to find the Sun or any planets. I don't know the southern constellations too well but I spotted Crux and the Magellanic Clouds. To the north there could be no doubt about Cygnus and a dozen others.

            Zeb said, "Where is Sol? Deety? Sharpie?"

            "I haven't seen it, Zebadiah."

            "Zebbie, don't go blaming me. I put it right back where I found it."

            "Jake, I don't like this. Sharpie, are you set?"

            "Set. Standing orders. Third group, third of three."

            "Keep your finger near the button. How does this fit your theory? I don't recall listing a story that doesn't have the Solar System in it."

            "Zebbie, it can't fit two of those left, could fit the others, and could fit half a dozen or more that got three votes. You said that about a dozen were tied in your mind. Were any of them space-travel stories?"

            "Almost all."

            "Then we could be in any world that takes our universe as a model but far enough from the Sun so that it appears as second or third magnitude. That wouldn't have to be far; our Sun is pretty faint. So this could be the Darkover universe, or Niven's Known Space, or Dr. Williamson's Legion of Space universe, or the Star Trek universe, or Anderson's world of the Polesotechnic League, or Dr. Smith's Galactic Patrol world. Or several more."

            "Sharpie, what were two that this could not be?"

            "King Arthur and his Knights, and the World of the Hobbits."

            "If we find ourselves in either of those, we leave. No obstetricians. Jake, any reason to stay here longer?"

            "None that I see," I answered.

            "Captain Deety, I advise scram. Those space-opera universes can be sticky. I don't care to catch a photon torpedo or a vortex bomb or a negative-matter projectile, just through failure to identify ourselves promptly."

            So we rotated.

            This time we weren't merely close; we were on the ground. Charging straight at us was a knight in armour, lance couched in attack. I think it unlikely that a lance could damage Gay. But this "gentle knight" was unfriendly; I shouted, "Gay!-Zoom!"

            Sighed with relief at sudden darkness and at the Captain's next words:

"Thanks, Pop. You were on your toes."

            "Thank you. End of group three. Back to Mars? 5, A, G, A, N?"

            "Let's get on with it," Zeb agreed. "All Hands-"

            "Zebadiah!" my daughter interrupted. "Is that all you wish to see of King Arthur and his Knights?"

            "Captain Deety, that wasn't one of King Arthur's Knights. He was wearing plated mail."

            "That's my impression," my beloved agreed. "But I gave more attention to his shield. Field sable, argent bend sinister, in chief sun proper with crown, both or."

            "Sir Modred," my daughter decided. "I knew he was a baddie! Zebadiah, we should have hit him with your L-gun."

            "Killed that beautiful beer-wagon horse? Deety, that sort of armor wasn't made earlier than the fifteenth century, eight or nine centuries after the days of King Arthur."

            "Then why was he carrying Sir Modred's shield?"

            "Sharpie, was that Sir Modred's coat of arms?"

            "I don't know; I blazoned what I saw. Aren't you nit-picking in objecting to plate armor merely because it's anachronistic?"

            "But history shows that-"

            "That's the point, Zebbie. Camelot isn't history; it's fiction."

            Zeb said slowly, "Shut my big mouth."

            "Zebbie, I venture to guess that the version of Camelot we blundered into is a patchwork of all our concepts of King Arthur and the Round Table. I picked up mine from Tennyson, revised them when I read 'Le Morte d'Arthur.' Where did you get yours?"

            "Mark Twain gave me mine-'A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur's Court.' Add some Prince Valiant. Jake?"

            I said, "Zeb, there seems little doubt that there was a king or a general named Arthur or Arturius. But most people think of King Arthur from stories having little connection with any historical person. 'The Sword in the Stone' and 'The Once and Future King' are my favorites."

            My daughter persisted, "I do believe in the Round Table, I do! We should go back and look! Instead of guessing."

            "Captain Deety," her husband said gently, "the jolly, murderous roughnecks called the Knights of the Round Table are fun to read about but not to know socially. Nor are people the only dangers. There would be honest-to-God dragons, and wyverns, and malevolent magic-not the Glinda-the-Good variety. We've learned that these alternate worlds are as real as the one we came from. We don't need to relearn it by getting suddenly dead. That's my official advice. If you don't agree, will you please relieve me at the conn. . . Ma'am?"

            "Zebadiah, you're being logical-a most unfair way to argue!"

            "Jacob," said my wife, "suppose we were people who don't like fanciful stories. What sort of worlds would we find?"

            "I don't know, Hilda. Probably only humdrum slice-of-life universes indistinguishable from the real world. Correction: Substitute 'Universe-zero' for 'real world'-because, as your theory requires, all worlds are equally real. Or unreal."

            "Jacob, why do you call our universe 'universe-zero?"

            "Eh.. . for convenience. Our point of origin."

            "Didn't you tell me that no frame is preferred over any other? Each one to the Number of the Beast is equally zero in six axes?"

            "Well. . . theory requires it."

            "Then we are fiction in other universes. Have I reasoned correctly?"

            I was slow in answering. "That seems to be a necessary corollary. It's a disturbing idea: that we ourselves are figments of imagination."

            "I'm nobody's figment!" my daughter protested. "I'm real, I am! Pinch me!.. . Ouch! Zebadiah, not so hard!"

            "You asked for it, dear," Zeb told her.

            "My husband is a brute. And I've got a cruel stepmother just like Snow White. I mean 'Cinderella.' And my Pop thinks I'm imaginary! But I love you anyway because you're all I've got."

            "If you fictional characters will pipe down, we'll get this show on the road. Stand by to rotate. Gay Sagan!"

            Mars was where it should be. I felt more real.

XXXVI

"Pipe down and do your job."

Hilda:

            "Set, Captain," I reported. "Thirteenth rotation. Correct, Zebbie?"

            "Check, Sharpie. Captain?"

            Deety answered, "Let's catch our breaths." She stared out at the ruddy barrenness of Mars-zero. "That rock looks downright homelike. I feel like a tourist who tries to see thirty countries in two weeks. Shock. Not 'future shock' but something like it."

            "Homesickness," I told her. "Knowing that we can't go back. Deety, somewhere, somewhen, we'll build another Snug Harbor. Won't we, Jacob?"

            Jacob patted my knee. "We will, dearest."

            Deety said wistfully, "Will we really find another Snug Harbor?"

            "Deety, are you over your pioneer-mother jag?"

            "No, Zebadiah. But I can get homesick. Like you. Like Hilda. Like everybody but Pop."

            "Correction, Daughter. I don't miss Logan, and I don't think Hilda misses California_"

            "Not a bit!" I agreed.

            "Nor me," agreed Zeb. "I had a rented flat. But Snug Harbor was home."

            "Agreed," Jacob answered. "I didn't really hate these vermin until they bombed our home." Jacob added, "We've got to find a new Snug Harbor. Comfortable as this car is, we can't live in it indefinitely."

            "Check. Sharpie, your theory seems to be checking out. Is there any reason to finish this schedule? Should we go directly to Teh axis?"

            "Zebbie, granted that most rotations didn't amount to more than sightsee-

ing, if we hadn't followed this schedule, this car would not be nearly so comfortable. Do you know of another Ford that has two bathrooms?"

            "Sharpie, I don't know of one that has one bathroom. Our space-warp special lets us stay in space as long as our air holds out. And food. But air is the critical factor."

            I said, "Zebbie, have you noticed that our air does not get stuffy?"

            "It will soon."

            "It need not," Jacob pointed out. "We can scram-code to Oz, or to Wonderland, in seconds. Sweet air, no danger."

            Zebbie looked sheepish. "I'm still learning what our wonder buggy will do."

            "So am I."

            "Gentlemen, you missed my point. You might check the juice. I haven't mentioned another asset. Zebbie, would you like a banana?"

            "Sharpie, I ate the last before I buried garbage. While you and Deety were washing dishes before we left Wonderland."

            "Tell him, Deety."

            "Zebadiah, Hilda and I salvaged and put everything into the basket. Hilda started to put it into our wardrobe-and it was heavy. So we looked. Packed as tight as when we left Oz. Six bananas-and everything else. Cross my heart. No, go look."

            "Hmmm- Jake, can you write equations for a picnic basket that refills itself? Will it go on doing so?"

            "Zeb, equations can be written to describe anything. The description would be simpler for a basket that replenishes itself indefinitely than for one that does it once and stops-I would have to describe the discontinuity. But I am no longer troubled by natural-or 'unnatural'-laws that don't apply in Universe-zero."

            "Mmmm. . . Science Officer, I suggest that you check on that basket now that we have returned to Universe-zero."

            "Zebbie, make that an order in writing and sign your name-if you want to look foolish. Deety, will you order it logged?"

            "Sharpie, if you weren't such good company, I'd strangle you. Your earlier answer recommended that we complete the rotations."

            "No, I noted that the first twelve had not been unprofitable. We could have completed the last three by now had we not spent time debating it."

            "Hilda honey, our cowardly Astrogator needed time to get his nerve back. By yumpin' yiminy, once you're all trained, I'm going to retire."

            "We would simply recall you, Zebbie. Each will go on doing what she can do best."

            "Time is out of joint. 0 cursed spite, that I was ever picked to set it right."

            "You misquoted."

            "I always do. What universe do we hit next?"

            "Zebbie, we have three rotations to go, with four left on the four-votes list. One is useless but amusing and safe. The other three are places to live but each has its own dangers. As the chief of surgery us~ed to say: 'I dunno, let's operate and find out."

            Zebbie sighed. "All hands, stand by to rotate. Execute!"

            Green fire- '~Rotate! Execute!"

            A formless red fog- ~Gay Sagan!"

            Mars looked like an old friend. Zebbie wiped his brow and said, "Whew! One to go- Cap'n Deety hon, let's get it over with. Sharpie?"

            "Fifteenth universe-set!" I reported.

            'Execute!"

            We came out into a starry universe. "Cap'n Deety hon, don't these constellations look familiar?" Zebbie commented.

            "I think so."

            "They are familiar," I insisted. "Except that there is a very bright star near the Gemini. That ought to be the Sun. We're way out past Pluto, where the comets spend the winter. Let's move in and find Earth."

            "Don't be in a hurry," said Zebbie. "Science Officer, what was that first rotation? Green fire?"

            "How about the deadly green nebula in 'The Legion of Space'?-on the trip to the Runaway Star where Aladoree had been taken."

            "That was on your list?"

            "All of us voted for it."

            "What was that red fog we rotated into next?"

            "That one is harder to figure," I admitted. "It could be any universe by a writer who paid respectful attention to astronomy-Bova, Haldeman, Schmidt, Pournelle, Niven, Benford, Clement, Anderson, and so forth. But there were four votes for 'The Mote in God's Eye.' Whether the two old gentlemen had anything to do with it or not, I think we blundered into a red giant. A red giant is close to what we call vacuum. Anyhow, we weren't hurt; we were there about two seconds."

            "Less than that, Sharpie; you set it with one click, and barely had your thumb off the execute button. Captain, do you wish to transit toward that bright star?"

            "Let's chop off thirty or forty A.U.'s," Deety decided, "and get a rough cross fix. Maybe that will give us a disc Pop can measure. If not, we'll narrow it down until it does. Then place us one A.U. from the Sun and we'll spot Earth easily. Astrogator-advice."

            "Captain, I advise making that first jump with wide offset. Miss the Sun by at least one A.U. At least."

            "Yes! Zebadiah, make that cross fix wide. Uh-" Deety peered around. "There's the Sickle. Have Pop aim for Regulus."

            My husband said, "I'm swinging toward Regulus. Zeb, how do I take the angular width of the Solar disc without broiling an eyeball?"

            "The gunsight has a built-in polarizer. Didn't I show you?"

            "You did not."

            "Sorry. Captain Deety hon, I request permission to relieve the Chief Pilot for this."

            "Permission granted. But, Zebadiah, you be careful."

            'Spacecraft! Identify yourself!" -the voice was everywhere.

            Zebbie jerked with surprise. (Me, too!) "Who said that?"

            'Lens man Ted Smith, Commander Galactic Patrol, commanding Patrol Vessel 'Nighthawk.' Entity, I regret being forced to enter your mind but you have been ignoring sub-ether radio for four minutes thirty-two seconds. Switch it on and I will get out of your mind. Do not maneuver; we have weapons on you."

            "Captain," Jacob whispered, "Hilda is set to rotate."

            Deety shook her head, touched Zebbie's arm, pointed to herself.

            "Lensman, this is Captain Deety, commanding Continua Craft Gay Deceiver. We don't have sub-ether radio. Do you read me?"

            '7 read you loud and clear. What happened to your sub-ether radio? Do you need help?"

            "Captain Smith, I don't have sub-ether radio at all. We don't need help but could use astrogational advice. Where are we?"

            'The important point is that you are in my patrol sector, an unscheduled ship insufficiently identified. I repeat: DO NOT MANEUVER. By order of the Galactic Patrol. Do you understand?"

            "I understand you, Lensman. I regret having intruded into your patrol space. This is a private ship engaged in peaceful exploration."

            "That is what I am about to determine, Captain. Stay where you are, make no hostile moves, and you will be safe."

            "Lensman, can you see through my eyes?"

            "Are you inviting me to do so?"

            "Certainly. Use my eyes, use my ears. But don't try to take over my mind or this ship will disappear." Deety squeezed my shoulder; I signaled "Roger" with a pat.

            "1 warn you not to maneuver. Ah. . . interesting!"

            I snapped, "Captain Smith, quit threatening us! A Lensman is supposed to be an officer and gentleman! I intend to report you to the Port Admiral! You're an oaf!"

            "Sorry, Madam. I do not wish to offend but I have duty to perform. Captain, will you please turn your head so that I can see who is speaking?"

            "Certainly. Let me introduce all of us. On my left"-Deety looked at Zebbie- "is Doctor Zebadiah Carter. In front of him is Doctor Jacob Burroughs. On his right"-Deety looked at me-"is his wife, Doctor Hilda Burroughs, xenobiologist and chief of science. Let me offer you this advice, Lensman: It is never safe to offend Doctor Hilda."

            "I gathered that impression, Captain. Doctor Hilda, I would not willingly offend-but I have duties. Shall I get out of your mind entirely? If you speak to me, I will hear with Captain Deety's ears. She can, if she will, repeat to you my thought in answer."

            "Oh, it's all right for conversation. But don't try to go deeper! Mentor would not like it-as you know!"

            "Doctor Hilda, your mention of.. . a certain entity. . . surprises me-from one who is not a Lensman."

            "I don't need a Lens. You can check that with Arisia."

            Deety said hastily, "Lensman, are you satisfied that we are a peaceful party of scientists? Or is there something more that you wish to know?"

            "Captain, I can see that this ship is not a pirate vessel-unarmed and unarmoured. Oh, I note controls for a coherent light gun but that wouldn't be much use to a pirate. Nor can I visualize two men and two women attempting to attack a space liner. But keeping the peace is just one of my responsibilities. Your ship, small as it is, could be carrying millions of credits in contraband."

            "Say what you mean, Lensman," I snapped. "Drugs. But don't use the word 'zwilnik.'"

            Mentally, we could hear him sigh. 'Yes, Doctor Hilda-drugs. But I did not introduce that offensive word into the discussion."

            "I heard you thinking it. Don't do it again!"

            "Lensman," Deety said quickly, "we have medical drugs. The only one that could interest you is a few milligrams of morphine. But we carry no thionite, no bentlam, no hadive, no nitrolabe. You are using your Lens; you know that I'm telling the truth."

            "Captain, it's not that easy. Before I hailed you I did try a slight probe- please, Doctor Hilda; it was in line of duty! I've never encountered minds so fully blocked. And this is a most curious craft. It is obviously designed for aerodynamic use rather than space. Yet here you are-and I can't see how you got here. I have no choice but to detain you and to examine this ship thoroughly. If necessary, take it apart piece by piece."

            "Lensman," Deety said earnestly, "don't be hasty. You can search more thoroughly by Lens than by other means. Go ahead. We've nothing to hide and we have a great deal to offer the Patrol. But you won't get it by pushing us around."

            "You certainly won't! Cap'n, let's leave! I'm tired of stupidity!"-and I snapped, "Gay Sagan!"

            Mars-zero was on our starboard bow. That dead rock looked awfully good to me.

            Zebbie said, "Captain, did you order the copilot to execute?"

            I said, "Don't bother Deety with it, Zebbie. I did it without permission. Solely my decision."

            Zebbie frowned unhappily. "Sharpie, I thought you would be our model Girl Scout while Deety is skipper. Why?"

            "Zebbie, you can rotate back there in no time. But I would like to be dropped first. Imperial House. Or Minus-J. Somewhere."

            "Why, Hilda?" my husband asked.

            "Jacob, meet your friendly neighborhood zwilnik. Commander Ted Smith of the Galactic Patrol-a fine officer; I'm certain, as Dr. E. E. Smith saw to it that no unworthy person could ever wear the Lens-was getting unpleasantly close. That's why I was so fierce with the poor man."

            Deety said, "But, Aunt Hilda, E. E. Smith's world is just the sort of world we've been seeking."

            "Maybe we'll go back. But not until I've had a chance to dump two pounds of concentrated extract of Cannabis magnifica. Dr. Wheatstone tells me that

it is incredibly valuable in therapy, as the base for endless drugs. But I had a hunch that Commander Smith would confiscate it, impound the Smart Girl, arrest all of us-and convict me. But that isn't all, Zebbie. Doctor Smith created one of the most exciting universes I know of. To read about, not to live in. With that endless Boskone War-must have been going on; they were looking for zwilniks-you have to be as smart as Kimball Kinnison to stay alive. . . and even he gets chopped up now and again. Deety and I need a good baby-cotcher and I'm sure they have them. But we have months to find one. Let's not deliberately back into a war."

            Deety didn't hesitate. "I agree with Aunt Hilda. If we go back, it will not be while I'm captain. Hillbilly, you didn't disobey orders; you used your head in an emergency." I thought Deety was going to ask me how and when I got Cannabis magnifica extract. . . but she didn't.

            "Jake," Zebbie said, "we're overruled. Where now, Captain? Earth-Teh -oneplus?"

            "First we'd better pick a place to spend the night, and hold an election."

            "Why, Deety, you've served less than twelve hours!"

            "It will be about twenty-four hours when we lift off tomorrow. I'm not going to ask for nominations; we've all had a turn at it; we are now balloting for permanent captain."

            I expected Zebbie to be picked. But there were three for me, one for Zebbie- my ballot.

            I seemed to be the only one surprised. Zebbie said to Deety, "Ask to be relieved now, hon. The short-timer syndrome is bad for anyone but worse for a C.O.-it demoralizes her crew."

            "Aunt Hilda, will you relieve me?"

            I pondered it half a second. "I relieve you, Deety."

            "Goody! I think I'll take a nap."

            "I think you'll take the verniers. Zebbie and Jacob stay in the jobs they're in. Prepare to maneuver. Copilot, set for Oz. If you don't know how, ask your father."

            "Set verniers for Oz?"

            I took a deep breath to calm down. "Before anyone starts asking 'Why?' the answer is: Pipe down and do your job. Before we start on Teh axis, I want to ask questions. We talked to Glinda about our problem. We didn't talk directly to the others. I mean Ozma and Professor Wogglebug and the Little Wizard and possibly others. Family, magicians who can install two bathrooms in a Ford and never have it show can also help us spot vermin if we ask the right questions. Deety, are you having trouble setting for Oz?"

            "Captain, why set verniers? Gay has our parking spot in her perms. Codeword 'Glinda."

            A few seconds later Gay called out, "Hi, Tik-Tok!"

            "Wel-come back, Miss Gay De-cei-ver. Glin-da told me that you would be gone on-ly a few mi-nutes, so I wai-ted here for you. I am deep-ly hap-py to see you a-gain."

XXXVII

The First Law of Biology

Zeb:

            "Stand by to maneuver," I ordered-at the conn by Captain Sharpie's wish "Hello, Gay."

            "Howdy, Zeb. You look hung over."

            "I am. Gay Home!"

            Arizona was cloudless. "Crater verified, Captain Hilda."

            "Teh axis one plus-set, Captain," Deety reported.

            "Execute!"

            "No crater, Cap'n Auntie. No house. Just mountains." Deety added, "Teh one-minus-set."

            "Roger, Deety. Routine check, Captain?"

            "Voice routine, short schedule." (I think that is what got Sharpie elected permanent C.O.-she never hesitates.)

            "Gay Deceiver. Sightseeing trip. Five klicks H-above-G." "Ogle the yokels at five thousand meters. Let's go!" "Deety, keep your thumb on the button. Gay-Miami Beach." Below lay a familiar strip city. "Captain?"

            "Zebbie, note the crowded streets. Sunny day. Beaches empty. Why?" "Bogie six o'clock low!" Jake yelped.

            "Gay Zoom!"

            Earth-Teh-one-plus swam warm and huge. Opposite us a hurricane approached Texas. I asked, "Want to see more, Captain?"

            "Zebadiah, how can we see more when we haven't seen any?"

            "But Cap'n Sharpie has, Deety. Folks, I'm unenthusiastic about a world where they shoot without challenging. Jake, your bogie was a missile?"

            "I think so, Zeb. Collision course with Doppler signature over a thousand knots and increasing."

            "A missile-out of Homestead-analog, probably. Captain, these blokes are too quick on the trigger."

            "Zebbie, I find empty beaches more disturbing. I can think of several reasons why they would be empty on a nice day-all unpleasant."

            "Want to check San Diego? I can get more scram time by increasing Habove-G."

            "No, we have over forty thousand analogs on this axis; we'll stick to doctrine. Shop each world just long enough to find something wrong-'Black Hats,' war, low technology, no human population, bad climate, overpopulated, or factor X. If we don't find our new Snug Harbor in the next four months, we'll consider returning to Doctor Smith's world."

            "Hillbilly, if we wait there to have our babies, then wait again until they are big enough to travel, we'll never find Snug Harbor."

            "I said, 'consider.' We may find a place to shack up for five months or so, then slam back to Galactic Patrol Prime Base hospital for the Grand Openings. Could be an empty world-no people, pleasant otherwise. Food is now no problem and we get water from Oz. All we lack is television-"

            "That's no lack!"

            "Deety, I thought you liked 'Star Trek'?"

            "Auntie Captain, we've got our own star trek now."

            "Hmm-Deety, you and I should go easy on this star trek. I'm going to I'm having my first one past forty and I'm going to be very careful-exercise, diet, rest, the works."

            "I surrender. Let's get cracking, Cap'n Hillbilly."

            "Take it, Zebbie."

            "Copilot, execute!"

            Earth-Teh -one-minus replaced Teh -one-plus. "Jacob, it doesn't look right. Astrogator, I want us up a hundred kilometers, over-make it Mississippi Valley about St. Louis. Want to change attitude?"

            "Yes, please. Jake, point Gay at your target; it will skip setting angle." The craft's nose dipped and steadied.

            "How's that?"

            "Fine, Jake. Deety, set L axis plus transition ninety-nine thousand klicks."

            "Set, Zebadiah."

            "Execute." We popped out high over fields of ice. "Sneak up on it, Cap'n?"

            "Never mind. Zebbie, that's what I call a hard winter."

            "A long winter. Actually it's summer, I think; Earth-analogs should be in the same place in orbit as Earth. Jake?"

            "By theory, yes. Doesn't matter either way; that's glaciation. Deety has set Teh -two-plus."

            "We can't homestead on an ice sheet. Execute."

            "Zebbie, how many ice ages so far?"

            "Five, I think. Deety?"

            "Five is right, Zebadiah. Plus two worlds with major war, one where they shot at us, and one so radioactive that we got out fast!"

            "So we're hitting ice more often than not."

            "Five to four has no statistical significance, Zebadiah. At least Aunt Hilda hasn't spotted even one 'Black Hat."

            "Sharpie, how good are your magic spectacles?"

            "Zebbie, if I see them walk, I'll spot 'em, no matter how they're disguised. In the simulations Glinda and Wizard cooked up, I spotted their gait every time Deety identified it by Fourier analysis."

            "You feel confident, that's enough."

            "Zebbie, I don't have clairvoyance; there wasn't time to train me. But Glinda got me highly tuned to their awkward gait, both with and without splints. I want to discuss something else. According to geologists, when we were home- Earth where we were born, I mean-we were in a brief warm period between glaciations."

            "If geologists are right," I admitted.

            "If so, we'll usually hit glaciation."

            "Probably. 'If-"

            "Yes, 'if-' But we now know what glaciation looks like. If you and Jacob and Deety can make it a drill, we can flip past ice ages as fast as you spot one."

            "We'll speed it up. Jake."

            "Zebadiah, wait!"

            "Why, Deety? We're about to translate."

            "Pop, you told me to set for Teh -five-plus."

            "Jacob?" Captain Sharpie said.

            "That's right, Captain."

            "What's the trouble, Deety?"

            "Aunt Hilda, I said that five-to-four had little statistical significance. But so far, all glaciations have been in Teh -minus. That could be chance but-"

            -but doesn t look like it. You want us to explore axis Teh-plus first? Astrogator?"

            '~No, no! Captain Auntie, I would like to see enough of Teh -minus to have a significant sample. At least a hundred."

            "Jacob?"

            "Hilda, if we check in one pseudodirection only-say Teh -minus-it'll be four or five times as fast as hunting back and forth between plus and minus. Deety can set with one click; Zeb can yell 'Execute!' as soon as you are satisfied."

            "Jacob, we'll get Deety her sample. But faster. Astrogator, have our copilot set Teh -six-minus"

            "Uh. . . set, Captain."

            When Zebbie says 'Go,' Jacob, you and Deety flip them past as fast as you can without waiting for orders. All we'll be looking for is ice ages; we can spot one in a splitsecond. If anyone sees a warm world, yell 'Stop!' Deety, can Gay count them?"

            "She's doing so, Captain. We both are."

            "Okay. I'm going to give my magic specs a rest-we're looking for nothing but glaciers versus green worlds. Questions?"

            "Run out Teh -minus as fast as I can set and translate. Stop when anyone yells. Aye aye, Cap'n Hillbilly honey."

            Sharpie nodded to me; I snapped, "Go!"

            "STOP!" yelped Deety.

            "Jacob, I've never seen so much ice! Deety, how many martinis would that make?"

            "On the rocks or straight up?"

            "Never mind; we're out of vermouth. Did you get your sample?"

            "Yes, Captain. One hundred ice ages, no warm worlds. I'm satisfied."

            "I'm not. Zebbie, I want to extrapolate logarithmically-go to Teh -minusone-thousand, then ten thousand, a hundred thousand, and so on. Jacob?"

            Jake looked worried. "Hilda, my scales can be set for vernier setting five, or one hundred thousand. But that translation would take us more than twice around a superhyper great circle-I think."

            "Elucidate, please."

            "I don't want to get lost. My equations appear to be a description of sixdimensional space of positive curvature; they've worked-so far. But Euclidean geometry and Newtonian mechanics worked as long as our race didn't monkey with velocities approaching the speed of light. Then the approximations weren't close enough. I don't know that the plenum can be described with only six space-time coordinates. It might be more than six-possibly far more. Mathematics can be used for prediction only after test against the real world."

            "Jacob, what is the 'real world'?"

            "Ouch! Hilda, I don't know. But I'm afraid to get too many quanta away from our world-world-zero, where we were born. I think the extrapolation you propose would take us more than twice around a superhyper great circle to- What world, Deety?"

            "World-six-thousand-six-hundred-eighty-eight on Teh- minus axis, Pop. Unless it's skewed."

            "Thanks, Deety. Captain, if we arrived there, we could return to Earth-zero by one setting. if-' Instead of a superhyper great circle we might follow a helix or some other curve through dimensions we know not of."

            Pop, you took what I said and fancied it up.

            "R.H.I.P., my dear. You will appear as junior author on the monograph you'll write and I'll sign."

            "Pop, you're so good to me. Wouldn't Smart Girl return us simply by G, A, Y, H, 0, M, E?"

            "Those programs instruct a machine that has built into it only six dimensions. Perhaps she would. . . but to our native universe so far from Earth-zero that we would be hopelessly lost. If Zeb and I were bachelors, I would say,

'Let's go!' But we are family men."

            "Deety, set the next one. Teh -five-plus?"

            "Right, Zebadiah. But, Captain Auntie, I'm game! The long trip!"

            "Me, too," agreed Captain Sharpie.

            I said in a tired voice, "Those babies are ours as much as they are yours- Jake and I are taking no unnecessary risks. Captain Sharpie, if that doesn't suit you, you can find another astrogator and another chief pilot."

            "Mutiny. Deety, shall we pull a 'Lysistrata'?"

            "Uh.. . can't we find some reasonable middle ground?"

            "Looks like a place to stop for lunch. Sharpie, want to sniff for 'Black Hats'?"

            "Take me down, please. About two thousand klicks above ground."

            "Will you settle for five?"

            "Sissy pants. Yes, if you'll first have Jacob zip us around night side to check for city lights."

            "Give her what she wants, Jake, by transiting; an orbit takes too long. 'Give me operations. . . way out on some lonely atoll! For I. . . am too young to diiiie! I just want to grow old!"

            "You're off key, Zebbie."

            "Deety likes my singing. Anybody spot city lights?"

            We found no cities. So Jake put us down for lunch on a lonely atoll, Hilda first making certain that it had nothing on it but palm trees. Deety stripped, started exercises.

            Hilda joined her; Jake and I set out lunch, having first dressed in stylish tropical skin. The only less-than-idyllic note came from my objecting to Deety's swimming in the lagoon. Hilda backed me up. "Deety, that's not a swimming pool. Anything in it has defenses or couldn't have survived. The first law of biology is eat or be eaten. A shark could have washed over the reef years back, eaten all the fish-and now be delighted to have you for lunch."

            "Ugh!"

            "Deety, you'd be very tasty," I soothed.