The Number of the Beast

XVIII

"-the whole world is alive."

Zebadiah:

Four Dagwoods later we were ready to start walkabout. Deety delayed by wanting to repeat her test by remote control. I put my foot down. "No!"

"Why not, my Captain? I've taught Gay a program to take her straight up ten klicks. It's G, A, Y, B, 0, U, N, C, ~-a new fast-escape with no execution word necessary. Then I'll recall her by B, U, G, 0, U, T. If one works via walkytalky, so will the second. It can save our lives, it can!"

"Uh-" I went on folding tarps and stowing my sleeping bag. The female

mind is too fast for me. I often can reach the same conclusion; a woman gets there first and never by the route I have to follow. Besides that, Deety is a genius.

"You were saying, my Captain?"

"I was thinking. Deety, do it with me aboard. I won't touch the controls. Check pilot, nothing more."

"Then it won't be a test."

"Yes, it will. I promise, Cub Scout honor, to let it fall sixty seconds. Or to three klicks H-above-G, whichever comes first."

"These walky-talkies have more range than ten kilometers even between themselves. Gay's reception is much better."

"Deety, you trust machinery; I don't. If Gay doesn't pick up your second command-sun spots, interference, open circuit, anything-I'll keep her from crashing."

"But if something else goes wrong and you did crash, I would have killed you!" She started to cry.

So we compromised. Her way. The exact test she had originally proposed.

I wasted juice by roading Gay Deceiver a hundred meters, got out, and we all backed off. Deety said into her walky-talky, "Gay Deceiver... Bug Out!"

It's more startling to watch than it is to be inside. There was Gay Deceiver off to our right, then she was off to our left. No noise-not even an implosion splat! Magic.

"Well, Deety? Are you satisfied?"

"Yes, Zebadiah. Thank you, darling. But it had to be a real test. You see that-don't you?"

I agreed, while harboring a suspicion that my test had been more stringent. "Deety, could you reverse that? Go somewhere else and tell Gay to come to you?"

"Somewhere she's never been?"

"Yes."

Deety switched off her walky-talky and made sure that mine was off. "I don't want her to hear this. Zebadiah, I always feel animistic about a computer. The Pathetic Fallacy-I know. But Gay is a person to me."

Deety sighed. "I know it's a machine. It doesn't have ears; it can't see; it doesn't have a concept of space-time. What it can do is manipulate circuitry in complex ways-complexities limited by its grammar and vocabulary. But those limits are exact. If I don't stay precisely with its grammar and vocabulary, it reports 'Null program.' I can tell it anything by radio that I can tell it by voice inside the cabin-and so can you. But I can't tell it to come look for me in a meadow beyond a canyon about twelve or thirteen klicks approximately southwest of here-now. That's a null program-five undefined terms."

"Because you made it null. You fed 'garbage in' and expect me to be surprised at 'garbage out'-when you did it a-purpose."

"I did not either, I didn't!"

I kissed the end of her nose. "Deety darling, you should trust your instincts. Here's one way to tell Gay to do that without defining even one new term into her vocabulary. Tell her to expect a three-part program. First part: bounce one minimum, ten klicks. Second part: transit twelve point five klicks true course two-two-five. Third part: drop to one klick H-over-G and hover. At that point, if what you described as your location is roughly correct, you will see her and can coach her to a landing without using Jake's twister."

"Uh... twelve and a half kilometers can't be done in units often kilometers. Powered flight?"

"Waste juice? Hon, you just flunked high school geometry. Using Euclid's tools, compass and straight edge, lay out that course and distance, then lay out how to get there in ten-klick units-no fractions."

My wife stared. Then her eyes cleared. "Transit one minimum true course one-seven-three and two thirds, then transit one minimum true course twoseven-six and one third. The mirror image solution uses the same courses in reverse. Plus endless trivial solutions using more than two minima."

"Go to the head of the class. If you don't spot her, have her do a retreating search curve-in her perms, in an Aussie accent. Honey girl, did you actually do that Euclid style?"

"I approximated it Euclid style-but you didn't supply compass and straight edge! Scribe circle radius twelve point five. Bisect circle horizontally by straight edge through origin; quarter it by dropping a vertical. Bisect lower left quadrant-that gives true course two-two-five or southwest. Then set compass at ten units and scribe arcs from origin and from southwest point of circle; the intersections give courses and vertices for both major roots to the accuracy of your straight edge and compass. But simply to visualize that construction-well, I got visualized angles of two-seven-five and one-seven-five. Pretty sloppy.

"So I did it accurately by Pythagorean proposition by splitting the isosceles triangle into two right triangles. Hypotenuse is ten, one side is six and a quarter-and that gives the missing side as seven point eight-zero-six-twofour-seven plus-which gives you one course and you read off the other by the scandalous Fifth Axiom. But I did check by trig. Arc sine point seven-eightzero-six-two-four-seven----"

"Hold it! I believe you. What other ways can you program Gay to find you, using her present vocabulary?"

"Uh....urn juice?"

"If necessary."

"I would have her bounce a minimum, then maximize my signal. Home on me."

"Certainly. Now do the same thing without using juice. Just Jake's twister."

Deety looked thoughtful and about twelve years old, then suddenly said, "Drunkard's Walk'!"-added at once, "But I would place a locus around the Walk just large enough to be certain that I'm inside it. Gay should plot signal level at each vertex. Such a plot would pinpoint the signal source."

"Which way is faster? Home straight in under power? Or Drunkard's Walk?" Deety answered, "Why, the-"-looked startled. "Those are solid-state relays."

"Jake sets verniers by hand-but when Gay is directing herself there are no moving parts. Solid state."

"Zebadiah, am I thinking straight? Using power, at that distance-call it twelve kilometers-Gay should be able to home on me in three or four minutes. But-Zebadiah, this can't be right!-using no power and relying on random numbers and pure chance in a Drunkard's Walk, Gay should find me in less than a second. Where did I go wrong?"

"On the high side, Deety girl. Lost your nerve. The first fifty milliseconds should show the hot spot; in less than the second fifty she'll part your hair. All over in a tenth of a second-or less. But, honey, we still haven't talked about the best way. I said that you should trust your instincts. Gay is not an 'it.' She's a person. You'll never know how relieved I was when it turned out that you two were going to be friends. If she had been jealous of you- May the gods deliver us from a vindictive machine! But she's not; she thinks you're swell."

"Zebadiah, you believe that?"

"Dejah Thoris, I know that."

Deety looked relieved. "I know it, too-despite what I said earlier."

"Deety, to me the whole world is alive. Some parts are sleeping and some are dozing and some are awake but yawning... and some are bright-eyed and bushy-tailed and always ready to go. Gay is one of those."

"Yes, she is. I'm sorry I called her an 'it.' But what is this 'best way'?"

"Isn't it obvious? Don't tell her how-just tell her. Say to her, 'Gay, come find me!' All four words are in her vocabulary; the sentence is compatible with her grammar. She'll find you."

"But how? Drunkard's Walk?"

"A tenth of a second might strike her as too long-she likes you, hon. She'll look through her registers and pick the optimum solution. She might not be able to tell you how she did it, since she wipes anything she's not told to remember. I think she does; I've never been certain."

Jake and Hilda had wandered off while Deety and I had been talking. They had turned back, so we started toward them. Sharpie called out, "Zebbie, what happened to that hike?"

"Right away," I agreed. "Jake, we have about three hours. We ought to be buttoned up before sundown. Check?"

"I agree. The temperature will drop rapidly at sundown."

"Yup. We can't do real exploring today. So let's treat it as drill. Fully armed, patrol formation, radio discipline, and always alert, as if there were a 'Black Hat' behind every bush."

"No bushes," objected Hilda.

I pretended not to hear. "But what constitutes 'fully armed,' Jake? We each have rifles. You have that oldstyle Army automatic that will knock down anything if you're close enough but-how good a shot are you?"

"Good enough."

"How good is 'Good enough'?" (Most people are as accurate with a baseball as with a pistol.)

"Skipper, I won't attempt a target more than fifty meters away. But if I intend to hit, the target will be within range and I will hit it."

I opened my mouth... closed it. Fifty meters is a long range for that weapon. But hint that my father-in-law was boasting?

Deety caught my hesitation. "Zebadiah-Pop taught me pistol in the campus R.O.T.C. range. I've seen him practice bobbing targets at thirty meters. I saw him miss one. Once."

Jake harrumphed. "My daughter omitted to mention that I skip most surprise targets."

"Father! 'Most' means 'more than fifty percent.' Not true!"

"Near enough."

"Six occasions. Four strings, twenty-eight targets on three-"

"Hold it, honey! Jake, it's silly to argue figures with your daughter. With my police special I won't attempt anything over twenty meters-except covering fire. But I hand-load my ammo and pour my own dumdums; the result

is almost as lethal as that howitzer of yours. But if it comes to trouble, or hunting for meat, we'll use rifles, backed by Deety's shotgun. Deety, can you shoot?"

"Throw your hat into the air."

"I don't like the sound of that. Sharpie, we have five firearms, four people- is there one that fits you?"

"Cap'n Zebbie, the one time I fired a gun, I went backwards, the bullet went that-a-way, and I had a sore shoulder. Better have me walk in front to trip land mines."

"Zebadiah, she could carry my fléchette gun."

"Sharpie, we'll put you in the middle and you carry the first-aid kit; you're medical officer-armed with Deety's purse gun for defense. Jake, it's time we stowed these swords and quit pretending to be Barsoomian warriors. Field boots. I'm going to wear that same sweaty pilot suit, about equivalent to jump suits you and Deety wore-which I suggest you wear now. We should carry water canteens and iron rations. I can't think of anything that would serve as a canteen. Damn! Jake, we aren't doing this by the book."

"What book?" demanded Hilda.

"Those romances about interstellar exploration. There's always a giant mother ship in orbit, loaded with everything from catheters to Coca-Cola, and scouting is by landing craft, in touch with the mother ship. Somehow, we aren't doing it that way."

(All the more reason to conduct drill as realistically as possible. Jake or I, one of us, is honor bound to stay alive to take care of two women and unborn children; exterminating 'Black-Hat' vermin holds a poor second to that.)

"Zebbie, why are you staring at me?"

I hadn't known that I was. "Trying to figure how to dress you, dear. Sharpie, you look cute in jewelry and perfume. But it's not enough for a sortie in the bush. Take 'em off and put 'em away. You, too, Deety. Deety, do you have another jump suit that can be pinned up or stitched up for Hilda?"

"A something, sure. But it would take hours to do a good job. My sewing kit isn't much."

"Hours' will have to be another day. Today we'll make do with safety pins. But take time to do a careful job of padding her feet into your stoutest shoes. Confound it, she should have field boots. Sharpie, remind me when we make that shopping trip to Earth-without-a-J."

"To hear is to obey, Exalted One. Is it permitted to make a parliamentary inquiry?"

She startled me. "Hilda, what did I do to cause that frosty tone?"

"It was what you didn't do." Suddenly she smiled, reached high and patted my cheek. "You mean well, Zebbie. But you slipped. While Gay Deceiver is on the ground, we're equal. But you've been giving orders right and left."

I started to answer; Jake cut in. "Hilda my love, for a scouting expedition the situation becomes equivalent to a craft in motion. Again we require a captain."

Sharpie turned toward her husband. "Conceded, sir. But may I point out that we are not yet on that hike? Zebbie has consulted you; he has not consulted Deety and me. He asked us for information-darned seldom! Aside from that he has simply laid down the law. What are we, Zebbie? Poor little female critters whose opinions are worthless?"

Caught with your hand in the cooky jar, throw yourself on the mercy of the court.

"Sharpie, you're right and I'm dead wrong. But before you pass sentence I claim extenuating circumstances: Youth and inexperience, plus long and faithful service."

"You can't," put in my helpful wife. "You can plead one or the other but not both. They can't overlap."

Sharpie stood on tiptoes and kissed my chin. "In Zebbie's case they do overlap. Do you still want to know what to use as water canteens?"

"Certainly!"

"Then why didn't you ask?"

"But I did!"

"No, Cap'n Zebbie; you did not ask and did not even give us time to volunteer the answer."

"I'm sorry, Hilda. Too many things on my mind."

"I know, dear; Sharpie does not mean to scold. But I had to get your attention."

"That baseball bat?"

"Almost. For an ersatz canteen- A hot-water bottle?"

Again she startled me. "In the danger we were in when we left, you worried about cold feet in bed? And packed a hot-water bottle?"

"Two," answered Deety. "Aunt Hilda fetched one. So did I."

"Deety, you don't have cold feet and neither do I."

Sharpie said, "Deety, is he actually that naïve?"

"I'm afraid he is, Aunt Hilda. But he's sweet."

"And brave," added Hilda. "But retarded in spots. They do overlap in Zebbie's case. He's unique."

"What," I demanded, "are you talking about?"

"Aunt Hilda means that, when you refitted Gay, you neglected to install a bidet."

"Oh." That was the wittiest I could manage. "It's not a subject I give much thought to."

"No reason you should, Zebbie. Although men use them, too."

"Zebadiah does. Pop, too. Bidets, I mean. Not hot-water bottles."

"I meant hot-water bottles, dear. As medical officer I may find it necessary to administer an enema to the Captain."

"Oh, no!" I objected. "You're not equipped."

"But she is, Zebadiah. We fetched both sorts of nozzles."

"But you didn't fetch four husky orderlies to hold me down. Let's move on.

Sharpie, what was the advice you would have given if I had been bright enough to consult you?"

"Some is not advice but a statement of fact. I'm not going for a hike on a hot day swaddled in a pinned-up jump suit eight sizes too big. While you all play Cowboys-and-Indians, I'm going to curl up in my seat and read 'The Oxford Book of English Verse.' Thank you for fetching it, Jacob."

"Hilda beloved, I will worry."

"No need to worry about me, Jacob. I can always tell Gay to lock her doors. But, were I to go with you, I would be a handicap. You three are trained to fight; I'm not." Sharpie turned toward me. "Captain, since I'm not going, that's all I have to say."

What was there for me to say? "Thank you, Hilda. Deety, do you have things on your mind?"

"Yes, sir. I go along with field boots and jump suits and so forth even though they'll be beastly hot. But I wish you would change your mind about your sword and Pop's saber. Maybe they aren't much compared with rifles but they're good for my morale."

Hilda interjected, "Had I decided to go, Captain, I would have said the same. Possibly it is an emotional effect from what happened, uh-was it only yesterday?-but perhaps it is subconscious logic. Just yesterday bare blades defeated a man-a thing, an alien-armed with a firearm and ready to use it."

Jake spoke up. "Captain, I didn't want to take off my saber."

"We'll wear them." Any excuse is a good excuse to wear a sword. "Are we through? We've lost an hour and the Sun is dropping. Deety?"

"One more thing, Zebadiah-and I expect to be outvoted. I say to cancel the hike."

"So? Princess, you've said too much or not enough."

"If we do this, we spend the night here-sitting up. If we chase the Sun instead- There were lights on the night side that looked like cities. There was blue on the day side that looked like a sea. I think I saw canals. But whether we find something or not, at worst we'll catch up with sunrise and be able to sleep outdoors in daylight, just as we did today."

"Deety! Gay can overtake the Sun. Once. You want to use all her remaining juice just to sleep outdoors?"

"Zebadiah, I wasn't planning on using any power."

"Huh? It sounded like it."

"Oh, no! Do transitions of three minima or more, bearing west. Aim us out of the atmosphere; we fall back in while looking for places of interest. As we reenter, we glide, but where depends on what you want to look at. When you have stretched the glide to the limit, unless you decide to ground, you do another transition. There is great flexibility, Zebadiah. You can reach sunrise line in the next few minutes. Or you could elect to stay on the day side for weeks, never land, never use any juice, and inspect the entire planet from pole to pole."

"Maybe Gay can stay up for weeks-but not me. I'm good for several more hours. With that limitation, it sounds good, How about it? Hilda? Jake?"

"You mean that female suffrage is permanent? I vote Yes!" Jake said, "You have a majority; no need for a male vote." "Jacob!" his wife said reproachfully.

"Joking, my dear. It's unanimous."

I said, "Somebody just cancelled the election. Look there." We all looked. Deety said, "What is it? A pterodactyl?" "No, an ornithopter. A big one."