The Number of the Beast

XXV

"-leave bad enough alone!"

Deety:

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

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

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

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

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

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

I answered, "No, sir."

"Eh? Why not?"

"I don't have time."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Copilot, return to your seat."

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

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

"Here, Deety!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I believe so."

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

"Owner'?" said Pop.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"The 'news'?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Hello, everyone! What did I miss?"

"Halley's Comet."

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Captain Auntie, sleep is never my problem."

"Zebbie?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Goodness, you were thorough."

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

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

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

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

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

"It fits into a concealed zipper compartment."

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

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

"Will the Captain entertain a question?"

"Certainly, Zebbie."

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

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

"Roger Wilco!"

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

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

"Chief Pilot."

"I understand-"

"Short form. Deety defined it."

"Roger Wilco, Captain!"

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

"Roger Wilco, Captain."

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

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

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

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

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

"By all means."

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

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

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

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

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

"We're baddies," said my husband.

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

"With sugar on it?"

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

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

"Twelve?"

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

"Heavens! Are we going to ground?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Sixteen thousand feet."

'What bearing?"

"We're circling."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

'Madam-Captain-you have my word."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

'Yes, yes! My word! Bloody!"

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

"Madam, I apologize."

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

"Captain, I apologize."

"Accepted. Where am I to ground?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Gay Deceiver."

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

"Unpowered autogrounding mode."

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

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

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

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

"On target, Gay. Steady on target."

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

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

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

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

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

"We wait."