Robert Heinlein - The Number of the Beast

I had to be firm: Either accept Zeb as commander or tomorrow Zeb and I would dismount my apparatus from Zeb's car so that Mr. and Mrs. Carter could go elsewhere. Where? Not my business or yours, Hilda. I turned over and pretended to sleep.

When I heard sobs, I turned again and held her. But I did not budge. No need to record what was said; Hilda promised to take any orders Zeb might give-once we left.

But her capitulation was merely coerced until the gory incident at the pool. Zeb's instantaneous attack changed her attitude. From then on my darling carried out Zeb's orders without argument-and between times kidded and ragged him as always. Hilda's spirit wasn't broken; instead she placed her indomitable spirit subject to the decisions of our captain. Discipline-self-discipline; there is no other sort.

Zeb is indeed a "coward by trade"-he avoids trouble whenever possible- a most commendable trait in a leader. If a captain worries about the safety of his command, those under him need not worry.

Barsoom continued to swell. At last Gay's voice said, "Ranging, Boss" as she displayed "1000 km," and flicked at once to "999 km." I started timing when Zeb made it unnecessary: "Smart Girl!"

"Here, Zeb."

"Continue range display. Show as H-above-G. Add dive rate."

"Null program."

"Correction. Add program. Display dive rate soonest."

"New program dive rate stored. Display starts H-above-G six hundred klicks."

"You're a smart girl, Gay."

"Smartest little girl in the County, Oh! Daddy and Mommy told me so!' Over."

"Continue programs."

Height-above-ground seemed to drop both quickly and with stomach-tensing slowness. No one said a word; I barely breathed. As "600 km" appeared the figures were suddenly backed by a grid; on it was a steep curve, height-againsttime, and a new figure flashed underneath the H-above-G figure: 1968 km/ hr. As the figure changed, a bright abscissa lowered down on the grid.

Our captain let out a sigh. "We can handle that. But I'd give fifty cents and a double-dip ice-cream cone for a parachute brake."

"What flavor?"

"Your choice, Sharpie. Don't worry, folks; I can stand her on her tail and blast. But it's an expensive way to slow up. Gay Deceiver."

"Busy, Boss."

"I keep forgetting that I can't ask her to display too many data at once. Anybody know the sea level-I mean 'surface' atmospheric pressure of Mars? Don't all speak at once."

My darling said hesitantly, "It averages about five millibars. But, Captain- this isn't Mars."

"Huh? So it isn't-and from the looks of that green stuff, Barsoom must have lots more atmosphere than Mars." Zeb took the controls, overrode the computer, cautiously waggled her elevons. "Can't feel bite. Sharpie, how come you bone astronomy? Girl Scout?"

"Never got past tenderfoot. I audited a course, then subscribed to 'Astronomy' and 'Sky and Telescope.' It's sort o' fun."

"Chief of Science, you have again justified my faith in you. Copilot, as soon as I have air bite, I'm going to ease to the east. We're headed too close to the terminator. I want to ground in daylight. Keep an eye out for level ground. I'll hover at the last-but I don't want to ground in forest. Or in badlands."

"Aye aye, sir."

"Astrogator."

"Yessir!"

"Deety darling, search to port-and forward, as much as you can see around me. Jake can favor the starboard side."

"Captain-I'm on the starboard side. Behind Pop."

"Huh? How did you gals get swapped around?"

"Well... you hurried us, sir-any old seat in a storm."

"Two demerits for wrong seat-and no syrup on the hot cakes we're going to have for breakfast as soon as we're grounded."

"Uh, I don't believe hot cakes are possible."

"I can dream, can't I? Chief Science Officer, watch my side."

"Yes, Cap'n."

"While Deety backs up Jake. Any cow pasture."

"Hey! I feel air! She bites!"

I held my breath while Zeb slowly brought the ship out of dive, easing her east. "Gay Deceiver."

"How now, Brown Cow?"

"Cancel display programs. Execute."

"Inshallâh, ya sayyid."

The displays faded. Zeb held her just short of stalling. We were still high, about six klicks, still hypersonic.

Zeb slowly started spreading her wings as air speed and altitude dropped. After we dropped below speed of sound, he opened her wings full for maximum lift. "Did anyone remember to bring a canary?"

"A canary!" said Deety. "What for, Boss Man?"

"My gentle way of reminding everyone that we have no way to test atmosphere. Copilot."

"Captain," I acknowledged.

"Uncover deadman switch. Hold it closed while you remove clamp. Hold it high where we all can see it. Once you report switch ready to operate, I'm going to crack the air scoops. If you pass out, your hand will relax and the switch will get us home. I hope. But-All hands!-if anyone feels dizzy or woozy or faint... or sees any of us start to slump, don't wait! Give the order orally. Deety, spell the order I mean. Don't say it-spell it."

"G, A, Y, D, E, C, I, E, V, E, R, T, A, K, E, U, S, H, 0, M, E."

"You misspelled it."

"I did not!"

"You did so; "i" before "e" except after "c." You reversed 'em."

"Well... maybe I did. That diphthong has always given me trouble. Floccinaucinihilipilificator!"

"So you understood it? From now on, on Barsoom, 'i' comes before 'e' at all times. By order of John Carter, Warlord. I have spoken. Copilot?"

"Deadman switch ready, Captain," I answered.

"You gals hold your breaths or breathe, as you wish. Pilot and copilot will breathe. I am about to open air scoops."

I tried to breathe normally and wondered if my hand would relax if I passed out.

The cabin got suddenly chilly, then the heaters picked up. I felt normal. Cabin pressure slightly higher, I thought, under ram effect.

"Everybody feel right? Does everybody look right? Copilot?"

"I feel fine. You look okay. So does Hilda. I can't see Deety."

"Science Officer?"

"Deety looks normal. I feel fine."

"Deety. Speak up."

"Golly, I had forgotten what fresh air smells like!"

"Copilot, carefully-most carefully!-put the clamp back on the switch, then rack and cover it. Report completion."

A few seconds later I reported, "Deadman switch secured, Captain."

"Good. I see a golf course; we'll ground." Zeb switched to powered flight; Gay responded, felt alive. We spiraled, hovered briefly, grounded with a gentle bump. "Grounded on Barsoom. Log it, Astrogator. Time and date."

"Huh?"

"On the instrument board."

"But that says oh-eight-oh-three and it's just after dawn here."

"Log it Greenwich. With it, log estimated local time and Barsoom day one." Zeb yawned. "I wish they wouldn't hold mornings so early."

"Too sleepy for hot cakes?" my wife inquired.

"Never that sleepy."

"Aunt Hilda!"

"Deety, I stowed Aunt Jemima mix. And powdered milk. And butter. Zebbie, no syrup-sorry. But there is grape jelly in a tube. And freeze-dried coffee. If one of you will undog this bulkhead door, we'll have breakfast in a few minutes."

"Chief Science Officer, you have a duty to perform."

"I do? But- Yes, Captain?"

"Put your dainty toe to the ground. It's your planet, your privilege. Starboard side of the car, under the wing, is the ladies' powder room-portside is the men's jakes. Ladies may have armed escort on request."

I was glad Zeb remembered that. The car had a "honey bucket" under the cushion of the port rear seat, and, with it, plastic liners. I did not ever want to have to use it.

Gay Deceiver was wonderful but, as a spaceship, she left much to be desired. However, she had brought us safely to Barsoom.

Barsoom! Visions of thoats and beautiful princesses-