Robert Heinlein - The Number of the Beast

"Of course."

"If I goof on an order, correct me at once."

"You don't intend to hand this to Zebadiah to carry out?"

"No. I prefer that you not mention that I prepared it ahead of time. Deety, the Chief Pilot assured me that any of us could command in aerospace. I am about to make a test run. The Chief Pilot is in a position to override. If he does, I shan't fight it; I have said all along that he should be captain."

We had time to dig out that shirt with the white flowers. Deety's sailor pants were long; we turned up cuffs. The lacing at the back made them small enough in the waist. She gave me a blue belt to pull in the shirt, which I wore outside-then she added a blue hair ribbon.

"Captain Auntie, you look good. Better than I will in this jump suit I am reluctantly pulling on. Gosh, I'm glad Zebadiah isn't square about skin!"

"He was when I adopted him. Fetched swim briefs the first time I invited him over to swim. But I was firm. There they come! Open the doors."

They appeared to be over their mad. Zebbie looked at me and said, "How fancy! Are we going to church?"-and my husband added, "You look pretty, my dear."

"Thank you, sir. All hands, prepare for space. Secure loose gear. Lock firearms. Anyone requiring a bush stop say so. Dress for space. Before manning car, take a turn around the car, searching for gear on the ground."

"What is this?" demanded Zebbie.

"Prepare for space. Move!"

He hesitated a split second. "Aye aye, Captain."

In two minutes and thirteen seconds (I checked Gay's clock) I was squeezing past my husband into the starboard rear seat. I said, "In reporting, include status of firearms. Astrogator."

"Belted down. Bulkhead door dogged. Shotgun loaded and locked. I slid it under the sleeping bag."

"Fléchette gun?"

"Wups! In my purse. Loaded and locked. Purse clipped to my seat, outboard."

"Copilot."

"Belt fastened. Door locked, seal checked. Continua device ready. Rifle loaded and locked, secure under sleeping bag. I'm wearing my pistol loaded and locked."

"Chief Pilot."

"Belt fastened, door locked, seal checked. Rifle loaded, locked, under sleeping bag. Wearing revolver, loaded and locked. No loose gear. Water tanks topped off. Load trimmed. Two reserve power packs, two zeroed. Juice zero point seven-two capacity. Wings spread full. Wheels down, unlocked to retract. All systems go. Ready."

"Chief Pilot, after first maneuver, execute vertical dive fastest without power and without retracting wheels. Relock wheel-retracting gear. Leave wings spread max."

"Wheel retractors locked. After first maneuver fastest, no-power vertical dive, wings full subsonic, wheels down."

I glanced at Deety; she held up the camera and mouthed, "Ready."

"Gay Home!"

In Arizona it was shortly before sunset, as Deety had predicted. My husband repressed a gasp. I snapped, "Copilot, report H-above-G."

"Uh... two klicks minus, falling." Zebbie had bite now; the horizon ahead tilted slowly up, then faster. As we leaned over, Deety stretched high, catlike, to shoot between our pilots. We steadied with Snug Harbor dead ahead-a crater! I felt a burst of anger, a wish to kill!

"Picture!"

"Gay B'gout!"

Instead of being stationary at "Touchdown" we were in free fall on the night side of some planet. I cçuld see stars, with blackness below the "horizon"-if horizon it were. Deety said, "Looks like the Russians left something on our parking space."

"Perhaps. Jacob, H-above-G, please."

"Under ten klicks, decreasing slowly."

"So far, so good. But we aren't sure that we have the right planet and universe."

"Captain, that's Antares ahead."

"Thanks, Zebbie. I assume that at least we are in one of the analogs, of our native universe. Deety, can you get from Gay the acceleration and check it against Mars-ten?"

"Bout four ways, Cap'n."

"Go ahead."

"Gay Deceiver."

"Hi, Deety!"

"Hi, Gay. H-above-G, closing rate running, solve first differential, report answer."

Instantly Gay answered, "Three-seven-six centimeters per second squared."

"You're a smart girl, Gay."

So it was either Mars-ten or an unreasonable facsimile. "Gay B'gout!"

We were stationary, with what we had come to feel as "proper weight." Deety said, "Maybe an animal wandered across our spot. How about lights, Captain? This snapshot ought to be colors by now."

"Not yet. Chief Pilot, when I alert the autopilot by G, A, Y, please switch on forward landing lights."

"Roger Wilco."

"Gay-"

Blinding light-men in its path were blinded, not us. "Bounce! Kill the light, Zebbie. The Little Father left sentries in case we came back-and we did."

"Captain Auntie, may I have cabin light now?"

"Please be patient, dear. I saw two men. Jacob?"

"Three men, dear... dear Captain. Russian soldiers in uniform. Weapons, but no details."

"Deety?"

"Looked like bazookas."

"Chief Pilot?"

"Bazookas. A good thing you were on the bounce with Bounce, Skipper. Gay can take a lot... but a bazooka would make her unhappy." He added, "Speed saved me yesterday. Deety, let that be a lesson: Never lose your temper."

"Look who's talking!"

"I quit being C.O., didn't I? Cap'n Sharpie doesn't do foolish stunts. If I were skipper, we would chase 'em all over that sea bottom. Never be in one place long enough for them to aim and they would think there were thirty of us. If Colonel Snotsky is there-I think he's afraid to go home-"

We were over Arizona. I snapped, "Gay Termite!"

-and were parked by our stream. Zebbie said, "What the devil? Who did that?"

"You did, Zebadiah," Deety answered. Me? I did no such thing. I was-" "Silence!" (That was I, Captain Bligh.) I went on, "Gay Deceiver, go to sleep. Over." "Sleepy time, Hilda. Roger and out."

"Chief Pilot, is there a way to shut off the autopilot so completely that she cannot possibly be activated by voice?"

"Oh, certainly." Zebbie reached up, threw a switch.

"Thanks, Zebbie. Deety, your new escape programs are swell... but I missed how that happened. But first- Did anyone else see our giant termite?"

"Huh?"-"I did."-"Where?"

I said, "I was looking out to starboard as we transited. The creature was

feeding on packing debris-and took off uphill at high speed. Looked like a very big, fat, white dog with too many legs. Six, I think."

"Six," agreed my husband. "Put me in mind of a polar bear. Hilda, I think it is carnivorous."

"We are not going to find out. Deety, tell Zebbie-all of us-what happened." Deety shrugged. "Zebadiah said 'bounce' twice when he should not have, but Gay wasn't triggered. Then he said 'Gay can take a lot-' and she was triggered. More chitchat and Zebadiah said '-I think he's afraid to go home-' That did it. Our smart girl hears what she has been taught. She heard: 'Gay Home' and that is the short form that used to be: 'Gay Deceiver Take Us Home."

Zebbie shook his head. "A gun should never be that hair-trigger."

"Chief Pilot, yesterday you used the first of these clipped programs to avoid a bullet in your face. First 'Gay'-then after more words-'bounce!' It saved you."

"But-"

"I'm not through. Astrogator, study the escape programs. Search for possibility of danger if triggered accidentally. Zebbie, escape programs can't be compared to a hair trigger on a gun; they are to escape, not to kill."

"Captain Auntie, I've spent all day making certain that programs can't put us out of the frying pan into the fire. That's why I killed 'countermarch.' The nearest thing to danger is the 'Home' program because our home planet is unfriendly." Deety sounded sad. "I hate to cut our last link with home."

"It needn't be cut," I said. "Just stretched. Put it back into long form and add 'Execute."