Robert Heinlein - The Number of the Beast

"American'? What nonsense is this?" (He had shifted to English.) "A British colonial is still British-and a spy."

My husband reached over, shut off the microphone. "Captain, I advise lifting. He won't listen to reason."

"Copilot, not till I must. We don't even have enough water. I must try to parley." Zebbie thumbed the switch. "I am not a British colonial. I am Zeb Carter of California, a citizen of the United States of America; I have my passport. If we have trespassed, we regret it and apologize."

"Spy, that is the most bold-faced bluff I have ever heard. There is no such country as the United States of America. I am placing you under arrest. In the name of His Imperial Majesty the Tsar of All the Russias, by authority delegated to me by His Viceroy for New Russia Grand Duke Fyodor Ivanovitch Romanov, I arrest you and your party for the crime of espionage. Open up!"

By now they had reached Gay Deceiver and were at the portside door.

Zebbie answered, "You haven't told me your name, much less identified yourself as a Russian officer. Or shown any authority over what is clearly unoccupied land."

"What? Preposterous! I am Colonel the Count Morinosky of Novy Kiev, of the Viceroy's Imperial Guard. As for my authority, look at the sky around you!" The self-proclaimed colonel drew his pistol, reversed it, and used the butt to pound on the door. "Open up!' I said."

Zebbie has good temper and calm judgment. Both are likely to slip if anyone abuses Gay Deceiver.

He said softly, "Colonel, your craft on the ground ahead-is there anyone in it?"

"Eh? Of course not. It's a two-seater, as anyone can see. My private scoutabout. Never mind that. Keep quiet and open up."

Zebbie again switched off his microphone. "Gay Deceiver, at command 'Execute' burn one tenth of a second at point of aim, intensity four."

"Gotcha, Boss."

"Colonel, how can you take four prisoners in a two-seater?"

"Simple. You and I will ride in your vehicle. The other members of your party will be hostage for your good behavior and will ride where assigned. You won't see which craft lest you get foolish ideas. My pilot will fly my craft."

"Execute."

The grounded ornithopter began to burn fiercely-but the colonel did not see it. We saw it-but he was looking at Zebbie. Zebbie said, "Colonel, please stand clear of the door so that I can open it."

"Oh. Very well."

"Colonel! Look!" The younger officer, in stepping back, caught sight of the fire-and I have rarely heard such anguish.

Or, an instant later in the colonel's face, such astonishment switching to rage. He attempted to shoot Zebbie-with his hand still gripping the barrel of his pistol. In a moment he realized what he was doing and flipped it to catch it by the grip.

I never saw whether or not he made the catch; Cap'n Zebbie commanded, "Gay Bounce!" and the scene blacked out while the colonel's hand was open for the catch.

Zebbie was saying, "Jake, I lost my temper. I should not have done it; it ruined our last chance to deal with those Russians. But I hope it taught the ruddy snarf not to go around hammering dents into other people's cars."

"Captain, you did not ruin our 'last chance'; we never had one. You ran into classic Russian xenophobia. The Commies didn't invent that attitude; it goes back at least a thousand years. Read your history." Jacob added, "I'm not sorry you burned his kite. I wish he had to walk home. Regrettably one of his craft will pick him up."

"Jake, if I could afford to-in juice, in time-I would go back and keep him from being picked up. Harry them, not let them land. I won't. Hmm- Shall we fall a bit farther and see what they are doing? Before we get on with our interrupted schedule?"

"Uh... Captain, may I have a Bonine pill?"

I squealed, "Me, too!"

"Deety, take care of 'em. I'll put her in dive and we'll look."

"Captain, why not use the B, U, G, program?"

"Deety, somebody might be on that spot. Wups! I'm biting air." Cap'n Zebbie leaned us over, placed Barsoom-I mean "Mars"-Mars-lO or whatever-dead ahead. "Should spot flappy birds in few minutes. Jake, how about binoculars?"

Zebbie didn't want them himself while piloting. We passed them around and I spotted an ornithopter, then two more, and passed the glasses to Deety.

"Zebadiah, there is no one where we were parked."

"You're certain?"

"Yessir. The colonel's scoutabout is stifl burning; there are peop'e near it, nowhere e'se. That's why I'm certain there is no one where we were. B, U, G, 0, U, T is safe"

Zebbie was slow to answer. How about it, folks? It wou'd be an unnecessary risk. Just one squawk and I'll skip it,"

I kept quiet and hoped the others would, too, I don't worry; I'm going to live as tong as Atropos permits-meanwhile I intend to enjoy every minute. Zebbie waited, then said, "Here we go. Gay-Bug Out!"

-right theory, wrong universe.

Zeb:

Deety is going to force me to look like a hero because I don't have the guts to let her down. I thought my copilot would veto going back to the scene of the crime; Jake is level-headed about safety precautions. I didn't count on Sharpie; she's unpredictable. But I thought Jake would object.

He didn't. I waited until I was certain that no one was going to get me off the spot... then waited some more... then said sadly, "Here we go," and told Gay to "BUG OUT!"

I expected to be a mushroom cloud. Instead we were parked where we had been and the colonel's craft was burning briskly. (Someday I am going to run that experiment: a transition to attempt to cause two masses to occupy the same space. But I won't be part of the experiment. The Bug-Out program scared me, and I liked the Take-Us-Home program a lot better after we made it two klicks H-above-G instead of parked. Could the Bug-Out program be modified so that Gay sneaked up on her target, checked it by radar, before accepting it? Take it up with Deety, Zeb-stick to what you know!)

The Russians appeared to be slow to notice our return. One ornithopter had grounded not far from the fire; there were several bystanders. I could not see whether or not my erstwhile arresting officer, Colonel Somethingsky, was in the group. I assumed that he was.

Then I was sure: A figure broke loose and headed toward us, waving a pistol. I said briskly, "Shipmates, is there any reason to hang around?"

I waited a short beat. "Hearing no objection-Gay Bounce!"

That black sky looked good. I wondered how Bumpsky was going to explain to the Grand Duke. Brass Hats are notoriously reluctant to believe unlikely stories.

"Did I bounce too quickly? Have you all seen what you wanted to see?"

Only Deety answered. "I was checking that program. I think I see a way to avoid two masses conflicting."

"Keep talking."

"Gay could sneak up on the target, inspect it by radar, accept it and ground, or refuse it and bounce-with no loss of time and with the same execute code. That spot could be knee-deep in Russians and Gay would simply whoosh us to where we are now."

(I said to leave it to Deety. You heard me.) "Good idea. Do it. Can't have too many fail-safes."

"I'll reprogram when we stop."

"Correction. I want that fail-safe programmed now. I might need your revised program any moment."

"Aye, aye, Captain."

"Captain darling,' if you please. If you must call me 'Captain.' Then review all preprograms and debug them, if necessary, with analogous fail-safes. And any new ones in the future. Now- Just put her into glide, headed west, and transit three minima?"

"Or more. Or less. I thought that a spot check every thirty kilometers would be about right for a rapid survey."

"What altitude will we wind up? Assuming I simply aim her at the horizon and transit tangent to the curve."