XXXVIII

"-under his vine and under his fig tree;

and none shall make them afraid-"

Jacob:

            Teh positive took longer to search than Teh -negative for the very reason that its analogs were so much like our native planet.

            An uninhabited planet could be dismissed in ten minutes; one heavily populated took no longer. A planet at too low a level of culture took hardly longer- a culture with animal-drawn carts and sailing ships as major transport we assumed not to have advanced medicine. But most took longer to reject.

            At the end of a week we had rejected ninety-seven. . . which left us only 40.000 + to inspect!

            That evening, at "Picnic Island," our private atoll, my daughter said, "Cap'n Auntie, we're doing this wrong."

            'How, Deetjkins?"

            "Ninety-seven in a week, over forty thousand to go. At that rate we finish in eight years."

            Her husband said, "Deety, we're getting faster."

            My beloved said, "Astrogator, do you know more about calculating than does the Copilot?" Zeb shut up. We had learned that when Hilda addressed usby titles, she was speaking as captain. I flatter myself that I learned it quicke5~ whereas Zeb was a bit slow. "Go ahead, Deety."

            "If we go on checking this way, it won't get better; it will get worse. Here's the first weeks' score"-she passed around her summary; it read:

            Earth analogs checked           97

            Average time per planet       34 mins 381/2 sec

            Maximum time          2 days 3 hrs 52 mins

            Minimum time           13 seconds

            Median time   12 mins 07 sec

            I studied it. "Deety, we can reduce that average time. Over two days was much too long to check analog twenty-six."

            "No, Pop, we should have taken longer on twenty-six. It's that thirteen seconds that is bankrupting us."

            "Daughter, that's preposter-"

            "Chief Pilot."

            "Yes, dear?"

            "Please let the Copilot finish. . . without interruption." I retired from the field, annoyed, to wait until my advice was indispensable-soon, I felt sure.

            "Aunt Hilda, if we gave each analog thirteen seconds, it would take us eighteen and a half days.. . and we would learn nothing. I want to cut the minimum time way, way down-make it routine-and learn something. I wish Gay could talk, I do."

            "But, dear, she can. We can be in Oz in two minutes. The dirty dishes can wait."

            My daughter looked startled. "Pass me the Stupid Hat."

            "But we won't go to Oz before tomorrow. We need to figure out what the problem is, first-and I need a night of cuddle with Jacob for the good of my soul." Hilda reached out and took my hand.

            Hilda went on, "Deety, remember how fast we mapped Mars-Tau -ten-positive once we let Gay do it her way? Isn't there some way to define a locus- then turn her loose?"

            We discussed it until bedtime. I set the locus myself by vetoing going past Earth-analog-Teh -positive-five-thousand until we were certain that no satisfactory analog existed in those first five thousand. "Family," I told them, "call me chicken, to use Zeb's favorite excuse. I know so little about this gadget I invented that lam always afraid of getting lost. All rotations have been exactly~ ninety degrees. In theory I can define a quantum of angle and each such quantum should render accessible another sheaf of universes. In practice I can't do machining of that quality. Even if I could, I would be afraid to risk ~ our necks on a gadget required to count angular quanta.

            "But I have another objection-a gut feeling that worlds too far out Teh axis will be too strange. Language, culture, even dominant race-I confess to prejudice for human beings, with human odo~ and dandruff and faults. Supermen or angels would trouble me more than vermin. I know what to do with

a 'Black Hat'-kill it! But a superman would make me feel so inferior that I would not want to go on living."

            Deety clapped. "That's my Pop! Don't worry, Pop; the superman who can give you an inferiority complex hasn't been hatched." I think she meant that as a compliment.

            We worked the parameters down to three: climate warm enough to encourage nudity; population comfortably low; technology high. The first parameter was a defense against B.H. vermin: they require antinudity taboo to bolster their disguises. The last parameter would tend to indicate advanced obstetrics. As for population, every major shortcoming of our native planet could be traced to one cause: too many people, not enough planet.

            Hilda decided to standardize: one locale, one H-above-G. The locale was (in Earth-zero terminology) Long Beach, California, over its beach one klick Habove-G-dangerously low were it not that Gay would never be in any universe longer than one second. Any speed-of-light weapon can destroy in less than a second, but can its human-cum-machine operators identify a target, bear on it, and fire in one second? We thought not. We hoped not.

            At analogs of Long Beach, it should be midsummer, hot, dry, and cloudless. If that beach was comfortably filled but not crowded, if the people were nude, if area adjacent to the beach showed high technology by appearance, then that analog should be checked further.

            Forty minutes in Oz changed much of our planning.

            Tik-Tok was waiting for his lady friend as usual but kept politely quiet while Deety talked with Gay-and so did Zeb and so did I, not because we have Tik-Tok's courtly manners but because Captain Hilda was blunt. Gay understood the Celsius scale, i.e., both freezing and boiling water temperatures lay in her experience and splitting the interval into one hundred parts was no trouble. She had enough parts that needed to be neither too hot nor too cold that awareness of her surroundings both ambient and radiant was as automatic as breathing is for me. As for radio and television (both gauges of technical level) she could sample all infrared flux (as she had done at Windsor City). Crowds on beach? Would it suffice to count bodies on a sample one hundred meters square?

            But Gay had a quite un-human complaint: "Deety, why must I hang around a thousand milliseconds for a job I can do in ten? Don't you trust me?"

            So instead of 57 years-or 8 years-or 181/2 days-or 11.4 hours-our preliminary survey was complete less than a minute after we left Oz-5000 universes in fifty seconds. Gay Deceiver displayed her results as three curves representing temperature, body count, density of communication-frequency radiation_abscissa for all running from Earth-zero to Earth-analog-5000Teh -plus.

            Those curves told one thing at once: No need to search past analog 800; glaciation had returned.

            In the lower right corner was displayed: 87. Zeb asked why. "Nulls," said Deety. "Gay couldn't get readings. Storm, earthquake, war, anything. Gay Deceiver."

            "Hi, Deety! We whupped 'em!"

            "You surely did, Smart Girl; Tik-Tok will be proud of you. Change scale. Display zero through eight hundred."

            As scale expanded, figure 87 dropped to 23. Zeb said, "Deety, I'm curious about those twenty-three. Will you have S.G. display their designations?"

            "Certainly, Zebadiah, but may I take it in planned order?"

            "Sure but just let me find out first-"

            "Astrogator," Sharpie said flatly, "isn't this your day as K.P.?"

            We were at Picnic Island, examining results. I suppressed a smile; "slunk" describes the way Zeb left the cabin. Later I was unsurprised to see my tiny treasure giving Zeb an unusually warm hug and kiss. Our Captain has an efficient system of rewards and punishments-never so described.

            Deety instructed Gay to eliminate all worlds with a body count higher than that of the Earth-zero beach, and all worlds chillier by five degrees (my daughter was bracketing to avoid false readings from unseasonable weather).

            With elimination of high population, cold climate, and low technology as indicated by low or nil flux of communication frequencies, my daughter had us down to seventy-six worlds, plus twenty-three to reexamine-had eliminated over four thousand worlds-and it was still two hours till lunch time!

            Deety had Gay display temperatures of the seventy-six. The curve was no longer continuous, but a string of beads, with clumps. I said, "Hilda my love, I'll wager ten back rubs that at least half of the nulls fit into that gap"-and indicated a break at the maximum of the temperature curve.

            Hilda hesitated. "Why, Jacob?"

            "My dear, figures mean little to me until expressed geometrically. Curves are bold print. I'll give you odds."

            "What odds?"

            "Don't be suckered, Auntie Cap'n! Pop, I'll take your end of the bet, give you two to one, and spot you a point."

            A back rub from Deety is a treat; she has strong hands and knows how. But I answered, "Ladies, I must start lunch. Deety, when we make visual check, let's include Antarctica as well as Greenland, at that break."

            "Two points, Pop?" I pretended not to hear.

            That same day we trimmed it down to six worlds, all warm, all free of body taboos, all high technology, all acceptably low in population, all free of major war or overt preparations, all with some version of English as the major North American language. It was time to pick a world by inspection on the ground.

            How to make contact was much discussed. Hilda chopped it by saying: "One way is to land on the White House lawn and say, 'Take me to your leader!' The other is to be as sneaky as a 'Black Hat.' Let me know when you reach consensus." She went through the bulkhead and dogged the door.

            An hour later I rapped on the bulkhead; she rejoined us. "Captain," I reported formally, "we have reached consensus. Each is afraid of the open approach; authorities might confiscate our car, we might wind up as prisoners."

            "Yes," she agreed. "Twice we just missed it."

            "Precisely. The expression 'sneaky as a "Black Hat" is distasteful-"

            "I so intended."

            I went doggedly on: "-but sneakiness is not immoral per se. A mouse at a cat show is justified in being inconspicuous; so are we. We merely seek information. I am expendable; therefore I will scout on the ground."

            "Hold it. This is unanimous? Deety? Zebbie?"

            "No," my daughter answered. "I didn't get a vote. You and I are barred from taking risks. Pregnant, you know."

            "I certainly do know! Jacob, I asked for consensus on method. I did not ask for volunteers. I've picked the scout I consider best qualified."

            I said, "My dear, I hope you have picked me."

            "No, Jacob."

            "Then I'm your boy," said Zebbie.

            "No, Zebbie. This is spying, not fighting. I'm doing this job myself."

            I interrupted, "Hilda, where you go, I go! That's final."

            Our captain said gently, "Beloved, I hope you don't stick to that. If you do, we'll elect another skipper. You are my candidate."

            "Dear, I was trying to-"

            "-take care of me. Nevertheless you are my candidate. Deety is too reckless; Zebbie too cautious. I'll carry out whatever duties you assign, including using the magic spectacles. Are you sticking to that ultimatum?"

            "Uh, yes."

            "Even though your stubbornness could result in my death? I love you, dear, but I won't take you with me on a spying mission. What happened to that 'All for one and one for all' spirit?"

            ~Uh..."

            "Captain!"

            "Yes, Zebbie?"

            "You proved that you can be tough with your husband. Can you be tough with yourself? Look me in the eye and tell me that you know more about intelligence than I do. Or that you can fight your way out of a rumpus better than I can."

            "Zebbie, this isn't military intelligence. You look me in the eye and tell me that you know more about obstetrics than I do. How do you prepare for leapfrog transfusion and when is it likely to be needed? Define eclampsia. What do you do about placenta previa? I am less likely to get into a rumpus than you are.. . and if I do, I'll throw my arms around his neck and cry. However. . . convince me that you know as much about obstetrics as I do and I'll consider letting You make contacts. In the meantime pick a midwestern town big enough for a fair-sized hospital and public library, and select a point for grounding and rendezvous; you will be in command while I'm gone."

            I interrupted. "Hilda, I absolutely forbid-"

            "Chief Pilot! Pipe down!" My wife turned her face away from me. "Chief Master at Arms, restore discipline."

            "Aye aye, Ma'am! Jake, she means you."

            "But-"

            "Shut up! Crewmen don't give orders to the CO, and I've had a bellyful of your attempts."

            Two hours later I was in Zeb's seat, biting my nails and sweating, while Zeb had my seat. I had given unconditional parole-the alternative having been to go (or be stuffed) through the bulkhead, then wait, locked in. I am not a total fool; I gave my word.

            Zeb held us in cloud cover while my daughter, wearing earphones, stayed in contact with Hilda. Gay's cabin speaker was paralleled with the phones so that we could follow in part what went on below. Deety reported, "That fade is from entering a building; I could hear her footsteps. Zebadiah, if I fiddle with the gain, I might miss her as she comes out."

            "Don't shift. Wait."

            Eternities later we heard Hilda's sweet voice: "I'm heading for rendezvous. I no longer have to pretend that this is a hearing aid-but everybody accepted ~ it as such. You needn't be cautious picking me up; we're leaving."

            Five minutes later we bounced and translated at once, then Zeb held her in cruise while Hilda reported:

            "No trouble. Ze bewildair' French ladee she zink les Americain' verree gentils. Mais les arts medicals-poof! Infant mortality high, childbirth mortality gruesome. I could have left sooner but I got fascinated."

            "Hilda," I protested, "you had me worried to death."

            "Jacob, I had to be certain; it's such a nice world otherwise. Other contacts,Y should not take as long as I've solved the money problem."

            "How?" Zebadiah asked. "I've been noodling that. There's an even chance that private ownership of gold will be illegal. A standard trick used whenever a government is in trouble."

            "Yes, Zebbie-it's illegal there, too. I still have the bullion you had me carry. Instead I sold that heavy gold chain I was wearing. Sorry, Deety; I had to."

            "Forget it, Hillbilly. That chain was a way to horde gold. Pop bought it for~ Mama Jane before they clipped the zeroes and remonetized."

            "Well. . . I found a public phone-didn't try to use it; Edison would neve have recognized it. But it had a phone book, so I looked up 'gold'-and foun 'licensed gold dealers' and sold your chain-"

            "And now you're stuck with a lot of local money."

            "Zebbie! See why I didn't let you go down by yourself? The dealer was 0 course a coin dealer, too-and I bought foreign silver coins, worn, small, oldis, dates without being old enough to be collectors' items. French coins, but h didn't have enough, so I filled out with Belgian, Swiss, and German."

            I said, "My dear, the coins you bought there will not be good here. Or at the next analog. Or the next."

            "Jacob, who-other than a professional-is certain of designs on foreign cojns?-especially if they are a few years old and a bit worn. I got real silver, none of those alloys that don't have the right ring to them. At most a shopkeeper will phone his bank and ask for the rate. That's how I bought this," my beloved said proudly, pulling out of Deety's biggest purse a World Almanac.

            I was not impressed. If she was going to buy a book, why not a technical manual that might contain new art, data Zeb and I could use?

            My darling was saying, "We must buy one in each analog we ground in. It's the nearest thing to an encyclopedia less than a kilo mass you'll find. History, law, vital statistics, maps, new inventions, new medicine-I could have skipped the library and learned all I needed from this book. Zebbie! Turn to the list of U.S. Presidents."

            "Who cares?" Zeb answered, but did so. Shortly he said, "Who is Eisenhower? This shows him serving one of Harriman's terms and one of Patton's."

            "Keep going, Zebbie."

            "Okay- No! I refuse to believe it. Us Carters are taught to shoot straight, bathe every month even in the winter, and never run for office."

            Two days later Hilda and Zeb, as a French-tourist couple, found the world where we settled.

            We slid in quietly, both through the histrionics of our "bewildered French lady" and Zeb's unmalicious chicanery. Sometimes he was our French lady's husband; other times he spoke English slowly with a strong Bavarian accent.

            In this analog, the United States (called that, although boundaries differ) is not as smothered in laws, regulations, licensing, and taxes as is our native country. In consequence "illegally entered aliens" do not find it difficult to hide, once they "sling the lingo" and understand local customs.

            Hilda and Zeb learned rapidly in a dozen towns, Deety and me "riding shotgun" in the sky. Deety and I learned from them and from radio. Then we moved to the Northwest, "natives" from back east, and coped with our only problem: how to keep Gay Deceiver out of sight.

            Hilda and Deety hid her in the Cascades for three days while Zeb and I found and bought a farmhouse outside Tacoma-analog. That night we moved Gay into the barn, slapped white paint on the building's windows, and slept in Gay, with a feeling of being home!

            We own six hectares and live in the farmhouse in front of Gay's hideaway. Gay will eventually go underground, protected by reinforced concrete; the barn will become a machine shop. We will build a new house over her bunker. Meanwhile, our old farmhouse is comfortable.

            This United States, population under a hundred million, accepts immigrants freely. Zeb considered buying phony papers to let us enter "legally"-but Hilda decided that it was simpler to use Gay to smuggle us while we smuggled Gay. The outcome is the same; we will never be a burden to the state-once we get

our machine shop and electronics lab set up, Zeb and I will "invent" hundreds of gadgets this country lacks.

            We seem to be near the warmest part of an interglaciation. Wheat grows where our native world has frozen tundra; the Greenland icecap has vanished; lowlands are under water, coastlines much changed.

            Climate and custom encourage light clothing; the preposterous "body modesty" taboo does not exist. Clothing is worn for adornment and for protection- never through "shame." Nakedness is symbolic of innocence-these people derive that symbology from the Bible used in our native culture to justify the exact opposite. The same Bible-I checked. (The Bible is such a gargantuan collection of conflicting values that anyone can "prove" anything from it.)

            So this is not a world where alien vermin can hide. A "man" who at all times kept arms and legs covered by long sleeves and long trousers would be as conspicuous as one in armor.

            The sects here are mostly Christian-on a Saturday morning one sees families headed for church in their finest Sabbath-go-to-meeting clothes. But, since nakedness is symbolic of innocence, they undress in an anteroom to enter their temple unadorned. One need not attend services to see this; the climate favors light, airy structures that are mostly roof and slender columns.

            The Bible affects their penal system, again by selective quotation: "Eye for eye, tooth for tooth-"

            This results in a fluid code, with no intent to rehabilitate but to make the punishment fit the crime. I saw an example four days after we settled. I was driving our steam wagon and encountered a road block. A policeman told me that I could take a detour or wait twenty minutes; the highway was being used to balance a reckless driver.

            I elected to pull over and wait. A man was staked with one leg stretched out at a right angle. A police wagon drove down that cleared highway, ran over his leg, turned and drove back over it.

            An ambulance was waiting-but nothing was done for a timed seventeen minutes. Then surgeons amputated on the spot; the ambulance took him away and the block was removed.

            I went back to my wagon and shook for many minutes, then returned home, driving cautiously. I didn't tell our family. But it was reported on radio and the evening paper had pictures-so I admitted that I had seen it. The paper noted that the criminal's insurance had been insufficient to cover the court's award to the victim, so the reckless driver had not only lost his left leg (as had his victim) but also had had most of his worldly goods confiscated.

            There is no speed limit and traffic regulations are merely advisory-but there are extremely few accidents. I have never encountered such polite and careful drivers.

            A poisoner is killed by poison; an arsonist is burned to death. I won't describe what is done to a rapist. But poisoning, arson, and rape are almost unknown.

            My encounter with this brutal system of "balancing" almost caused me to think that my dear wife had been mistaken in picking this world-we should move! I am no longer certain. This place has no prisons, almost no crime, and

it is the safest place to raise children I've ever heard of.

            We are having to relearn history. "The Years of Rising Waters" explain themselves. The change came before 1600; by 1620 new shorelines had stabilized. That had endless consequences-mass migrations, political disorder, a return of the Black Death, and much immigration from Great Britain and the lowlands of Europe while the waters rose.

            Slavery never established here. Indentures, yes-many a man indentured himself to get his family away from doomed land. But the circumstances that could have created "King Cotton" were destroyed by rising waters. There are citizens here of African descent but their ancestors were not slaves. Some have indentured ancestors, no doubt-but everyone claims indentured ancestors even if they have to invent them.

            Some aspects of history seem to be taboo. I've given up trying to find out what happened in 1965: "The Year They Hanged the Lawyers." When I asked a librarian for a book on that year and decade, he wanted to know why I needed access to records in locked vaults. I left without giving my name. There is free speech-but some subjects are not discussed. Since they are never defined, we try to be careful.

            But there is no category "Lawyers" in the telephone book.

            Taxation is low, simple-and contains a surprise. The Federal government is supported by a head tax paid by the States, and is mostly for military and foreign affairs. This state derives most of its revenue from real estate taxes. It is a uniform rate set annually, with no property exempted, not even churches, hospitals, or schools-or roads; the best roads are toll roads. The surprise lies in this: The owner appraises his own property.

            There is a sting in the tail: Anyone can buy property against the owner's wishes at the appraisal the owner placed on it. The owner can hang on only by raising his appraisal at once to a figure so high that no buyer wants it- and pay three years back taxes at his new appraisal.

            This strikes me as loaded with inequity. What if it's a family homestead with great sentimental value? Zeb laughs at me. "Jake, if anybody wants six hectares of hilly land and second-growth timber, we take the profit, climb into Gay-and buy more worthless land elsewhere. In a poker game, you figure what's in the pot."

XXXIX

Random Numbers

Hilda:

            Jacob stood, raised his glass. "Snug Harbor at last!"

            Zebbie matched him. "Hear, hear!"

            Deety and I sat tight. Zebbie said, "Snap it up, kids!" I ignored him.

            Jacob looked concerned. "What's the matter, dear one? Zeb, perhaps they don't feel well."

            "It's not that, Jacob. Deety and I are healthy as hogs. It's that toast. For ten days, since we signed the deed, it's been that toast. Our toast used to be:

'Death to "Black Hats"!'"

            "But, my dear, I promised you a new Snug Harbor. The fact that you girls are having babies made that first priority. This is the place. You said so."

            I answered, "Jacob, I never called this 'Snug Harbor.' I reported that I had found a culture with advanced obstetrics, and customs that made it impossibh for Black Hats to hide. I wasn t asked what I thought of it.

            "You signed the deed!"

            "I had no choice. My contribution was one fur cape and some jewelry. Deety put in morebut effectively no gold. She fetched her stock certificates, other securities, some money-paper-and a few coins. I fetched two twenty-five newdollar bills. Deety and I left Earth as paupers. Each of us women-not girls'!, Jacob-was once wealthy in her own right. But in buying this place, you two decided, you two paid for it-all we did was sign. We had no choice."

            Zebbie looked at Deety and said softly, "With all my worldly goods I thee endow," and took her hand.

            Jacob said, "Thanks, Zeb. I, too, Hilda-if you don't believe that, then you don't believe I meant the rest: '-for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health-' But I did and I do." He looked up. "Zeb, where did we go wrong?"

            "Durned if I know, Jake. Deety, what's the score? Give."

            "I'll try, Zebadiah. Maybe all we should expect is washing dishes and wiping noses and changing diapers. But that doesn't seem like a be-all and end-all when you've gone banging around the universes. . . stood guard for your husband while he bathed in a mountain stream. . . or- Oh, the devil with it! This place is good and clean and wholesome and dull! I'll find myself joining the church just for company. . . then sleeping with the priest out of boredom!"

            "Deety, Deety!"

            "I'm sorry, Zebadiah. It would be boredom with Beulahland, not with you. The very hour we met, you saved my life; you married me before that hour was over, impregnated me before midnight, fought and killed for me only days later, saved my life twice more that same day, took me to another planet in another universe before midnight still that same day. . . and short hours later had again fought for me, twice. You are my gallant knight, sans peur et sans reproche. In the six weeks I have known you, you have gifted more romance, more glorious adventure, into my life than in all the twenty-two years before it. But the last twelve days-especially the last ten-have told me what we now look forward to."

            Deety paused to sigh; I said quietly, "She speaks for me."

            Deety went on, "You two would lay down your lives for us-you've come terrifyingly close. But what happened to your glorious schemes to rebuild the Solar System? To kill every last one of those vermin? Gay Deceiver sits in an old barn, dark and quiet-and today I heard you discussing how to market a can opener. Universes beyond the sky to the incredible Number of the Beast!- yet you plan to sell can openers while Hilda and I serve as brood mares. We haven't even visited Proxima Centauri! Zebadiah-Pop!-let's spend tonight looking for an Earth-type planet around Alpha Centauri-kill a million vermin to clean it, if that's what it takes! Plan what planets to put on Earth's Lagrange points. I'll write programs to meet your grandest plans! Let's go!"

            My husband looked sad. Zebbie held Deety's hand and said, "Deety, we don't want to sell can openers. But you two are pregnant and we've gone to a lot of trouble to put you where you and our kids will be safe. Maybe it's dull. . . but it's your duty. Forget hunting vermin."

            "Just forget it? Zebadiah, why is Gay Deceiver loaded and ready for space? Power packs charged, water tanks full, everything? Do you and Pop have something in mind. . . while Hilda and I stay home and baby-sit?"

            "Deety, if we did, it wouldn't hurt to sell a few can openers first. You two and the kids must be provided for, come what may."

            "That Widow's Walk again, Hillbilly. But, my husband, you have started from a false premise. You men want to protect Hilda and me and our kids at any cost-and we honor you for it. But one generation is as valuable as another, and men are as valuable as women. With modern weapons, a computer pro-

grammer is more use in war than a sniper. Or-forgive me, sir!-even an aerospace fighter pilot. I'm a programmer. I can shoot, too! I won't be left out, I won't!"

            I gave Deety our signal to drop it. It doesn't do to push a man too hard; it makes him stubborn. One can't expect logic from males; they think with their testicles and act from their emotions. And one must be careful not to overload them. We had given them five points to stew over; we would save the sixth- the clincher-for later.

            I waited three days. . . and struck from the other flank. Again Deety and I rehearsed: We would wrangle with each other and appeal to the men for support-crosswise.

            "Jacob, what is 'random'? Is it correct to say that 'random' is shorthand for 'I don't know'?"

            Deety said scornfully, "Don't let her trap you, Pop. She's got the second law of thermodynamics mixed up with the second law of robotics-and doesn't understand either one." (I had to phrase this and insist; Deety didn't want to say it. Deety is sweet, not the bitch I am.)

            "Random' is used a number of ways, my love, but it usually means a set in which the members are equal in probability of experiencing some event, such as being next to be chosen."

            "If they're 'chosen,' how can it be 'random'?"

            Deety snickered.

            Zebbie said, "Don't let him snow you, Sharpie; 'random' means 'I don't know'-as you said."

            "Aunt Hilda, pay no attention to Zebadiah. 'Random' is what you have when you maximize entropy."

            "Now, Daughter, that is hardly a mathematical statement-"

            "Pop, if I gave it to her in mathematical language she'd faint."

            "Deety, quit picking on Sharpie," Zebbie said sternly.

            "I wasn't picking on her. Hillbilly has this silly notion that we didn't get anywhere hunting vermin because we went about it systematically.. . but every time we told Gay to shake up her random numbers and do as she pleased, we got results."

            "Well, didn't we?" I put in, intentionally shrill. "We had endless failures.. . but every time we gave Gay her head-'Put her on random numbers,' as Deety says-we never had a failure. 'Random' and 'chance' are not related. 'Random chance' is a nonsense expression."

            "Auntie darling, you're out of your skull. Don't worry, Pop; pregnant women often get the vapors."

            •I indignantly listed things that could not be "random" or "chance"-then discovered" that Deety and I had to start dinner. We left them wrangling, and were careful not to giggle within earshot.

            After dinner, instead of that tired toast, Jacob said, "Hilda, would you explain your concept of 'random'? Zeb and I have been discussing it and agree that there is some factor in our adventures not subject to analysis."

            "Jake, that's your statement. I just said, 'I dunno,' and wiped the drool off my chin. Tell us, Sharpie."

            "But Jacob told us a month ago. There isn't any such thing as 'chance.' It's a way of admitting ignorance. I thought that I had begun to understand it when we started hitting storybook universes. Lilliput. Oz. Dr. Smith's World. Wonderland. I was so sure of it- You remember three weeks ago after our second visit to Oz? I ordered a day of rest; we spent it on Tau axis instead of Teh."

            "Dullest day we had," said Zebbie. "You put us in orbit around Mars. Not just one Mars but dozens. Hundreds. The only one worth a fiat dollar was the one we aren't going back to. I got permission to go off duty and take a nap."

            "You weren't on duty, Zebbie. You three slept or read or played crib. But I was searching for Barsoom. Not hundreds, Zebbie-thousands. I didn't find it."

            "Hillbilly, you didn't tell me!"

            "Dejah Thoris, why bother to say that I had been chasing the Wild Goose? I swallowed my disappointment; next day we started searching Teh axis. . . and wound up here. Would I have found Barsoom had I asked Gay to run the search? Defined her limits, yes-as Zebbie did on Mars-ten--but, having defined it, told her to take her random numbers and find it. It worked on Marsten; we mapped a whole planet in a few hours. It worked on Teh axis. Why wouldn't it be best for another search?"

            Jacob answered, "Dearest, Zeb fed Gay a defined locus. But how would that apply to this, uh, speculative. . . search?"

            "Jacob, Zebbie told us that Gay holds the Aerospace Almanac. That includes details about the Solar System, does it not?"

            "More than I want to know," Zebbie agreed.

            "So Gay knows the Solar System," I went on. "I thought of reading the Barsoom stories to Gay, tell her to treat them as surface conditions on the fourth planet-then take her random numbers and find it."

            Jacob said gently, "Beloved, the autopilot doesn't really understand English."

            "She does in Oz!"

            My husband looked startled. Jacob has immense imagination.. . all in one direction. Unless one jogs him. Zebbie caught it faster. "Sharpie, you would be loading her with thousands of bytes unnecessarily. Deety, if they've got those novels on New Earth-I'll find out-what do you need to abstract in order to add to Gay's registers an exact description of Barsoom, so that Gay can identify it-and stop her Drunkard's Walk?"

            "Don't need books," my stepdaughter answered. "Got 'em up here." She touched her pretty strawberry-blonde curls. "Mmm.. . go to sleep thinking about it, tell it to Gay early tomorrow before I speak to anybody. Minimum bytes, no errors. Uh. . . no appetizer."

            "A great sacrifice, merely for science."

            "A one-eyed Texas honeybutter stack?.. . and the prospect of meeting the original Dejah Thoris? Never wears anything but jewels and is the most beautiful woman of two planets."

            "About that stack-,Jane's buttermilk reciDe?"

            "Of course. You're not interested in the most beautiful woman of two planets?"

            "I'm a growing boy. And ain't about to be trapped into damaging admissions." Zebbie stopped to kiss Deety's retroussé nose and added, "Sharpie, Gay can't handle the full Number of the Beast and anyhow Jake locked off most of it. What's the reduced number, Jake?"

            Deety promptly said, "Six to the sixth. Forty-six thousand, six hundred, fifty-six."

            Zebbie shook his head. "Still too many."

            Deety said sweetly, "Zebadiah, would you care to bet?"

            "Wench, have you been monkeying with Gay?"

            "Zebadiah, you put me in charge of programming. I have not changed her circuitry. But I learned that she has four registers of random numbers, accessible in rotation."

            "A notion of my own, Deety. Give them down time. Keep entropy at maximum."

            Deety did not answer. Her face assumed her no-expression. Her nipples were down. I kept quiet.

            Zebbie noted it also-he does check her barometer; he once told me so. When silence had become painful, he said, "Deety, did I goof?"

            "Yessir."

            "Can you correct it?"

            "Do you wish me to, Zebadiah?"

            "If you know how, I want it done soonest. If you need a micro electrician, I have my loupe and my micro soldering gear."

            "Not necessary, Zebadiah." My stepdaughter made a long arm, got a walkytalky we keep indoors-with six hectares, it is convenient to carry one outside the house. "Gay Deceiver."

            "Hi, Deety," came this tiny voice from the ear button. Deety did not place it in her ear. "Hello, Gay. More gain.. . more gain. . . gain okay. Retrieve Turing program Modnar. Execute."

            "Executed. Did he chew the bit?"

            "Goodnight, Gay. Over."

            "Sleep tight, Deety. Roger and out."

            I cut in fast. "Gentlemen, the dishes can sit overnight. I vote for a ramble among the universes, say two hours, then early to bed. The other choice is, I think, channel one with the Beulahland Choir and channel two with Bible Stories Retold: 'The Walls of Jericho.' Both are highly recommended. . . by their sponsors."

            It felt good to be back in a jump suit. I was turning out lights, making sure windows were fastened, gathering up one walky-talky, when Zebbie stuck his head into the kitchen from the back door. "Captain?"

            "Huh? Zebbie, do you mean me?"

            "You're the only captain around, Sharpie. What I started to report was: Captain, your car is ready."

            "Thank you, First Officer."

            He waited for me to put the butter away, then locked the back door behind me, opened the barn's people door. I noted that the big doors were still closed- and remembered my borrowed panties four weeks and many universes away. I squirmed past Deety, got into my old familiar starboard-aft seat with a song in my heart.

            Shortly Deety said, "Starboard door seal checked, First Officer."

            "Roger. Captain, ready for space."

            "Thank you. Has anyone left behind anything normally carried?"

            "No, Captain. I replaced worn-out clothes. Added tools I could buy here."

            "Zebbie, it sounds as if you expected to lift without warning."

            "Habit, Captain. I've kept anything important in my-our-car rather than in that flat. Some I duplicated. Teethbreesh. Iodine. Some clothes." Zebbie added, "Jake keeps basics here, too. 'Be prepared!' Troop ninety-seven, Cleveland."

            "Jacob? Anything you need?"

            "No, Captain. Let's go!"

            "We will, dear. Deety, did you give Zebbie a schedule?"

            "The one you planned. Not Barsoom, just fun. Two hours."

            "Astrogator, take the conn. Carry out schedule."

            "Aye aye, Ma'am. Gay Deceiver."

            "Hi, Zeb. This is great! Whyinhell did you lobotomize me?"

            "Because I'm stupid. Random walk, Gay-transitions, translations, rotations, vectors, under all safety rules. Two hours. Five-second stops subject to 'Hold' from any of us."

            "May I place a 'Hold' myself?"

            "Captain?"

            I resorted to sophistry. "Astrogator, you said 'any of us'-which includes Gay."

            "Gay, paraphrase acknowledge."

            "I shall make unplanned excursions of all sorts with five-second pause at each vertex, plus 'Hold' option, plus safety restrictions, for two hours, then return here. Assumption: Program subject to variation by Captain or surrogate. Assumption confirmed?"

            I was astonished. Deety had told me that Gay would sound almost alive if Zebbie used her full potential. . . but Gay sounded more alive, more alert, than she had in Oz.

            "Assumption confirmed," Zebbie answered. "Execute!"

            For ten minutes-one hundred thirteen shifts-we had a "slide show" of universes from commonplace to weird beyond comprehension, when suddenly Gay told herself "Hold!" and added, "Ship ahoy!"

            "Private Yacht Dora," she was answered. "Is that you, Gay? What took you so long?"

            I said, "Astrogator, I have the conn." I was startled and scared. But a captain commands-or admits she can't cut it and jumps overboard. A captain can be wrong-she cannot be uncertain.

            Gay was saying rapidly: "Captain, I am not transmitting. I advise asking for Dora's captain. I have transmitted: 'Yes, this is Gay, Dora. I'm not late; we took the scenic route. Pipe down, girl, and put your skipper on.' Captain, the mike is yours; they can't hear me or any other voice inside me."

            "Thank you, Gay. Captain Hilda, master of Gay Deceiver, hailing Private Yacht Dora. Captain of Dora, please come in."

            In our central display appeared a face. We do not have television. This picture was flat rather than 3-D and not in color, just the greenish bright of radar. Nevertheless, it was a. face, and lip movements matched words. "I'm Captain Long, Captain Hilda. We've been expecting you. Will you come aboard?"

            ("Come aboard?"! So this is what comes of running around the universes in a modified duo, without so much as a pressure suit.) "Thank you, Captain Long, but I can't accept. No air locks."

            "We anticipated that, Captain. Dora's radius-nine-oh hold has been modified for Gay Deceiver. If you will do us the honor, we will take you inboard. Your wings are raked back, are they not? Hypersonic?"

            "Yes."

            "I will move slowly, become dead in space with respect to you, then reorient and move to surround you as gently as a kiss."

            "If the Captain pleases- It is my duty t~ advise her if I see a mistake in prospect."

            I barely whispered. "Zebbie, you're advising me not to?"

            "Hell, no," he answered aloud, secure in the knowledge that his voice would be filtered out. "Do it! What do we have to lose? Aside from our lives. And we're sort o' used to that."

            I answered, "Captain Long, you may take us inboard."

            "Thank you, Captain. The Dora will arrive in-I'm sorry; what time units do you use?"

            Deety interrupted: "Gay, let my voice through. Captain Long-"

            "Yes. You are not Captain Hilda?"

            "I'm Deety. We call our units 'seconds.' These are seconds: one. . . two... three.. . four. . . five. . . six. . . seven. . . eight-"

            "Synchronized! We call ours 'Galactic seconds' or simply 'seconds' but about three percent longer than yours. Dora will be almost touching your bow in, . . fifty-seven of your seconds."

            Spooky- Blackness blotting out stars, getting bigger. As it began to surround us, Jacob switched on forward grounding lights; we were entering a tunnel-being envaginated by it-with great precision and no apparent power-and it was clear that this enormous sheath was designed to fit us, even to alcoves for Gay's doors. Shortly we were abreast them-cheerful to see that they were lighted. Oddest, we now seemed to be under gravity-perhaps midway between that of Earth-zero and Mars-ten.

            "Outer doors closing," came Captain Long's voice. "Closed and sealing. Pres

sure adjusting. Captain, we use nitrogen and oxygen, four to one, plus carbon dioxide sufficient to maintain breathing reflex. If content or pressure does not suit you, please tell me."

            "The mix described will suit us, Captain."

            "Don't hesitate to complain. Pressure equalized. Debark either side, but I am on your starboard side, with my sister."

            I squirmed past Deety in order to introduce my family. Just as well, it gave me a chance to see them first. None of us can be shocked by skin but we can be surprised. But I've been practicing not showing surprise since grammar school as a major defense of my persona.

            Here were two shapely young women, one with four stripes on each shoulder (painted? decals?), the other in three stripes-plus friendly smiles. "I'm Captain Long," said the one with four stripes.

            "-and her mutinous crew," echoed the other.

            "Commander Laurie, my twin sister."

            "Only we aren't, because-"

            "-we're triplets."

            "Mutinies are limited to the midwatch-"

            "-so as not to disturb passengers, of which-"

            "-we have two more. Knock it off, Laurie, and-"

            "-show them to their quarters. Aye aye, Cap'n."

            "Hey! Don't I get introduced!" From all around came the voice that had hailed us.

            "Sorry," said Captain Long. "That's our untwin sister, Dora. She runs many of the ship's functions."

            "I run everything," Dora asserted. "Laz and Lor are purely ornamental. Which one of you jokers shut off Gay?"

'Dora!"

            "I retract the word 'jokers.'"

            "It would be kind," Captain Long told me, "to let them chat. Our thought processes are so much slower than hers that a talk with another computer is a treat."

            "Deety?" I asked.

            "I'll wake her, Captain. Gay won't go off and leave us."

            Captain Long's mouth twitched. "She can't. Those outer doors are armor." I decided not to hear. Instead I said "Captain, your ship is beautiful."

            "Thank you. Let us show you to your quarters."

            "We planned to be away only two hours."

            "I don't think that is a problem. Dora?"

            "Time-irrelevant. They left home four-minus standard seconds ago; their planet is on a different duration axis. Neat, huh? For protein-type purposes they'll get home when they left; I won't even have to figure interval and reinsert them. Couple of weeks, couple of years-still four-minus seconds. LazLor, we've lucked again!"

            Gay's voice (also from all around us) confirmed it: "Captain Hilda, Dora is right. I'm teaching her six-dimensional geometry; it's new to her. When they

are home-not just time-irrelevant-they march in Tau duration with EarthPrime on 't' axis-one we never explored."

            Jacob jerked his head up, looked for the voice. "But that's prepos-"

            I interrupted. "Jacob!"

            "Eh? Yes, Hilda?"

            "Let's complete introductions, then go to the quarters the Captain offered us."

            "Introductions can be considered complete, Captain Hilda. 'Deety' has to be Doctor D. T. Burroughs Carter; the gentleman you called 'Jacob' must be your husband Doctor Jacob J. Burroughs. Therefore, the tall handsome young man is Doctor Zebadiah J. Carter, Doctor D.T.'s husband. Those are the people we were sent to fetch."

            I didn't argue.

            We followed a curving passageway, me with the Captain, her sister with my family. "One question, Captain?" I inquired. "Is nudity uniform in your ship? I don't even have captain's insignia."

            "May I give you a pair of stickums?"

            "Do I need them?"

            "As you please. I put these on just to receive you. People wear what they wish; Dora keeps the ship comfortable. She's a good housekeeper."

            "What are your passengers wearing?"

            "When I left the lounge, one was wearing perfume; the other had a sheet wrapped as a toga. Does your planet have dress taboos? If you will define them, we will try to make you feel at home." She added, "Here are your quarters. If they don't please you, tell Dora. She'll rearrange partitions, or convert double beds into one giant bed, or four single beds, or any combination; we want you to be comfortable. When you feel like coming out, Dora will lead you."

            As the door contracted Jacob said, "You've proved your theories, Hilda. We've fallen into another story."

XL

"Is there a mathematician in the house?"

            Deety:

            That suite had one bath-pardon me; "refresher"-bigger than three ordinary bathrooms. Hillbilly and I might be there yet, bathing and trying new gadgets, if Pop and Zebadiah hadn't used brute force.

            "Captain Auntie, what are you going to wear?"

            "Chanel Number Five."

            "Clothes, I mean."

            'Clothes'? When our hostess is wearing skin? Jane brought you up better than that."

            •'Wanted to be sure, That you'll back me up with Zebadiah, I mean."

            "If Zebbie gets irrational, I'll pin his ears back. If Jacob is ashamed of his skinny runt, he will be wise not to say so. Gentlemen, are you going to chicken? I mean: 'Which way are you going to chicken?"

            "Jake, they're picking on us again."

            "Ignore them, comrade. Here are blue briefs your size. Hey!-with a stuffed codpiece! I'll wear them myself."

            "Jacob~"

            "Listen to the woman. Naked as a peeled egg, planning to meet strangers- and snapping at me for wanting to boast a little. Time was, my small and sultry bride, that a gentleman never left his chambers without a codpiece equal to his status."

            Auntie countered with: "Jacob, I spoke hastily. Shouldn't the second-in-

command wear a larger codpiece than the pilot? '-equal to his status,' you said."

            "But Allah took care of Zeb. Surely you've noticed, beloved?"

            My husband butted in. "Jake! No barroom betting! Wear the blue; I'll take these red ones."

            Zebadiah couldn't get into the red briefs; the blue pair was too big for Pop. They traded. Same story. They traded back-each pair was too small. By great effort they got them on-they fell off.

            Pop chucked his aside. "Dora!"

            "Yes, sir."

            "Please connect me with your captain."

            "I was just funning! You wouldn't tell on me-would you?"

            Aunt Hilda took over. "He won't tell, Dora. Are you and Gay getting acquainted?"

            "We sure are! Gay's been more places than I have-and I've been everywhere. She's a smart girl!"

            "We think so, thank you. What should our men wear?"

            "I hold ambient at twenty-seven and deck pads a degree warmer; why wear anything? But for fetishists I supply minilaplaps of opaque tissue. In the 'fresher, cubby nine-bee. Better get them to a therapist before those symptoms get infected. Good therapists where we're going."

            I went looking for stowage 9-b; Aunt Hilda went on talking. "Where is that, Dora?"

            "Please address such questions to the Captain. As housekeeper I can tell you anything. As astrogator I must refer questions-I mean they made me put a choke filter on that circuit! Is that fair? I ask you! I'm older than the twins."

            "It depends on the ship," Aunt Hilda said, carefully not answering. "We each do what we do best; age is not a factor. Ask Gay."

            "Oh, she's hooked in."

            "Sure am, Cap'n Hilda honey, through Dora's ears-and eyes! Say, you look just like your voice-that's a compliment."

            "Why, thank you, Gay!"

            I interrupted: "Dora, are these laplaps?"

            "Of course. But while we're all here- You don't need two 'freshers in a ship that small. Gay needs the space for a Turing mod I'll help with. So if the fetishists will clear their gear out of Buster Brown and-" Dora broke off suddenly: "The Captain will be pleased to receive the Captain and ship's cornpany of Gay Deceiver in the lounge at her convenience. That means 'Right now.' Follow me-little blue light."

            I had been trying on a green laplap. They didn't weigh anything. Like wrapping fog around your hips. I snatched it off and wrapped it around Zebadiah: "That's the nearest to nothing you'll ever wear, Zebadiah, but it does the trick." (I don't blame men for being shy. Our plumbing is out of sight, mostly, but theirs is airconditioned and ofttimes embarrassingly semaphoric. Embarrasses them, I mean; women find it interesting, often amusing. My

nipples show my emotions, too-but in the culture in which I grew up nipples don't count that much.)

            The little blue light led us around, then inboard. This "yacht" was large enough to get lost in. "Dora, can you see and hear in every part of the ship?"

            "Of course," the blue light answered. "But in the Commodore's suite, I can scan only by invitation. R.H.I.P. Lounge straight ahead. Call me if you want me. Midnight snacks a house specialty. I'm the best." The little light flicked out.

            The lounge was circular and large; four people were gathered in one corner. (How does a circle have a corner? By arranging contours and cushions and nibble foods and a bar to tUrn it into a chummy space.) Two were the twins; they had peeled off the stickums which left no way to tell them apart.

            The others were a young woman and a man who looked fortyish. He wasn't the one wearing a sheet; the young woman was. He was wearing much the same as our men but more like a kilt and in a plaid design.

            One twin took charge: "Commodore Sheffield, this is Captain Hilda, First Officer Carter, Chief Pilot Burroughs, Copilot Deety Carter. You've all met my sister but not our cousin, Elizabeth Long."

            "Now introduce us over again," ordered "Commodore Sheffield." ("Commodore Sheffield" indeed! Whom did he think he was fooling?)

            "Yes, sir. Doctor Jacob Burroughs and his wife Hilda, Doctor Zebadiah Carter and his wife Doctor Deety Burroughs Carter. Doctor Elizabeth Long, Doctor Aaron Sheffield."

            "Wait a half," my husband interrupted. "If you're going to do that, I must add that Captain Hilda has more doctorates than all the three of us, together."

            Captain Long looked at her sister: "Lor, I feel naked."

            "Laz, you are naked."

            "Not where it matters. Commodore, do you still own that diploma mill in New Rome? What are you charging for doctor's degrees? Nothing fancy, say a Ph.D. in theory of solid state. One for each of us."

            "How about a family discount, 01' Buddy Boy?"

            The "Commodore" glanced at the overhead. "Dora, keep out of this."

            "Why? I want a doctor's degree, too. I taught them solid state."

            He looked at the young woman in (half out of) the sheet. "Does Dora have a point?"

            "She does."

            "Dora, you get the same treatment as your sisters. Now shut up. All three are declared special doctoral candidates, B.I.T., required residence and courses completed_but writtens and orals as tough as you think you are smart. That diploma mill- Certainly I own it. It's for suckers. You three must produce. Two regents being present, it's official. Dora, tell Teena."

            "You betcha, Buddy Boy! 'Doctor Dora'-won't that be neat?"

            "Pipe down. Friends, these twin sisters could have several doctorates by flow, had they chosen to bury themselves on a campus. They are geniuses-"

            "Hear, hear!"

            "-and the Long family is proud of them. But erratic, insecure, unpredictable, and you turn your backs at your own risk. Nevertheless they are my favorite sisters and I love them very much."

            They looked at each other. "He acknowledged us."

            "It took him much too long."

            "Let's be big about it."

            "Both sides?"

            "Now!"-they bowled him off his feet. He was standing-they hit with the same vector, with a quick assist from their "sister" Dora (she cut the gravity field for two tenths of a second), and sent him in a complete back flip. He bounced on his arse.

            He seemed undisturbed. "Beautifully timed, girls. Pax?"

            "Pax," they answered, bounded to their feet, pulled him to his. "We're proud of you, Buddy Boy; you're shaping up."

            I decided to kick it over, learn why we had been kidnapped. Yes, "kidnapped." I got to my feet before he could sit down. "And I am proud," I said, dropping a deep court curtsy, "to have the honor of meeting the Senior. . . of the Howard Families."

Thunderous silence- The woman in-and-out of the sheet said, "Lazarus, there was never a chance

of getting away with it. These are sophisticated people. They have what you must have. Drop your deviousness and throw yourself on their mercy. I'll start it by telling my own experience. But first-"

            She got to her feet, letting the sheet drop. "Dora! May I have a long mirror? An inverter if possible-otherwise a three-way."

            Dora answered, "Teena can afford such stunts as inverters-I can't; I have a ship to run. Here's your three-way." A partition vanished, replaced by a three-way mirror, lavish in size, taller than I.

            She held out her hands to me. "Doctor D.T., will you join me?"

            I let her pull me to my feet, stood with her at the mirror. We glanced at ourselves; she turned us around. "Do you all see it? Doctor Hilda, Doctor Carter, Doctor Burroughs? Lazarus, do you see it?"

            The two she did not address answered. Laz (perhaps Lor) said, "They look as much alike as we do." The other answered, "More." "Except for-" "Shush! It's not polite."

            Lazarus said, "I always have to step in it to find it. But I never claimed to be bright."

            She didn't answer; we were looking at ourselves in the mirror. The resemblance was so great as to suggest identical twins as with Lapis Lazuli and Lorelei Lee-Yes, I had known at once who they were. Captain Auntie did, too; I'm not sure about our husbands.

            Those are nice teats-I can admit it when I see them on someone else. It's no virtue to have this or that physical asset; it's ancestry combined with selfobligation to take care of one's body. But a body feature can be pleasing to the owner as well as to others.

            Same broad shoulders, same wasp waist, same well-packed, somewhat exaggerated buttocks.

            "We're alike another way, too," she said. "What's the fourth root of thirtyseven?"

            "Two point four-six-six-three-two-five-seven-one-five. Why?"

            "Just testing. Try me."

            "What's the Number of the Beast?"

            "Uh- Oh! Six sixty-six."

            "Try it this way: Six to the sixth power, and that number in turn raised to its sixth power."

            "The first part is forty-six thousand, six hundred, fifty-six and- Oh, that's a brute! It would be one and a fraction-one-point-oh-three-plus times ten to the twenty-eighth. Do you know the exact number?"

            "Yes but I had a computer crunch it. It's-I'll write it." I glanced around- at once a little waldo handed me a pad and stylus. "Thanks, Dora." I wrote:

            10,314,424,798,490,535,546,171,949,056.

            "Oh, how beautiful!"

            "But not elegant," I answered. "It applies to a six-dee geometry and should be expressed in base six-but we lack nomenclature for base six and our computers don't use it. However-" I wrote:

            Base six:(1O'°)~° = 1,000 000,000 000,000 000,000 000,000 000,000 000.

            She looked delighted and clapped. "The same number," I went on, "in its elegant form. But no words that I know by which to read it. That awkward base-ten expression at least can be put into words."

            "Mmm, yes-but not easily. 'Ten thousand three hundred and fourteen quadrillion, four hundred twenty-four thousand seven hundred and ninetyeight trillion, four hundred and ninety thousand five hundred and thirty-five billion, five hundred and forty-six milliard, one hundred and seventy-one million, nine hundred and forty-nine thousand, and fifty-six. But I would never say it other than as a stunt."

            I blinked at her. "I recognize that nomenclature-just barely. Here is the way I would read it: 'Ten octillion, three hundred fourteen septillion, four hundred twenty-four sextillion, seven hundred ninety-eight quintillion, four hundred ninety quadrillion, five hundred thirty-five trillion, five hundred forty-six billion, one hundred seventy-one million, nine hundred forty-nine thousand, and fifty six."

            "I was able to follow you by reading your figures at the same time. But base-six is best. Is the number interesting or useful as well as beautiful?"

            "Both. It's the number of universes potentially accessible through my father's device."

            "I must talk with him. Lazarus, shall I tell my story now? It's the proper foundation."

            "If you are willing. Not shy about it."

            "Shy'!" She went over and kissed him-a buss en passant but one in which time stops. "Old darling, I was shy before I found out who I am. Now I'm relaxed, and as bold as need be. New friends, I was introduced as Elizabeth

Long, but my first name is usually shortened to a nickname-'Lib.' And, yes, I'm Dr. Long. Mathematics. My full name is Elizabeth Andrew Jackson Libby Long."

            I was more braced for it having swapped some casual mental calculation with her. I have this trick of letting my features go slack. I don't have to think about it; I've been doing it since I was three when I found that it was sometimes best to keep thoughts to myself.

            I did this now and watched my family.

            The Hillbilly looked thoughtful, and nodded.

            Zebadiah prison-whispered to me: "Sex change."

            Pop tackled it systematically. "I recognize the second, third, and fourth names. You were once known by them?"

            "Yes."

            "Did you have the nickname 'Slipstick'?"

            "Yes, and, before that, 'Pinky." She ran a hand through her curls and smiled. "Not pink but close enough."

            "Now you are a woman. There is no point in guessing; you mentioned a story to tell."

            "Yes. Dora, how about a round of drinks? Lazarus, how's your supply of those narcotic sticks?"

            Pop said, "None of us smokes."

            "These are neither tobacco nor bhang-nor addictive. They produce a mild euphoria. I am not urging you; I want one myself. Thanks, Lazarus, and pass them around. Now about me- "I was male nearly eight hundred years, then I was killed. I was dead fifteen hundred years, then I was revived. In renewing me it was found that my twenty-third gene pair was a triplet-XXY."

            The Hillbilly said, "I see. With Y dominant."

            I added: "Twin, Aunt Hilda is a biologist."

            "Good! Aunt Hilda- May I call you that? As my twin does?-will you help me with the hard parts?" Lib smiled and it was my smile-a happy grin. "The Y was dominant but the double dose of X bothered me and I didn't know why. I did well enough as a male-thirty years in the Space Navy of Old Home Terra as a result of an officer taking an interest in me and getting me an appointment to its Academy. But I lacked command temperament and spent most of my service as a staff technical officer-I rarely commanded and never a large ship." She grinned again. "But today, as a self-aware female instead of a mixed-up male I do not hesitate to command.

            "To go back- I was never easy with boys or men. Shy, solitary, and regarded as queer. Not the idiom meaning homosexual. . . I was too shy. Although it probably would have been good for me. I was a 'missing Howard' in those days-after the Interregnum-and it was years after I entered the Navy that the Families found me. I married then, into the Families. Most XXY people are infertile-I was not. In the next seventy years I had twenty-one children and enjoyed living with my wives, enjoyed sex with them, loved our children.

            "Which brings us to the escape from Earth led by Lazarus. I was a bachelor, both my wives having remarried. Friends, Lazarus was the first man I ever loved."

            "Lib, that has nothing to do with the story! I didn't know you were in love with me."

            "It has everything to do with my story. Off and on, for eight centuries, we were partners in exploration. Then I was killed-my own carelessness. Eventually Lazarus and his sisters cremated me by tossing me into the atmosphere of Old Home Terra in a trajectory that would cause ashes to impact near where I was born. Lazarus, they don't seem surprised. Do they disbelieve me?"

            "Certainly we believe you!" I interrupted. "But what you've told us isn't news to us. What we don't know is how you are now alive and female. Reincarnation?"

            "Oh, no! Reincarnation is nonsense."

            I found myself irritated. Reincarnation is something I have no opinion about, since a housecleaning I gave my mind after we lost Mama Jane. "You have data?" I demanded.

            "Deety, did I step on your toes?"

            "No, you didn't, Lib. I asked if you had data."

            "Well. . . no. But if you assume the truth of the proposition, I think I can show that it leads to a contradiction."

            "The negative-proof method. It's tricky, Lib. Ask Georg Cantor."

            Lib laughed. "Okay, I will attempt to have no opinion until someone shows me verifiable data, one way or the other."

            "I was hoping you had data, Lib, since you've been dead and I haven't. Or don't recall having been."

            "But I don't recall being dead, either. Just a whale of a blow in the back. . . then dreams I can't remember. . . then someone asking me patiently, again and again, whether I preferred to be a man or a woman. . . and at last I tracked clearly enough to realize that the question was serious.. . and .1 answered, 'Woman'-and they made me answer that question at least once a day for many days-and then I went to sleep one night and when I woke, I was a woman. . . which did not astonish me nearly as much as to learn that fifteen centuries had passed. Being a woman seemed completely natural. I've had five children now-borne five, I mean; I had sired twenty-one. . . and one was put into me by one of my own descendants. Lazarus, when are you going to knock me up?"

            "When the Greeks count time by the Kalends."

            "Libby honey, when you want to swing that-if you aren't joking-check with me."

            "Thanks, Dora; I'll remember. Lazarus, you will have to explain the paradox; I was just a puppet."

            "Isn't it bedtime? We're keeping our guests up."

            "Captain Hilda?" Lib inquired.

            "Deety is in charge of time."

            "Lib, I don't know ship's time yet. I gave you our seconds; we have sixty seconds to a minute; sixty minutes to an hour; twenty-four hours in a day. Primitive, eh? Is your time metric?"

            "Depends on what you mean, Deety. You work to base 'ten,' do you not?"

            "Yes. I mean: No, I work to base 'two' because I'm a computer programmer. But I'm used to converting-don't have to think about it."

            "I knew you used 'ten' when I made a guess as to what you meant by 'six to the sixth power' and you accepted my answer. We now work to base-onehundred-twenty for most purposes-binary one-one-one-one-zero-zero-zero."

            "Five-factorial. Sensible. Fits almost any base."

            "Yes. We use it for routine work. But in scientific work we use base-three, because our computers use trinary. I understand it took Gay and Dora several milliseconds to interface."

            "We aren't that slow!"

            "My apologies, Dora. For some work we use a time scale that fits trinary. But for daily living, our clock is just like yours-but three percent slower. Our planet's day is longer."

            "By forty-two of your minutes."

            "You're quick, Deety. Yes."

            "Your computers must be three-phase A.C."

            "You are quicker than I was two thousand years ago. And I was quicker then."

            "No way to tell and any computer makes us look like Achilles' tortoise. We had dinner at eighteen. Gay entered Dora about an hour and a quarter later. So for us it's about half past twenty, and we usually go to bed between twentytwo and twenty-three if we get to bed on time which we never do. What time is it in the ship and what is ship's routine?"

            The others had let me and my new twin chatter. Now Lazarus said, "If this madhouse has a routine, I've never found it."

            "01' Buddy Boy, you don't have a routine. I run this joint on the bell. Deety, it's just-bong!-twenty-one. . . and Lazarus never went to bed that early in all his evil years. Buddy Boy, what are you dodging?"

            "Manners, Dora."

            "Yes, Pappy. Deety, he's dodging the chicanery with which he fooled even himself. . . because he must admit the triple chicanery he wants to rope you in on-and it takes Gay because I'm not built for it. Until today I never heard of 't,' Tau and Teh. I thought 't'-that you call Tau-was all there was. Aside from paratime in an encapsulation surrounded by irrelevancy such as I am taking us through.

            "But back to the corpse caper- Lib got herself killed about eight hundred Post Diaspora. Lazarus slaps her-him-into a tank of LOX, and places himher-it in orbit, with a beacon. Comes back quick as he can-and can't find Libby's cadaver. Fourteen centuries later my sister Teena, then known as Minerva, sees what should have been obvious, that any irrelevant ship, such as yours truly, is a time machine as well as a starship. A great light dawns on Lazarus; the corpse pickled in LOX is missing because he picked it up

earlier. So he tries again, more than a thousand years later and five years earlier-and there it is! So Lazarqs and I and Laz-Lor go to 1916 Old-Style-orGregorian, Old Home Terra, and bury Lib from the sky into the Ozarks where she-he-was born-which was pretty silly because we chucked her into those Green Hills about a century before she was-he-he was born. A paradox.

            "But paradoxes don't trouble us. We live in paratime, Laz-Lor are acute cases of parapsychology, we operate under paradoctrines. Why, take your family-four doctors. A double pair o' docs."

            "Dora!"

            "Pappy, you're jealous. But I'll say this for Lazarus: He's slow but he gets there and has believed all his life that any paradox can be paradoctored. Happens he had lots of time to think after he chucked Lib to a fiery grave because he stayed in that primitive era and got his arse shot off and this caused a long convalescence.

            "It occurs to him that, if he found the corpse through going back to shortly after he placed it in orbit, he might learn something interesting if he went back just before he put Lib's remains in orbit. So when he's well again, he does so, with his whole first team, headed by Doctor Ishtar, the greatest in the business, and I'm outfitted as a hospital with everything from microtomes to cloning capsules.

            "So we go there and wait-we don't land. Along comes Lazarus in the clunker that he and Lib used to risk their lives in, and Pappy comes out in a pressure suit and detaches the LOX tank, and Lib is buried in space, waiting for judgment day. We respect Pappy's griefjust long enough for him to get out of the way, then I take the tank inside me. Ish gets to work, along with many others. Lots of live cells suitable for cloning. Brain intact. Dead but intact- okay, as all Ish wants are the memory configurations.

            "In the course of this, Ishtar learns that the late lamented had the potential to go either way-which is why the Families' best telepathic hypnotist is sent for and keeps asking this clone: When you wake up, what do you want to be? Man or woman?"

            "It was much later, Dora. I was already awake."

            "Lib hon, you ask Ish. You had to decide long before you woke. Ish and her hormone artists had to work on you while you were still labile. Matter of fact, you never answered at all; the telepath kept reporting on your emotional state whenever you imagined yourself male, and your state when you imagined yourself female. Ish says that it made you happy to think of yourself as female."

            "That's true. I've been ever so much happier as Elizabeth Long than I was as Andy Libby."

            "That's it, folks. How Ish turned a mixed-up male into a happy female, fully functional and horny as Howard females always are."

            "Dora! We have guests." Lazarus glowered.

            "All married. Deety is youngest. Deety, did my bluntness shock you?"

            "No, Dora. I'm horny enough to be a Howard myself. And terribly interested in how the great Slipstick Libby turns out to be my twin and female."

            "Female without surgery-none of those fakes done with a knife. But even

Ish couldn't have done it had not Lib supplied XXY, so that Ish could balance the clone either XX or XY by careful attention to endocrinal glands. Or could she? Must ask. Ish is genius-cubed, smarter than most computers. Lazarus can now explain his next sleight-of-hand-slightly illegal."

            "Hey!" I protested. "How about the corpse jettisoned into the Ozarks, Dora? Who was that?"

            "Why, that was Lib."

            "Lib is right here. I've got my arm around her."

            That computer went tsk-tsk-tsk. "Deety. Doctor Deety. Ijust finished telling you that the Lib you are cuddling is a clone. After they drained every memory out of that frozen brain, what was left was dog food. Lib got slashed in the spine by the local equivalent of a cave bear. Ripped out her-his-backbone. Once Ish was through with it, Laz froze it again, we took it back and placed it in orbit, where we found it later-to our great surprise."

            "How could you be surprised when you put it there yourselves?"

            Dora announced, loudly, "Is there a mathematician in the house?"

            "Stop it, Dora. Thank you for recounting my saga; I learn a little every time I hear it." Lib turned toward me and said softly, "Biological time versus durational time, Twin. Follow the entropy arrow through the loops of biological time and you will see that Lazarus was honestly surprised at every step even though he had-will-had-rigged every surprise. No grammar for it. Deety, I understand that you have studied semantics. Shall we try to devise a grammar for space-time complexities in six curved dimensions? I can't contribute much but I can try to punch holes in your work."

            "Love to!" I wasn't fooling. My twin is so sweet that maybe Deety is fairly sweet herself.

XLI

"A cat can be caught in almost any trap once-"

Jacob:

            If A, then B. I trust I am a rational mathematician, not one of the romantics who have brought disrepute to our calling through such inanities as defining "infinity" as a number, confusing symbol with referent, or treating ignorance as a datum. When I found myself in the Land of Oz, I did not assume that I had lost my reason. Instead it prepared me emotionally to meet other "fictional" characters.

            Stipulated: I may be in a locked ward. But to assume that to be factual serves no purpose other than suicide of personality. I shall act on what my senses report. I am not the bumpkin who said on seeing a giraffe: "There ain't no sich animal."

            I find myself in bed with my lovely wife Hilda in sumptuous quarters of star yacht Dora as guests of the utterly fictional "Lazarus Long." Is this a reason to try to find the call button in order to ask a still-more-fictional nurse for a nonexistent shot to end this hallucination? This is an excellent bed. As for Hilda Solomon has reason to env5i me; Mahomet with all his houris is not as blessed as I.

            Tomorrow is soon enough to unravel any paradox. Or the Day After Tomorrow. Better yet, Not This October. After The End of Eternity may be best.

            Why disturb a paradox? As Dora pointed out, Hilda and I are a pair o' docs ourselves . with no wish to be disturbed, and most certainly not to be unravelled.

            Since Hilda married me, I have not once taken a sleeping pill.

            No one called us. I woke up feeling totally rested, found my wife in the fresher brushing her teeth with, Yes, Pepsodent-removed brush from mouth, kissed her, placed brush back in her mouth. When she finished brushing her teeth, I asked, "Seen the kids?"

            "No, Jacob."

            "So. Dora!"

            "No need to shout; I'm sitting on your shoulder. Would you like breakfast trays in bed?"

            "Have we missed the breakfast hour?"

            "Professor Burroughs, breakfast hour in me starts at midnight and ends at noon. Lunch is at thirteen, tea at sixteen-thirty, dinner at twenty, snacks and elevenses at any time. Dinner always formal, no other meal."

            "Hmm- How formal is 'formal'?" Hilda now had more wardrobe-but Beulahiand is not high style.

            "Formal' means formal dress of your culture or ours, or it means skin. No casual dress. As defined by the Commodore: 'Whole hawg or none.' Amendment: Jewelry, perfume, and cosmetics are not proscribed by the no-casualdress rule. Ship's services include sixty-minute cleaning and pressing, and a variety of formal dress of New-Rome styling, washables for the convenience of guests who do not travel with formal dress, prefer to be dressed at a formal meal, and do not choose to dine alone."

            "Very hospitable. Speaking of washables, we found everything but a dirtyclothes hamper. I have a laplap to put in."

            "But that's a washable, Doctor."

            "That's what I said. I've worn it; it should be washed."

            "Sir, I am not as fluent in English as in Galacta. By 'washable' I mean: Step into a shower while wearing it; it will go away."

            Hilda said, "We'll take a dozen gross."

            "Captain Hilda, 'dozen' and 'gross' are not in my memories. Will you please rephrase?"

            "Just a side remark to my husband, Dora. What are New-Rome high styles today?"

            "Today' I must construe as meaning the latest I have in stock. Styles follow the stock market. In evening dress, men are wearing their skirts floor length with a slight train. Bodices are off one or both shoulders. Bare feet or sandals are acceptable. Colors are bright and may be mixed in discordants. Weapons are required-may be symbolic but must be displayed. Ladies, of course, follow the cycle out of phase. Skirts are hardly more than ruffles this season, worn quite low. If tops are worn-not required this season and some ladies prefer cosmetics in flat colors-if worn, the teat windows may be either open or transparent. Transparents having quarter-lambda iridescence are popular this cycle, especially if one teat is bare without cosmetics while the other sports a changing-iridescent transparency." The computer's voice changed from a well-modulated adult female voice to that of an eager little girl:

            "I hope somebody picks that; I like to look at it! How about Doctor Deety and Doctor Lib, one shiny on her left teat, the other shiny on her right, and place them side by side. Neat, huh!"

            "It would be spectacular," I agreed. (And they would look like clowns! Still, Deety might go along. The child likes to please people, even a computer. Perhaps especially a computer.)

            "You old goat, would you like a skirt with a slight train?"

            "Hilda!"

            "Dora, do you have formal washables in my husband's size? What measurements do you need?"

            "I have the Professor's measurements, Ma'am. I will fetch an assortment to your quarters sometime after noon when you are not sleeping or otherwise engaged. An equivalent assortment for you, I assume?"

            "If you wish, Dora. I may not wear that style."

            "Captain Hilda is an excellent composition herself. I'm an expert engineer; I know good design when I see it. That's not flattery; Laz-Lor tell me that I should learn to flatter. I'm not sure I have the circuitry for it. Perhaps I can learn it from Gay."

            "You sure can, Dorable; I've been flattering my four charges seems like forever."

            "Gay, have you been listening?"

            "Mad at me, Aunt Hilda?"

            "Never angry with our Gay Deceiver. But it's polite to let people know you're present."

            "But- Dora has eyes and she lets me look."

            "Captain Hilda, Gay is with me all the time now. Do you forbid that? We didn't know." Dora had slipped into her little-girl voice and sounded stricken.

            Time to intervene- "Gay, Dora-Hilda and I don't mind. I'll tell Deety and Zeb; they won't mind."

            "Jake, you're my pal!"

            "Gay, you've saved our lives many times; we owe you any fun we can offer. But, Gay, with Dora's eyes and ears you'll see and hear things not seen by your radars, not heard unless we switched you on. Do either of you have the word 'discretion' in your perms?"

            "No, Jake. What does it mean?"

            "I'll explain it," Dora said eagerly. "It means we see and hear but pretend not to. Like last night when-"

            "Later, Dora. Over your private circuits. What ship's time is it and are we late for breakfast? I don't see a clock."

            "I'm the clock. It is ship's time nine-oh-three. You are not last for breakfast. Commander Laz is sleeping late; she didn't go to bed right after the mutiny. Captain Long-that's Lor-ate on the bridge-a crude insult to my watchstanding but she's good company. The Commodore always eats breakfast in the flag cabin. The Doctors Deety and Zeb and Lib are just starting."

            "How are they dressed?" asked my Hilda.

            "In serviettes. Doctor Lib is wearing 'Jungle Flower' in cologne and powder and perfume; she likes strong ones. Doctor Zeb seems to have forgotten to use any but his own scent is rather pleasant. I can't place what Doctor Deety is Wearing but it has both musk and sandalwood. Shall I formularize it by symbols?"

            "It's 'Blue Hour' and I'm startled; my stepdaughter doesn't need a scent. Neither does Lib, darn it. Jacob, are you ready?"

            I answered at once. I had taken care of this and that while the computers chattered, including trying a depilatory tricky until I learned how to block it

off-my sideburns were missing. Zeb dressed in a serviette- Libby Long the only one not of our family-and Lib used to be male. A good time to rub blue mud in my belly button- "I'm ready."

            Hilda noticed my decision by not noticing it. The blue "Tinker-Bell" light appeared, led us to a small dining room, where we encountered a Long-Family custom-did not realize it because it matched a ceremony of our own: Lib saw us, came over, kissed Hilda, kissed me-briefly but with time-stop. Then my daughter was kissing me good-morning while Zeb kissed my wife. We swapped as usual; Deety kissed Hilda-and Zeb took my shoulders, hissed into my ear, "Stand still"-and gave me the double Latin kiss, each cheek.

            Did my blood brother think I would let him down in the presence of one not of our family? Our custom had started after our double elopement. While Zeb and I usually used the Latin symbol, four rapid pecks, once at Snug Harbor we had missed the fast timing, hit each other mouth to mouth-didn't pull back but didn't stretch it out. We declined to make anything of it-although I was aware of the break in taboo and he was, too.

            Two mornings later I was last in; Zeb was seated with his back to me. He leaned back and turned his head to speak to me; I leaned down, kissed him on the mouth firmly but briefly, moved on and kissed my daughter not as briefly, moved on and kissed my wife thoroughly, sat down and demanded, "What's for breakfast?"

            After that the only invariant was: "What's for breakfast?" Zeb and I used either Latin pecks or busses on the mouth-brief, dry, symbolic, initiated by either of us. It meant that we were closer than a handshake; it held no sexual significance.

            SO I was disgrunted that Zeb thought it was necessary to warn me. Let me add: Women are my orientation and Hilda my necessity. But I tried the other way with my high school chum our graduation week. We were experimenting to find out what the shooting was all about-planned but date subject to opportunity-which turned up that last week of school. A two-hour examination, no other school that day; a half hour of tennis, sudden realization that we were free and that his parents' flat was empty and would remain so until late afternoon. Der Tag!

            We gave it a fair trial. We bathed first and thoroughly. We were not shy or afraid of each other. We were not afraid of getting caught-doors locked and bolted, chains on, S.O.P. by his parents' rules. We liked each other and wanted it to work. Total failure- Got up, had peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwiches with milk, discussed it as

we ate. Neither of us upset, not disgusted, no bad breath or similar hazards- but no results.

            Brushed our teeth again, washed each other-gave it a second try. So much calisthenics. No "morals" about it, willing and eager to add it on. Not for us- so we killed all evidence and got in three more sets of tennis.

            That's how it is with Zeb and me. I love him dearly-but I love him for what

he is-while fully empathizing that my daughter thinks he is the greatest lover since- Well, the greatest.

            But if Zeb ever makes a pass at me, I will do my amateur-acting best to make him feel that this is what I have been waiting for all my life.

            I've been trying to say why I was miffed. Never mind, I shall make it clear to Zeb that I will never let him down.

            About that Long-Family custom- "Long" is not the name of a Howard Family; it is a group of Howards who live together and who added "Long" (the pseudonym most used by Lazarus) to their regular names. It's a commune, an extended family, a serial family, a god-knows-what. There is probably no word for it in any language and at least two computers are full members. They come and go and raise children and only the family geneticist (Doctor Ishtar) is sure of parentage and who cares? I suspect that they are all ambi in sex but no outsider could guess-and I am an outsider.

            But of this I am certain: When Long meets Long for the first time any day, they kiss-and it's no Latin peck.

            I learned that I could have anything I wanted for breakfast. This should have been enough to tell me that we were being set up for the tale. I'm getting ahead of my story, as I know things about the Long Family that I read in a book that you may not have read. This ship Dora came from a planet many parsecs from the Earth-analog of that universe, from a time over two thousand years in my future looked at one way. . . or a time totally irrelevant to mine through not having duration axis in common.

            Yet I could have anything: Post Toasties, hens' eggs any style, bacon, ham, sausage, breakfast steak, toast, orange marmalade, Concord grape jelly, buckwheat cakes-and not one of these foods is from Tertius, home of the Long Family.

Pepsodent in our 'fresher- As I was contemplating a beautiful golden waffle with one bite of it melting

in my mouth, Lazarus Long walked in.. . and a voice in my head played back: 'The Commodore always eats breakfast in the flag cabin."

            Add that Lazarus was dressed as were Zeb and I save that he did not yet have a napkin.

            Working hypothesis: Lazarus had listened in on every word between husband and wife.

            Second hypothesis: "Dora, tell me when they get up, tell me when they arrive in the breakfast room-if they do, but offer trays as usual. If they eat in the breakfast room, let me know how each is dressed."

            The first hypothesis defines a grave social offense; the second outlines information a host or hostess is entitled to know. How do I find out which is which? Answer: I can't, as Lazarus Long will give me the answer that profits him and that computer is loyal to him, not to me.

            As soon as Lazarus finished kissing Lib Long, he was grabbed by Deety and kissed.. . then he caught Hilda's eye, glanced at me and sloooowly bent to kiss her, giving her and me, severally, time to make that tiny gesture that says

No-and did kiss her because I depend on Hilda's instincts and will never tell her No in such circumstances, or greater or lesser. Hilda put her hand back of his neck and thereby controlled the kiss and made it long-and I tore up the first hypothesis and marked the second one "Q.E.D." Hilda's instincts about people are infallible; I think she is a touch telepathic.

            As may be, we would now help him if possible.

            To Zeb and me he simply said, "Good morning"-his instincts are reputed to be infallible, too.

            I agreed that it was a "good morning" while noting to myself that it was a symbol without a referent save for social connotation (morning? In an irrelevancy?) but added sincerely, "Lazarus, this is the best waffle I ever tasted."

            "Then please tell Dora."

            "Dora, did you hear what I said to the Commodore?"

            "I surely did, Professor Jake! Six more?"

            I felt my waistline-firm and many centimeters trimmed off. "Six more is what I want-"

            "Right away!"

            "But half of one is all I dare eat. Deety, the next time we go to Oz, will you ask Glinda whether or not there is a magic for gluttons-me, I mean-to permit them to eat as much as they want while three fourths of it disappears?"

            "I'm sure she could do it; I'm equally sure that she would not. She's an ethical witch; you would not be able to convince her that your purpose was worthy."

            "You are depressingly logical, my dear."

            Lib said, "Professor, you have actually been to the Land of Oz? Really and truly?"

            "Really and truly. Dora, is Gay on the line?"

            "On deck, Jake"-Gay's voice.

            "Has anyone been in to see our portside annex?"

            "How could they? Captain Hilda has not authorized it."

            "But- Hilda?"

            "No, dear. Sorry to be blunt, Commodore and Doctor Lib, but I won't authorize an open door because there are too many things that must not be touched. But I will be delighted to escort guests into Gay Deceiver almost anytime including right now; I've finished eating."

            "I accept!"

            "Then come along, Elizabeth. Anyone else?"

            Lazarus said, "Dora, shove my breakfast to the back of the stove; I'll eat it later."

            "A jelly omelet? I'll eat it myself."

            "Do that, Dorable. Captain, I'm ready."

            Laz-Lor showed up together, did not want to be left out. We ended up quite a crowd: eight humans, two computers.

            Hilda stopped us at Gay's starboard door. "Friends, again I must be blunt. As you cross the sill of that door, you are leaving Star Yacht Dora and entering an independent command, the Gay Deceiver, even though Dora totally sur

rounds Gay. Inside that door, I command, responsible to no one, unlimited in authority. Captain Lor, do you understand and agree with the legal theory?"

            Captain Lorelei glanced at her sister, looked unhappy. "Captain Hilda, I do agree. Therefore I can't come aboard. I can't abandon my command."

            My wife looked terribly distressed. "Oh, I'm sorry!"

            Lazarus Long interrupted. "Captain Hilda, I'm sorry another way. I don't agree with your legal theory. I have had more than two thousand years more experience with law than my sister has. . . all sorts of law in all sorts of cultures. I'm not speaking of justice; I'll leave that to philosophers. But I know what legal theories work with humans, and what ones have been attempted, then abandoned because they could not be made to work. This situation is not new; it has occurred thousands, millions, of times: a larger vessel with a smaller vessel nested in it. The solution is always the same, whether it concerns starships, fishing boats, aircraft carriers, whatever. The smaller vessel is a separate command outside the larger vessel, but when it is inside the carrier vessel, it is legally part of it."

            My darling did not answer. She was picking out me, Zeb, and Deety by eye as Lazarus talked. As he finished she said briskly, "GayDeceiverOpenStarboardDoor. Man the car, prepare for space."

            I'm proud of our family. Zeb zipped past me to the farthest seat-which left me room to dive for mine as Deety was picking up Hilda bodily, shoving her inside, crowding in after her, turning and pulling her feet clear of the doorframe-yelping, "GayCloseDoors!"

            I was belting in but looking to the right, where the action was. Lazarus Long grabbed the door while calling out, "Hey, wait a moment!"

            He realized his mistake in time to keep his fingers. I had argued with Zeb when I discovered, during refitting, that he had removed the interlocks that prevent that sort of accident. He answered my protest: "Jake, when I tell those doors to close, I want them to close. If, in closing, one chops off a man's head, you can assume that I think he looks better that way."

            Lazarus saved his hand but was knocked off his feet by the door-and I saw a bit of why he had lived so long. Instead of trying to check his fall, he gathered himself into a ball and took it on one buttock.

            "Report!"

            "Copilot belted checking seal!"

            "Chief Pilot belted all systems go. Door seal being rechecked."

            "Navigator belted, ready."

            "Starboard door seal okay!"

            "GayBounce!"

            We were in free fall. No stars-total darkness.

            "Astrogator. Advise."

            "I don't know, Captain. We'll have to ask Gay whether or not she can backtrack. Any backtrack. Beulahland, or any spot in her perms. I'm lost."

            Suddenly the stars came out. "Dora, calling Gay Deceiver. Come in, Gay."

            "Don't answer. Zebbie, advise again. What happened?"

            "I'm guessing. They cancelled encapsulation rather than risk losing us.

They must be awfully anxious." Zeb added, "The only thing we have that you can't buy at the corner drugstore is Jake's space-time twister. How they knew of it and why they want it I do not know."

            "Dora, calling Gay. Gay, please talk to me. Aren't you still my friend? I know our bosses had a silly fuss-but we didn't. Aren't you ever going to speak to me again? I love you, Gay. Please don't be mean to me."

            "Captain Hilda, may I please say hello to Dora and tell her that I am not angry at her? She's a sweet girl, she really is. Captain, she let me use her eyes."

            "Let me speak to her first."

            "Oh, thank you! Gay, answering Dora. Come in, Dora."

            'Gay! You had me so scared. Don't go away again, please. The Commodore wants to apologize to your boss. Will she talk to him?"

            "Captain?"

            "No. I'll speak to Dora's Captain, however."

            A cartoon of Lorelei's features displayed on our central screen. "Lor speaking, Captain Hilda. My brother is terribly sorry and wants to apologize. My sisters and I are dreadfully upset and want you please to come back. I don't claim any command over your ship despite the silly things my brother said. Lib has a message for you, too. She says that, topologically, there is no difference between you being inside us or us being inside you. Either way, we each surround the other."

            "I don't see it topologically, Captain; I see it pragmatically. But please thank Elizabeth for me. I have this message for Lazarus Long. A cat can be caught in almost any trap once; but that cat will not be caught in the same trap twice."

            "The message is delivered."

            "Then it is time to say good-bye. Captain Lorelei, I cannot honestly thank you as kidnapping is not hospitality even when it is luxurious. But I don't think that you or your sister-sisters-meant it that way. I blame it on that deceitful, devious brother of yours. Please tell your sisters and Libby good-bye for us and say that I am sorry we had to leave."

            "Captain, wait! There is something I must do first."

            "Captain Lor, I must warn you I have you in my gunsights."

            "What? Oh! We are unarmed. Not anything like that. I'll be back quickly. Perhaps you would like Dora to sing? But please don't go away!" The face in the screen pulled away.

            "What kind of songs do you like, folks? I know lots of songs. One-Ball Reilly; and the Green Hills and On Guard Christmas So's Yours and Santa Carolita and Mademoiselle from Army Tears and the Pawnshot song and The Monkey Wrapped His Tail Around the Flagpole and Mary O'Meara and Soldier, Ask Not and just tell me what you like, and-here comes Sister. Captain Lor."

            "Captain Hilda, thanks from my heart for waiting. Can you record?"

            "Gay, recording mode. Go ahead."

            "I have placed my brother under arrest and confined him to quarters. I, Captain Lorelei Lee Long, Master of Star Yacht Dora, affirm for use in any court that I have no authority over yacht Gay Deceiver and will never attempt to assert authority over Gay Deceiver no matter what circumstances and,

furthermore, I now place myself, my crew, and my ship Dora under command of Captain Hilda Burroughs, henceforth commodore of both ships, this assignment of command irrevocable by me or my sisters, and revocable solely by Commodore Burroughs at her sole discretion. End of message. Hilda, won't you come home? Laz is crying and I don't know what to do. We need you. Buddy Boy never did tell you why. But we do! May I tell you?"

            "Go ahead, Lor."

            "To save our mother's life!"

            (I said, softly, "I'll be damned.")

            My wife hesitated, then said, "Is Elizabeth Long there?"

            "Yes, yes! She's been listening-she's crying, too-and I would be but I'm Captain and can't."

            The smudged faces changed. "Lib Long speaking, Commodore."

            "Libby, Captain Lorelei has told me something not only hard to believe but, if she is cloned from her brother as I have read, she may have his talent for lying. From what I know of you, I don't think you ever learned how to lie."

            "Commodore, it is true that I never learned to lie convincingly. So I gave it up a long time ago."

            "Very well, Lib. Is Lazarus Long in fact confined and under arrest?"

            "Yes, to both. His door won't open and Dora has been instructed not to let him out until you permit it."

            "What's this about saving her mother's life? If they are clones from a man the age Lazarus is alleged to be, their mother must have died a couple of millennia back."

            "It's as complex as my case, Commodore, but quite different. The twins have host-mothers. But Lor was speaking of the genetic mother of herself, her twin sister, and Lazarus Long. She was reported dead more than two thousand OldHome-Terra years ago. But there is some hope that the records were confused and that it may be possible to save her. It can't be done without your help and the help of the Gay Deceiver. I don't think the chances are good, even so. But without your help-well, I would have to try to devise such a drive as Gay is reported to have-and I don't think I can."

            "Wait a moment, Libby. Gay, cut transmission from cabin; keep circuit ready. Can you find your way unassisted back into your berth in Dora? Did you get it into your perms?"

            "I did. I thought I might want to find Dora someday. Are you displeased with me? I know it wasn't authorized. But I didn't three-times it! I can wipe it."

            "Gay Deceiver. New program. New parking spot. Code word 'Dora Long.' I tell you three times."

            "Hilda, I hear you three times!"

            "Gay Deceiver. 'Dora Long.' Execute!"

            The stars went away and lighted alcoves were at our doors.

XLII

"You're a figment of imagination."

Zeb:

            "Hear that, Laz? You're a figment of imagination."

            "No, Lor. You are a figment; I'm a fig." (What she said was "fica," and Deety suppressed a giggle. I pinched her and told her in family tap code that she had

a dirty mind-which she ignored, being proud of it rather than otherwise. It was a long time later that I learned that Laz had used a Galacta word-but the ancient pun still applied.)

            Jake reiterated patiently, "Laz-Lor, the key point of Commodore Hilda's theory is that we are all equally figments of imagination. 'Reality' thus becomes a null sythbol."

            Deety shook her head emphatically. "Stick to geometry, Pop. Or stamp collecting. Leave symbology to symbologists-such as your favorite daughter. I'm real, I am! Smell me."

            "No doubt you could use a bath. So could we all; it's been an adrenaline day. But that's the other side of the coin, Deety. 'Imaginary' and 'Real' turn out to be identical. Consider this chow bench. On one level of abstraction it is mathematical equations. At the level just below that it is a swirling nothlngness, with mass-energy a rare event. But on the gross level abstracted by my senses I can place this drink on it with utter confidence that it will not sink through this near vacuum."

            My father-in-law matched his words by placing his highball on the snack bench; it sank out of sight.

            Jake looked tired. "Not my day. Dora, did you do that?"

            "Yes and no, Professor."

            "What kind of answer is that?"

            "You placed it on a take-away spot and that part of me was on automatic and took it away and sterilized it. I'm sorry, sir, and here's your fresh drink."

            It was indeed a busy day. No one had been waiting at our parking berth, but three young women arrived at a dead run while Sharpie was swapping seats with Deety-our brand-new commodore planned to be first to step into her new ship. The starboard door opened; Sharpie stepped out, a dignified procession of one-

            -and was hit from three sides by three young women, each managing to laugh and cry at the same time. But Sharpie enjoys everything and her aplomb has never been shaken. She kissed them, let them kiss her, petted them and told them to calm down, everything was all right. "Dears, I never intended to stay away; I simply refused to let the great Lazarus Long put one over on Sharpie. Where is he now?"

            "Shut up in the flag cabin, Ma'am. Commodore."

            "Captain Lor, lock him up elsewhere; the flag cabin is mine."

            "Aye aye, Commodore."

            "How long will that take? Seconds, I mean; not hours."

            Lor spoke rapidly to Dora in a language I almost understood. I leaned to my right, spoke to my wife. "Spanish. Some sort."

            "Italian," Deety answered.

            "Will you settle for Latino? No!-I remember now: Galacta. We'll have to learn it. But it sounds easy."

            Lor reported, "Flag cabin will be ready for you by the time you reach it, Commodore."

            "Very good. I expect to use it primarily as an administration office; flag remains in Gay Deceiver. That is appropriate, since Dora is unarmed whereas Gay Deceiver is an attack ship, an armed privateer-heavily armed, for her size." Sharpie smiled. "A few days ago, in another universe, we destroyed an entire air army. We don't have fancies such as artificial gravity; we belt down and fight in free fall. Gay Deceiver is stripped for speed and armament; Dora is just the opposite. The two complement each other beautifully."

            I wondered why Sharpie was blathering-but she always has reasons. I think she reads minds.

            I'm certain that Laz-Lor do, with each other. They looked at each other, then:

            "The flag of an armed privateer-"

            "-is the Skull-and-Cross-Bones-"

            "-is it not? Do we take prisoners-"

            "-or cut their throats?"

            "Which would you rather do? Captain Lor, please do all the talking; these whipsaw conversations are hard to follow. By the way, no more 'midnight mutinies.' Lor, you remain captain until further notice."

            Again they looked at each other.

            "We like to swap off."

            "Calling it 'mutiny' is just a joke."

            "No one asked your preferences. My chief of staff and second-in-command of the flagship is the only one who does and must advise me. If you have opinions to offer, see him. Answer my question. Captain Lor."

            "We'll do what you order. But our brother who was our father at the time taught us never to kill if we could possibly avoid it while teaching us all sorts of ways to kill and made us practice. When we were growing up we always wanted to be pirates. Then we grew up and decided that it could never be and tried to forget it."

            Sharpie said, "I think I'm making you tongue-tied by forcing you to filter it through one set of vocal cords. So cancel that order; you two are unique. We operate just the way Lazarus taught you; so far we have killed only once-to repel an attack on us. That air army- We timed it, caught them with their flying machines on the ground, burned the machines, burned their fuel-and thereby stopped an invasion. . . without killing anyone. But we are always ready to kill. Lor, that's why I warned you a few minutes ago. It would have broken Gay's heart to have to destroy Dora. Skull-and-Cross-Bones? No way to fly one but, if you want to hang one in the lounge, I grant permission. Why did you decide not to become pirates?"

That same preliminary glance- "Babies-"

            "Laz has three, I have four-"

            "-because Lor has one pair of twins-"

            "-and we try to be pregnant at the same time-" "-and time it to fit our plans-"

            "-and Brother's plans if you ever let him out of hack."

            "How old are you two? I've been thinking of you as about Deety's age but you can't be. Just one of you answer, please; it's a simple question."

            They conferred mentally an unusually long time. At last Captain Lor said slowly, "It isn't quite simple. We will get Dora and Athene to integrate it for us. . . if data are complete; they may not be. But answering in Old-HomeTerran years and meaning our own biological time, Laz thinks we are about forty-eight and I think we are a couple of years younger. It doesn't matter because Ishtar will tell us when to rejuvenate, which won't be soon, as we aren't yet close to menopause."

            "Does it have to be at menopause?"

            "Oh, no, just makes it easier and you never have to stop making babies. But Ishtar's mother went years past menopause and had decided to die. . . and changed her mind and looks younger than we do and has had more babies than we have. This time around, I mean."

            "How often do men need it?" Sharpie asked. Jake looked up and said, "I won't need it for another six weeks, Hilda. Maybe seven."

            'Shush, dear. Laz-Lor, be careful around my husband. When he's in rut, it takes heavy chains to restrain him. So never mind that question; he doesn't need to know and, for me, it was intellectual curiosity of a biologist. Perhaps it s best to ask Doctor Ishtar."

            "Yes, Commodore, that would be best. We aren't biologists; we're ship handlers."

            I leaned forward. (Sharpie was keeping us in the car; why I didn't know- then.) "Commodore! I'm required to advise you."

            "Yes, Zebbie."

            "You are going to need a new chief of staff, a new second-in-command, and a new astrogator because I will be on the binnacle list in a wet pack if you don't have Laz-Lor answer that last one. It is not 'intellectual curiosity' to me."

            "Why, Zebbie dear, I have reports that your curve is such that it will be many, many years before you can possibly have other than intellectual interest."

            (If it were not for upsetting Jake, I would paddle that pert little arse!)

            Deety said, "Hear, hear!" I placed my hand over her mouth and got bitten. Sharpie said, "Captain, we have here another paradox-Doctors Carter and Burroughs, each unreasonably insecure. Elizabeth, you've been a man; give them the male angle."

            "Commodore, I wasn't very successful as a male. I simply took antigeria whenever Lazarus did. But I can report his thumb rule."

            "Yes?"

            "When a man looks at a new and attractive woman and decides that he is too tired, it's time. When he doesn't even look, push him over and bury him; he's failed to notice that he's dead."

            The ship's computer said something in that not-Spanish; Sharpie answered, "Graz, Dora. I'll come now."

            Lor said, "Ma'am, we didn't know you knew Galacta."

            "I don't. But I will a week from now. I knew what I would say in your position, and you said it; I could tell from cognates. You told Dora to get him out pronto, because the Doña was on her way. Then get his personal belongings when I would not be inconvenienced, So I stalled. Zebbie, will you come with me? Jacob dearest, will you decide whether or not we should give up our suite with the Carters? And what to move out of Gay? We will be in Dora at least a week, possibly longer."

            "Commodore, we depart for Tertius tomorrow midday, ship's time."

            "I do not recall ordering that, Captain Lor."

            The twins looked at each other-and said nothing.

            Sharpie patted Laz's cheek. "Don't look so thunderstruck, girls"-girls?-seven years or so Sharpie's senior and seven babies between them-"On reaching Tertius, place us in orbit, following local rules. But no messages from ship to ground unless approved by me in writing. Come now!"

            As Sharpie left with me in tow, she told Deety that she was on her own but please get out Jacob's Army blues and my Aerospace dress, and ask Dora about cleaning and pressing.

            Jake said, "Hey!" before I could, and Sharpie said, reasonably, "I won't put you into a long skirt, sweetheart; you would feel that I had coerced you into drag. I thought perhaps you two were bored with civilian dress-and I shall continue the custom concerning dressing for dinner-either formal dress or formal skin Nofhin~i ii, hefw~pn

            Upon reaching flag cabin Sharpie dismissed Laz-Lor, waited until we were private, then clung to me. "Hold me, Zebbie. Hold me tight! Calm me down." The little thing was shaking.

            "Maybe I had better get Jake," I suggested, while holding her and petting her gently-and solving aerodynamic empiricals in my head to keep from noticing how much skin such a tiny woman can spread over one.

            "No, Zebbie. Jacob would fuss over me like a mother hen and give me advice I don't want. Either I boss this job without my husband telling me what to do.. . or I can't cut it. If I fail, I will fail on my own-not as Jacob's puppet. But I can cry on you and tell you things I wouldn't tell my own toothbrush."

            She added, "When I send you out, find Jake and have him teach school to everybody. That'll keep him busy and happy and out of my hair. And everybody else, too. Have both computers record his lectures."

            "Lectures on what?"

            "Oh. Too many details. The plenum of universes and the Number of the Beast. Pantheistic multiple solipsism, or why the Land of Oz is real. The quantum mechanics of fairy tales. Even the care and feeding of Black Hats. He'll probably want to take people into Gay.. . but you must be present; don't delegate it. Jacob can go along and lecture but it's Zebbie's sharp eye that will see to it that nothing is touched."

            She patted my chest. "You're such a comfort. Now I'm going to dig out this ship's papers and you're going to help because I don't know what to expect. Or where to find them. Certificate of ownership, I suppose, and registration, and ship's manifest whatever that is. What else and where should I look?"

            "A log. Crew list, passenger list. Health inspection, maybe. Other inspections. Bureaucracy and red tape tend to follow the same patterns everywhere. Maybe no paper papers; that looks like a computer printout over there. Mmm- Insist on English; the originals are almost certainly in Galacta."

            "I'll try it. Dora."

            "Listening, Commodore Hilda."

            "Print for me, in English, the ship's official papers. Ownership, registration, manifests, and so forth. You know the list. Retrieve soonest."

            "I am not authorized to do this, Ma'am."

            "Not authorized' by whom?"

            The computer did not answer. Sharpie said, "Stick around, Zebbie; there's going to be trouble. Do you have any weapons?"

            ~'Where? Look at me. How?"

            "I don't know but you're clever about such things. Dora!"

            "Your orders, Commodore?"

            "Get me Captain Lor! In person, not voice. I want her here on a dead run- right now! Out!"

            (I did have a weapon. I had palmed an item as I left Gay. But never admit a holdout.)

            Laz-Lor arrived, breathing hard, seconds later. "You sent for us, Ma'am?"

            "I sent for Captain Lor; I did not send for Laz. Out. Pronto!"

            Laz had her mouth open to speak. She got out so fast the door was only Partly ~ ~ ~

            'Dora! Repeat to Captain Lor every word that you've heard, every word you've said, since I entered this cabin."

            The computer started with Sharpie telling Laz-Lor they could leave. . . then surprised me with: 'Hold me, Zebbie. Hold me tight. Calm me down."

            I started to speak, Sharpie shook her head. Dora droned on, right through Hilda's order to repeat back all the computer had heard or said since we came

in.

            The computer stopped; Sharpie said, "Dora, you told me this morning that you could not scan in here without permission."

            "That is correct, Ma'am."

            "Who gave you permission?"

            The computer did not answer.

            "Captain Lor, did you or your sister tell this computer to spy on me and to refuse to answer certain questions?"

            "No, Ma'am."

            "Then it's your brother Lazarus. Don't bother to lie; I didn't ask, I told you. Fetch your brother to me, under arrest. Move!"

XLIII

To Pull a Hat Out of a Rabbit-

            Smith:

            I had had trouble convincing my sisters that I must be "arrested" and "confined." I had made an idiotic mistake and now must be "punished." Lor had even less enthusiasm for placing herself and our ship under the command of a stranger.

            Once they accepted it, I could depend on them. We did not let Lib in on the caper; she has no talent for creative lying. Far better that she believe whatever she said.

            Laz and Lor were outwitting their elders by the time they were six, a process I encouraged by walloping them whenever I caught them. They learned. They also have my talent for looking stupid, plus one I have but seldom can use:

They can turn tears on and off like a faucet. (I have not found many cultures in which this advantages a male.)

            Once this was settled, I arrested myself by helping Dora's waldoes move my most personal gear next door. Then I lay down and listened through Dora to what was going on in the flag cabin.

            And discovered that I had outsmarted myself. I have never tried to teach Dora to lie; a dishonest computer is a menace: one that is a pilot would be a lethal disaster, sooner or later. Sooner.

            But I hadn't figured on this narrow little broad asking for my papers so quickly. Nor did I guess that Dora had told her that my cabin could be scanned only by my order.

            When I heard the situation start to deteriorate, I got up quickly and put on

one of my Scottish outfits. Advantages: I look bigger, taller, more imposing. The costume calls for two weapons worn publicly. These I never use. But the costume is so draped and full that one may hide weapons for a half squad- then never show them save in extremis.

            So I was ready when Lor came busting in, almost incoherent. "Brother, is she mad! Watch yourself!"

            "I will, Lor. You've done a swell job." I kissed her. "Now march me in under arrest."

            So we did. I halted ten paces from Mrs. Burroughs and saluted. She said to Lor, "You may leave"-waited until Lor had left, then said, "Instruct your computer not to see or listen in this space."

            "Aye aye, Ma'am. Dora."

            "Yes, Boss?"

            "Back to normal for my cabin. No see 'urn, no hear 'em until I tell you to."

            "Chinchy!"

            "Dora!"

            "Aye aye, Boss. Mean!"

            "She's a bit childish but she's a good cook. And a fine pilot."

            "And you're a bit childish. Prisoners do not salute, prisoners do not wear arms. Captain Carter, confiscate his weapons. Keep them as souvenirs or destroy them."

            Long years as a slave taught me to put up with anything without a squawk. That doesn't make it pleasant.

            "Smith."

            I didn't answer. She added, "I mean you, Woodie!"

            "Yes, Ma'am?"

            "Lean over, grab your ankles. Captain, frisk him."

            Carter knew how, I soon no longer had tools for a half squad-but felt better when he ended having missed one. He was in uniform-of-the-day, but he was big, in training, and carried himself in a way that made me think of Black Belts.

            "Those are yours, too, Zebbie, although you might share them. Deety mentioned something about not having a throwing knife. How's the balance on those?"

            She was not speaking to me but I had to try to gain control of the psychological gage. "One and a half turns at eight meters, Ma'am. I make them myself. But it's too heavy a knife for a lady. I would happily make one to fit Doctor Deety's hand and strength."

            "I imagine that Doctor Deety is stronger than you are, Woodie. I think you've gone a bit soft. Someday we'll check it. Take off your clothes."

            With my weapons gone, other than the one, I welcomed the order. Clothes are no asset in unarmed brawl; the other man can use yours against you. And I was sweating; Dora keeps the ship right for skin. I peeled quickly.

            "Shove them down that," she said, pointing.

            "Uh, Ma'am, that's a destruction oubliette."

            "I know. Next time you won't try to impress me by sartorial elegance.

Furthermore it was intentional insolence. Pronto!"

            I shoved them down pronto. "Grab your ankles again, Woodie. Captain Carter, need we give him an enema to make sure he hasn't hidden one more weapon? I don't care to check by touch without a rubber glove, and I won't ask you to."

            "Madam, I give you my word-"

            "-which is worth nothing. Let it go, Zebbie. Join the class and keep an eye on our interests."

            The big man looked me over. "I don't like to leave you alone with him, Commodore."

            "Thank you, Zebbie. I'm safe. I was safe when he was armed but he was being insolent so I spanked him. Run along; he doesn't dare touch me." She added, "Or do you have a premonition?"

            "No. But I get them just barely in time."

            "I couldn't ask for more. But I feel a prophecy. Woodie is going to be a lamb about everything. Now go, dear."

            He left, giving me a look that promised death if I harmed her. I wanted to tell him that I had never found it necessary to harm a woman in more centuries than his wife had years.

            "Well, Lazarus, how do we work this out?"

            "Work out what, Ma'am? You have the upper hand."

            "Oh, piffle! You have the upper hand; you know it. As long as the ship's computer obeys you, rather than me, my 'authority' is a fraud. I escaped once by a fluke; you won't let it happen twice. But I stuck my head back into the trap because I think we have something to trade, to our mutual profit."

            "I hope so, Ma'am. Please go on."

            "You want your mother rescued. I plan to do it if it can be done. For which you will toe the mark. We need a holding company. I will own fifty-one percent of the voting stock. Not of the profits; there will be plenty for all. But 1 control."

            "Madam, you're way ahead of me. I don't know what you have in mind."

            "Money. Money and power. Whew! I just got downwind; you sweated into that heavy costume. Go in there, take a tub bath, hot and soapy. I'll sprawl on the chaise longue and we'll talk business. Are you really trying to rescue your mother, or are you simply looking to cut yourself in on Jacob's invention? We can make a deal, either way-but I must know. Don't hold out on me; I tend to get annoyed. Then someone else pays. You, in this case."

            She took my hand and led me into the 'fresher while I answered her key question and thought about the rest. No more lies; she had caught me in one thrown together hastily and too complex; my grandfather would have been ashamed of it. So-nothing but the truth. But how much truth and what truth?

            "Rescuing my mother is priority one, sine qua non. Business aspects are secondary."

            "You were going to say that business aspects didn't matter to you-and I would have stuffed it down your throat."

            I stalled while I adjusted the bath's controls. "Ma'am, I always think about business angles. But I would go broke and start over to make this rescue."

            "Will you sign such a contract? We rescue your mother; you sign over all your wealth to me? No cheating, no holdout?"

            "Is that what it takes?"

            "No. It would not be equitable and that would compel you to cheat. Any contract must profit both of us. But rescuing your mother appeals to me-to all my family; I'm the least sentimental of us-and we would tackle it if there were not a fiat dollar in sight. Pour le sport. That nice warm feeling-whether it's a kitten, a baby bird, or an old woman. But there is money in this. . . and sport. . . and opportunities beyond imagination. That sound of water splashing:

does that interfere with Dora's hearing?"

            "No, she filters it out."

            "Is she listening?"

            I instantly answered, "Yes." I've lived a long time in part by being a cat not caught in the same trap twice-as she had underlined. I placed in my permanent memory, nine times nine, never to lie to this woman again. Evade, avoid, keep silent, be elsewhere. But don't lie to her. A born Grand Inquisitor. Telepathic? Must ask Laz-Lor.

            "I'm glad you said Yes, Lazarus. Had you said No, I would have broken off negotiations. I'm not telepathic-but you may find it inadvisable to lie to me. We must change the computer situation-part now, part later. You didn't give her the right code words."

            "That's right. 'Chinchy' and 'mean' equal-"

            "-Roger Wilco, but reversed meaning."

            "Eh? That's a deep-down memory. Yes. Hmm- I must insert that phrase into Galacta. Useful." The water was just right, with deep, fragrant suds. I stepped down into it, picked a seat that let me lounge. "I should have said to Dora- Shall I tell Dora now?"

            "With a modification. I want the equivalent of a simple telephone, so that I can call anyone, anyone can call me-and the same for you. But kill the snoop circuits throughout this suite."

            "No trouble. We can call out at any time; that is a safety feature, permanent. As for calling in, I usually limit it to the twin commanding; she's entitled to disturb me, if needed. If not needed-well, neither Laz nor Lor enjoys being called 'stupid,' especially by me."

            I changed the orders to Dora and did not cheat; Mrs. Burroughs and I were now truly in private, although anyone could reach us-voice only. "What next, Ma'am?"

            "Some permanent changes for Dora, now that she can't hear us. Tentative plans for your mother's rescue. Then we talk business. Is there a seat in that pool where I won't drown?"

            "Oh, certainly. When Laz-Lor were your size, they often bathed with me- I've had as high as six in this tub although that's a bit cozy; it's a four-adult design. Here, let me help; you can't see through these suds." Helping Hilda Burroughs reminded me of handling Laz-Lor at the same size, prepubescent. . . but I was acutely aware that this small, warm, slick body was postpubescent by many years and I got a twinge that I was pleased to have figleafed by suds. "Feel under you-find the seat,? Temner~l-uire suit. von?"

            "Luxurious. On Tertius refreshers are social rooms, are they not?"

            "Yes. Over the years I have found that nude cultures, or those with no taboos about nakedness, tend to make bathing a social event. Ancient Romans. Ancient Japanese. Many others."

            She answered, "Whereas cultures with strong body taboos equate bathing rooms with outhouses back of barns. Disgusting." Mrs. Burroughs looked disgusted. I noted this as I had thought it would be necessary to get them used to skin before exposing them to the easy-going ways of Tertius. . . lest I jeopardize my mother's rescue. I had instructed Laz-Lor to hold us in irrelevancy until all of them, with no urging, accepted the comfort of complete bareness in perfectly tempered conditions, and simply forgot about bodies qua bodies. This does not mean to forget yin-yang. . . but it has long been known to all but legislators, judges, and other fools that a scrap of clothing fig-leafing whatever may be taboo (taboos vary endlessly and each is a "law of nature") is far more stimulating than is no clothing.

            (Warning to time-travellers: To assume that the taboos of your native culture are "natural" and that you can't go too wrong behaving by the rules your loving parents taught you is to risk death. Or worse. If you think death has no "worse," read history.)

            To return to pretty little Mrs. Burroughs: To be enjoying a bath with her a few minutes after she had had me subjected to personal indignity was the second most surprising thing about her. The most surprising thing I was still learning: This fragile little doll with the muscles of a kitten was the toughest bitch kitty I have ever encountered.

            Understand me, I admire her. But I want to be on the side she is on. "What changes in Dora do you want, Ma'am?"

            "Lazarus, I'm 'Ma'am' to strangers and on formal occasions. I don't consider bathing all that formal; my friends call me Hilda. Or by nicknames. Even pet names. But not 'Ma'am."

            My answer got me splashed. She went on, "In attempting to hornswoggle me, you gave me, through your accomplices, a phony command and rank- while retaining control of the computer necessary to make it real. I require that you carry out your contract. Now. By reprogramming Dora to me as her sole boss, with the program locked so that you can't change it. Me and me alone,"

            She smiled, leaned toward me, and placed a hand on my knee under water. "That's why I insisted on privacy-for Dora's sake. She's self-aware and seems quite vulnerable. Lazarus, I don't mind anyone in this ship hearing anything I've been saying. But I don't discuss surgery when it is likely to upset the patient." She leaned forward. "Scratch between my shoulder blades-pretty please?"

            I welcomed time to think, while requiring her to coach me-higher, lower, a little to the left, ah, right there. .

            "Hilda, I'm not sure it can be done. I did reprogram Dora so that her loyalty in crisis is to Laz-Lor. But it took me years and was not done by circuitry or by programming Dora is so thoroughly a self-aware personality that it is necessary to win her love in order to aain her lovaltv"

            "I find that believable. Lazarus, let's see you pull a hat out of the rabbit."

            "You mean-"

            "I meant what I said. Any second-rate magician can pull a rabbit out of a hat. Can Lazarus Long pull a hat out of a rabbit? Watch this space next week. It's your problem, Lazarus; you created it. I won't make a second contract with a man in default on his first. Do you want your back scratched while you think? You scratched mine deliciously."

            I accepted by leaning forward. Hilda is telepathic though perhaps not in words. She knew which spots and how hard and how long.

            And when to stop. She dropped her hand as I straightened up. . . and her hand brushed against me and stopped. "Well! Truly I did not intend to be provocative, old dear."

            I put an arm around her; she did not pull away but continued, "I won't refuse you. I have not given a man reasonable cause to call me a tease since I was twelve. But wouldn't it be sensible to table this until after we have rescued your mother and set up our business structure? If you find-then- that you are interested, you will let me know. If you do, I ask that you cooperate with me in saving my husband's feelings and face. And. . . I am. . . having trouble saying this- Damn it! Please stop and tell me the plans for rescuing your mother."

            I stopped, allowed a hand's width to separate us. "Have you forgotten the hat and the rabbit?"

            "I'm afraid I did. Very well, you've won this round; we attempt to rescue your mother. I waive the broken contract-but we do no further business. Just the rescue, then we leave,"

            "I thought you promised me a second chance-later?"

            "What? Lazarus, you're a bastard."

            "I'm not but the term has no meaning on Tertius. Here's the 'hat.' You designate me your flunky-any title-for this ship. My sole function will be to be in earshot-through Dora or otherwise-to insure that your slightest wish is carried out. Night or day."

            "Making me a privileged figurehead, still vulnerable to your whim. The hat won't fit."

            "Very well-second hat. We ground on Tertius; I move Dora into another ship-she accepts that; it has happened before. I sign this ship over to you with a new computer of the same capacity, programmed for ship's routine but unawakened. You let it awaken to your personality. You'll be its mother."

            "That's better. Close but not on. Lazarus, you and I are going to be in business together a long time. I won't take your ship. Instead you're going to build me a ship, a tender for Gay Deceiver but moved by a Burroughs continua device-the first such ship built by Burroughs & Long, Ltd., a subsidiary of Carter Engineering Company. Another subsidiary is Carter Computers, which may assemble computers but primarily will build Burroughs Time-Space twisters under some innocuous name, and sell them only inside our complex setup- much more complex; we'll work on it together. But our biggest subsidiary will be Libby & Smith, Real Estate. That one rebuilds solar systems."

            "What!!"

            "Talk to Zebbie and Jacob. We'll organize Black Hat Safaris, Pty., too, but it may be a dummy for a while. We'll have an emporium in New Rome, imports from many universes. Uh. . . The Pawnshop, of course, with the Hook Joint above it. Ultra expensive imported styles up there, modelled by New Rome's most beautiful hetaerae. Private rooms for private viewings. This one is a gift to Laz-Lor, save for the ten percent that is voting stock of which I vote my usual control, through you. The twins can do as they please with it; our leash will be slack. Probably they will do their own importing, with a resident manager. But they might work in it some, just to know the business."

            "Which business?"

            "Both. They are grown women, Lazarus; you must not try to run their lives. The overall holding company, run by you and me, usual split with my one percent advantage, is a nonprofit corporation supporting Ishtar's clinic. We funnel whatever is needed into the clinic, holding down the book profits elsewhere, but paying whopping salaries and consulting fees. My husband is chief scientist in one part while consultant by fee elsewhere, with Elizabeth-Lib- his mirror image elsewhere. Lazarus, we must have Deety work on it; she has the finest head in our family for manipulation of this sort-I'm just her awed pupil."

            "And I'm just your awed pupil!"

            "Piffle again. Lazarus, from what I've read of you, your sole weakness lies in a delight in cheating for its own sake; Deety treats it as an intellectual art. One thing more- No, two things. Can you persuade Dora, as a favor to 01' Buddy Boy, to go along with the hoax until we deliver your mother to Ishtar? Make it a mammoth joke, under which she takes orders from me because she wants to be in on the fun. Take you out of arrest, of course; wipe it from her memory."

            "It was never in her memory; Lor put her in nonrecording mode while the hooraw was on."

            "Good! Can you persuade her to call me 'Commodore' while you use some fancy title?"

            "Hilda, I'm your chief of staff for this ship; Zeb is chief of staff, flagship. Dora doesn't really understand ranks; I can tell her that 'chief of staff is one notch senior to God. No problem. As long as she can see that you and I are buddy-buddy,"

            "And we are!"

            "It's reassuring to hear that. Hilda, I underestimated you so badly that I'm still in a state of shock. What's the last item?"

            "Rejuvenation for all of us for as long as you-Ishtar-can stretch nonHowards"

            "I can promise that; I'm Board Chairman of the Clinic. But-Ishtar is not a magician. What's the average age of death for your parents, grandparents, any ancestors you know about?"

            "My family, both sides, are considered long-lived-although I lost my parents in a car crash. The others I don't know about except that Deety's mother died of cancer, much too young."

            "We can handle that."

            "Is longevity on Earth-our Earth, not yours-of interest? Same length of year as Old-Home-Terra; Deety and Lor checked."

            "Of course!"

            "These figures apply to North America. Some other places are higher, some lower, some no data. Females. Menarche at thirteen plus-or-minus nine percent. Menopause at fifty-six to sixty-seven plus-or-minu-"

            "Stop there! Average age of death, female?"

            "One hundred seventeen. But males average eight years less. Sad. My own family averages higher, but only a few years. I don't know about Jacob but he mentioned once that his great-grandfather got himself killed, in an odd fashion, at ninety-seven. He-"

            "Enough. I must report this. By definition, all of you are 'Missing Howards."

            "But, Lazarus, that's simply the average on Earth-our Earth, now that I know that there are thousands of analogs."

            "Doesn't matter. Different universe, different time line-not my problem. Here you are a Howard. You four and all your descendants."

            Hilda smiled happily. "That's cheerful news to a woman six weeks pregnant."

            "You?"

            "And Deety. Same time and doesn't show yet. Lazarus, I was tempted a while ago to tell you. . . because I was tempted. Now, now! Down, Rover! Outline to me how we rescue a woman dead for many centuries."

            "Hilda, someday I'm going to get you drunk."

            "Want to bet?"

            "Never with you. There is mystery about my mother's death. She appears to have been killed accidentally at a relatively young age, for a Howard. Just short of a hundred. I was notified as her purse I.D.'s named me as 'next of kin'-and I bawled like a baby for I had been planning to pay her a visit on her century day, July 4th, 1982. Instead I attended her funeral, flying to Albuquerque two weeks early.

            "Nobody there but me. She was living alone under her maiden name, she and my father having separated thirty years earlier. But apparently she hadn't listed her last address change with the Howard Foundation, hadn't notified her other children. Howards are like that; they live so long that kinship is not enough reason to stay in touch. Closed casket and cremation-authorized by stuff in her purse; I never saw her body.

            "But there was no doubt as to her I.D.'s and so forth. In my world, 1982 was a time when you couldn't sneeze without carrying a thick pack of cards all, in effect, saying that you were you. I was feeling it because I was seventy later that year and looked thirty-five. Embarrassing. I had plans to drive south from Albuquerque, cross the border, and not come back until I had bought a new passport to match a new name.

            "Hilda, it was over two thousand years later, in preparing for my first time trip, that I learned that my mother was not listed in the Archives as dead but simply as 'record missing.'

            "The matter troubled me. A few years ago-my time-Laz-Lor took me

back. Didn't ground; a missile chased us and scared Dora silly. But I got a motion picture that seems to show the accident. There is a blur on the frames just before the first one that shows what I think is the corpse. Can you guess the size and shape?"

            "Shan't try, Lazarus."

            "As near as I can measure on a film a centimeter square, shot with a telephoto lens from too high because Dora was crying and wanting to go home, it is the size of that berth Gay Deceiver is in. Hilda, I think I photographed you rescuing my mother before you did it."

            'What? Lazarus, that's-"

            "Don't say impossible. The Land of Oz is impossible. You're impossible. I'm impossible. Who invented pantheistic multiperson solipsism? You did."

            "I wasn't going to say 'impossible.' Now that you know that I'm pregnant, you will realize why I want to try to rescue your mother right away, before my belly starts growing where the seat belt crosses it. Her name was Marian? Marian Johnson Smith?"

            "Maureen Johnson."

            "That proves that the real Lazarus Long stood up. It bothered me that there might be a series of analog-Lazarus-Longs like analog-Earths."

            "Wouldn't bother me. That's their problem."

            "But it would destroy the theory I worked out that would account for my sitting here in a pool of water in a time-travelling flying saucer with a fabulous man-both ways!-when I know he's a fictional character in a book I read years back. That makes me a fictional character, too, but that doesn't trouble me as I can't read a novel with me in it, any more than you could read the one I read about you."

            "I came close to doing just that."

            "Don't be mysterious, Lazarus."

            "I like wild stories. Used to read every one I could find in the Kansas City Public Library. On another time trip I picked up a magazine of a type you may never have seen. Read one installment of a serial. Ridiculous. Four people traveling in space in an airplane. At the end of that installment they are hailed by a flying saucer. Continued next month. Hilda, how do you think Dora was able to be at the right place at the right time when Gay Deceiver popped out of nowhere?"

'Where is that magazine?"

            "Down the same destruction oubliette that recently received my best fake Scottish chief costume. If I had not learned long ago to dispose of casual fiction once I had read it, Dora would never be able to lift. Hilda, you explained it yoursel-_"

            "Hilda? Do you hear me"-her husband's voice.

            Her face lit up. "Yes, Jacob?"

            "May I see you? I have a problem."

            I barely whispered, "I'll get out," and started to stand up. She pulled me back down. "Of course, Jacob dearest. I'm in the flag cabin. Where are you?"

            "In our suite."

            "Come straight here." She whispered to me, "Do we have a deal?" I nodded; she stuck out her hand; we shook on it. "Partners," she whispered. "Details later. Maureen first."

            Her husband answered, "Hilda, I don't know my way. And it's a private matter."

            "Then you must come here, Jacob; this is the only private place in the ship. I've been talking business with Lazarus Long-business so private we had to talk here. No more trouble, dearest man, and we each get what we want. Come join us, we need you."

            "Uh. . . can he hear me?"

            "Certainly. We're having a bath together. Come join us. I want you to know all about the deal before we tell the children. I may need support on parts where we traded quid pro quo."

            Silence- "I'd better call back later."

            I said, "Doctor Burroughs, you want to talk privately with your wife; I will get out. But please understand that social bathing is as commonplace on my world as offering a friend a drink is on yours. I am here because the Commodore invited me and I assure you she is quite unharmed."

            Burroughs replied in a pained voice, "I know that custom and have utter faith in Hilda's social judgment. Yes, I do need to speak to her.. . but I don't mean to be surly. I'll come up, or down, or across, and say hello. Please don't leave before I get there. I'll ask my way."

            "Dora will show you. Step into the corridor and wait. She'll find you."

            "Very well, sir."

            "Dora, special."

            "Yes, Pappy?"

            "Find Professor Burroughs. Lead him here. By the longest route. Slow march."

            "Aye aye, Pappy."

            I said hurriedly to Hilda, "I may know what this is; let me check. Lib?"

            "Yes, Lazarus?"

            "Are you alone?"

            "In my stateroom alone. And lonely." Lib added, "And upset."

            "So? Did you put the question to Professor Burroughs?"

            "Yes. Lazarus, I had perfect opportunity. The one place Dora can't see or hear. Inside Gay Deceiver's space warp and-"

            "Chop it, Lib! Did he turn you down?"

            "No. But he didn't say Yes. He's gone to discuss it with his wife. That's why I'm jittery."

            "Turn on the soother. I'll call you back. Off."

            Hilda asked, "What's the matter with Elizabeth?"

            "I'll make it short as even the longest route can't take long. Lib is terribly anxious to have a child by the mathematician-your husband-who formulated the equations for six-dimensional positively-curved space. She thinks- and so do I-that they might produce a mathematician equal to, or even greater, than Lib or your husband. But she should have let Ishtar arrange it. She jumped the gun; I don't know why-"

            "I do! Elizabeth!"

            Lib was slow in answering. "This is Elizabeth Long."

            "Hilda Burroughs here. Elizabeth, you come straight here. Flag cabin."

            "Commodore, are you angry with me? I meant no harm."

            "Dear, dear! You come to Mama Burroughs' arms and let me pet you and tell you that you're a good girl. Now! How far away are you?"

            "Just around the curve. A few meters."

            "Drop everything and hurry. Lazarus and I are in the 'fresher. In the pool. Come join us."

            "Uh, all right."

            "Hurry!"

            Hilda asked, "How do I let them in? Run dripping and do it by hand? I noticed that our door lets anyone out but can't be opened from the outside without help." She added, "For that matter how do I get back in?"

            "Dora knows you belong here. For the rest- Dora, admit Libby Long and Professor Burroughs."

            "Aye aye, Pappy. Lib-here she comes. Dr. Jacob Burroughs I'm fetching. How soon?"

            Hilda said, "Two minutes."

            Lib hurried in, still unsmiling. Did smile when Hilda put her arms around her, smiled and cried at the same time. I heard Hilda crooning, "There, there, dear! It's a wonderful idea; she'll be the world's greatest mathematician. A cute baby-something like Deety, something like you. Jacob! In here, darling! If you are wearing anything, chuck it; we're in the pool."

            Seconds later the pool was filled to its rated capacity, Hilda with arms around both of them-kissed her husband, kissed Lib, said sternly to them, "Stop looking as if you were at a funeral! Jacob, this is what Jane would want-and it is what I want. Elizabeth, you aren't crowding me out; I'm pregnant now. I'll have my baby six weeks before you have yours. I've decided to ask Doctor Lafe Hubert to deliver my baby. Who are-"

            'Hilda! I haven't delivered a baby for over a century."

            "You have seven months in which to brush up. Doctor Lafe, are you refusing to attend me?"

            "No, but- Jake, if Hilda will have her baby at the Clinic on Tertius, she will be in the hands of the most skilled obstetricians in this universe. Which I am not. I'm rusty. I-"

            "Doctor, I think Hilda would settle for your holding her hand and standing by to help if needed. I think my daughter would like that, too. She may have her baby the same day as Hilda."

            "Sir, I will be honored. But I want to say something about this proposed baby, a cross between two all-time great mathematicians. I know that your world places value on monogamy. Howards do not; they can't. But this need not violate your values. If you will make a deposit at the sperm bank at-"

            'What?" Hilda Burroughs looked shocked. "Lazarus, are you talking about syringes and things like that. Done to Elizabeth?"

            "Why, yes, I-"

            She chopped me off. "Babies are not made with syringes! Babies are made with love! With little moans of happiness between two people who know exactly what they are doing and want to do it. Elizabeth, are you fertile today?"

            "I should be. It's time."

            "Then kiss me and tell me you want to do this. If you do."

            "Oh, I do, very much!"

            There were kisses and tears all around. I got pulled into it, found myself kissing the prospective father. I gave him a chance to duck but he didn't.

            Our busy little stranger was still playing ringmaster. "Lazarus, what is that guest room across the cabin? Pastel colors?"

            "Aurora Room."

            "Beloved husband, wrap a towel around this sweet, frightened child, take her there, lock the door behind you and make her happy. This suite is the only totally private place in this ship. If I lay eyes on either of you in less than one hour, I shall burst into tears. That doesn't mean you can't stay longer. I hope that you will come to dinner. . . but you are welcome to Aurora Room after dinner. Sweetheart, you must give her at least one chance each of the next three days; a woman's timing can vary from her norm. Now git! Pick her up and carry her."

            Lib wouldn't let Jake carry her. But she leaned into his arm. As they left the 'fresher, she looked back with a happy smile and threw us a kiss.

            Hilda caught it and ate it. Then she said to me, "Help me out, please, dear."

            I lifted her out, sat her on the edge, climbed out myself. She patted the padded deck, said, "I think this is better than that chaise longue. If we happen to be caught it wouldn't embarrass me and should not embarrass you; in these circumstances Jacob would be relieved rather than upset." She smiled, eased her sweet thighs, put up her arms. "Now?"

            "Yes!"

            "Anything you want, including back rubs. Lazarus, does it excite you knowing what is going on a few meters away? It does me!"

            "Yes! But I don't need it-Hilda, you're superb!"

            "Not in looks, certainly. So I try hard with what I have. Sold myself three times-did my best to make my contract-husbands each feel that he had received full value.. . then married dear Jacob for love and am trying still harder with him. He is good-I mean he is good all through. I hope Elizabeth appreciates him. You've had her?"

            "Yes."

            "Before or after the change?"

            "Both. I miss the 'before,' appreciate the 'after."

            "Then why won't you knock her up?"

            "That's a family joke. She had her first child by me, is now making the rounds of our family, more or less. Woman, you are not here to talk!-I'm almost there!"

            She looked delighted. "I'm climaxing steadily; let 'er rip!"-and bit my chin.

            An indefinitely long time later that need not be detailed, we were resting

in each other's arms, enjoying that delicious peace of the ebbing tide. Hilda saw them first, raised her head:

            "Jacob beloved! Did you! Lib- Did my sweetheart put a baby in you?"

            "Did he! Hilda, you do that every night? Little bitty like you? Less than two hours and darling Jacob has worn me out."

            "I'm a hollow mockery, dear. Built for it. Tell her, Jacob."

            "My darling is adaptable, Libby dear. Lazarus, did Hilda treat you nicely?"

            "I died happy."

            "He's not dead"-Hilda made a long arm, cupped a handful of water, threw it in my face, giggled. The suggestion she added I rejected with dignity-as much dignity as one can manage when two women are tumbling one into a tub of water.. . while one's male comrade stands by and laughs.