The doggie was a pooping machine!

This is a story about my father.

After I was retired, I was compelled by law to live next to relatives. Since my mother died, and my brothers and sisters were all off being with their own careers and families, I ended up living near my father.

I lived in Erie, PA. And during this period of time, I was in a “half way house”, a Monastery, and in a rehabilitation program. For the most part, I lived in the (affordable) “bad section” of town. While my father lived in the the nicer side of town. I lived on the “East Side”, while he lived on the “West side”.

He lived with my step mother, and she hated me. Well, nothing personal. She hated me and my brother both equally. ANd she was nasty to us. SO understand that there is not calm waters in this relationship.

But anyways, here’s a story.

It’s about my dad.

Now he is in his late 70’s. Retired. And living with his wife (who hated me). I would say hi and talk to him from time to time when he drove over to my house. If I came to his house, she would make a real fuss, so I did it only occasionally.

Well it came to pass that his little dog “Zenie” died.

He was a fine little terrier. And he lived to the ripe old age of 16. Which was, after all, quite a long life for a doggie.

Well…

About four months after their doggie died, his wife was talking with another woman at church. There was another dog that they could “babysit”.

So, here’s the scoop…

Single woman. She has a high-level career that involves long periods of travel. She is not married. has no children. Instead, has a dog. But is never at home. SO she left the dog alone at the house.

It’s now five years old.

Never housebroken.

So my dad’s wife gets the dog, and as affectionate as it was, it was just crapping and peeing all over the house. Everywhere. And since it was forever an inside dog, they didn’t dare let it live in the yard.

So…

One day, I come to visit my father.

I come into the house and am assaulted by this putrid odor of dog shit. This stink. It was foul, and on the floor, and on the furniture were these absorbent white piss-pads. The dog was amok, and my father’s wife insisted that everything was “fine”.

No it wasn’t.

She was crazy.

It was NOT NOT NOT fine, and my 70 something father was not able to cope and handle it.

So, anyways, I went out with him and we had a breakfast together. Ah, it was 4pm, but you know it’s a thing. We talked and I said…

It’s my dad’s life.
But he had to live with his wife and make allowances.
However, this dog was not housebroken
And because it wasn’t housebroken, it could not live with them inside. It had to go outside.
So he had to make a choice; dog stays but lives outside or dog leaves.

I explained that this was not an emotional thing, or that it will change. That it was a health and sanitary issue, and given their (father and wife) ages, that this could cause negative health issues. That he had to do something.

Ah.

He kicked the dog out.

And his wife refused to talk to me for a year afterwards.

Sometimes I feel that I am the most hated man on the planet. But seriously. There is a REASON why dogs and cats are housebroken. This REASON must be addressed.

And people are often too clouded in their emotions to such a degree that they refuse to see the black and white of an issue.

The health of the people who live in the home.

Today…

What was the strangest thing you discovered when you moved into a new home?

I had moved into a new rental with a couple of roommates, I was in my 20s. The house had a big backyard, but it was choked with weeds and Blackberry vines. I was determined to claim this space, so I borrowed a shovel and an axe and went at it! Being a small person, I ran out of steam pretty fast. Anyone who has tried to hack down 8ft tall blackberry vines can imagine my pain. Many scrapes and blisters later, after about a week, I had made modest progress.

The entire yard area was about 15ft square, I cleared about 10ft square and gave up. Not only were the weeds stronger than me, but the soil was mostly rocks, so planting a garden was looking pretty bleak. I kinda gave up. The spring was coming and we got a lot of rain, it became a mud pit and I thought maybe it would soften the clay and rock enough for me to sow some wildflowers before the weeds made a comeback.

Of course I got distracted and after a few weeks of mild spring sun I went back to it and looked around…PINK TULIPS were everywhere! A huge carpet of them! I wish I had a camera back then. They made me so happy and I could imagine them being planted years ago only to be choked by the aggressive vines. I felt like a hero and I continued to clear the space. Eventually I was able to see the long buried flower beds beneath the rubble. I made raised beds in one corner and was able to grow some herbs and veggies.

The tulips were a sign every spring that it was time to get growing! I hope whoever came after me to that space continued to be blessed by their presence.

Cajun Catfish with Honey Dijon Bacon Potato Salad

Fried catfish paired with a delicious Honey Dijon Bacon Potato Salad…yummy!

Yield: 4 servings

Ingredients

Honey Dijon Bacon Potato Salad

5 cups baby Yukon gold potatoes, cooked and quartered
1 medium red onion, diced
1 1/2 cups celery, diced
1 cup bacon, cooked, drained and chopped
2 tablespoons honey
2 tablespoons mayonnaise
1 tablespoon Dijon mustard
1 tablespoon Creole mustard
1 tablespoon fresh parsley, chopped
Salt and pepper to taste
Hot sauce to taste

Cajun Catfish

4 U.S. Farm-Raised Catfish Fillets
1/2 cup fish breading
1 tablespoon Creole seasoning
1 1/2 to 2 cups frying oil

Instructions

Potato Salad

Combine all ingredients and mix well.
Adjust seasoning with salt, pepper and hot sauce. Cover and refrigerate.

Cajun Catfish

Combine fish breading and Creole seasoning in shallow bowl. Coat catfish in breading, lightly shaking off any excess.
In a large skillet, heat oil over high heat. Fry catfish until golden brown, approximately 3 minutes per side.
Place on paper towel to drain.
Serve immediately with Honey Dijon Bacon Potato Salad.

Karen tries her American rights in Africa

Both India and China have over 1 billion people so why does China look clean and modern and India looks dirty and behind in the times?

I am Chinese, 44 years old this year. My childhood spanned the entire 1980s and 1990s. When it comes to maintaining cleanliness, this question brings back some memories of a “dirty and chaotic China.”

The first memory is a small detail. In any indoor place in China today, whether it’s a restaurant, hotel, or home, every room will have a plastic trash can. There will be a plastic bag lining the trash can to make it easy to remove the garbage. They usually look like this:

main qimg 5765a971b5b4adf720cffccf943b40f3

However, these things were not part of my childhood memories. In other words, decades ago in China, there were no such trash cans. So, how did people throw away garbage in rooms back then? My memory is that people either put the trash in a shared outdoor trash can or threw it on the ground inside the room. Once the trash on the ground accumulated enough, they would then throw it into the large outdoor trash can.

Moreover, there is an evolving version of this small detail: I remember when I just got married in 2005, the plastic bags used to line trash cans were the ones from the vegetable markets. People collected these plastic bags after buying vegetables and used them in their trash cans. No one would buy plastic bags specifically for trash cans.

But today, various types and sizes of trash bags are essential in every Chinese household. The most popular ones are the trash bags that, when full, have two drawstrings on the sides that can be pulled to close the bag. This way, you can lift the heavy trash without worrying about it spilling:

main qimg 5d63556372e5b87b39ec364c32eae931

My second memory is about littering. I remember when I was in elementary school, around 1992. My mother took me to a newly built park. As we walked, I was eating peanuts and casually throwing the shells on the ground.

A sanitation worker stopped me, but my mother argued with her because she didn’t see a problem with throwing peanut shells on the grass. We thought that even if we didn’t litter, the wind would blow leaves onto the grass. Prohibiting littering was a common slogan on radio, newspapers, and television in China at that time. It’s important to note that because people didn’t care about environmental cleanliness, the government used all mass media to educate the public.

This situation didn’t significantly improve even by the late 1990s. In 2000, a Chinese TV station released a popular crime drama called “The Struggle Between Black and White,” which depicted the solving of a dismemberment case. The most intriguing aspect of this series was that it featured almost no professional actors! Nearly all the key roles were played by ordinary people, and all the police officers and detectives were the actual officers who solved the case.

Since this drama was released in 2000, it reflected the urban landscape of China at that time. The city in the show had a fictional name, “Beihuan City,” but everyone who watched it could recognize it as Xi’an, the city with the Terracotta Army. You could see paper scraps, plastic bags, and other trash flying along the main roads of the city.

In today’s China, littering is unthinkable. If someone throws a piece of waste paper on a commercial street, people will consider them uncivilized. Within minutes, a sanitation worker will pick it up and throw it into a trash can. A few years ago, a moving car threw a pile of shredded paper out the window. A highway cleaner witnessed this and recorded it on his phone, uploading it online, which sparked public outrage. Eventually, the police used roadside cameras to identify the offender, fined him, and demanded a public apology.

My child was born in 2010. If he generates trash while playing outside and can’t find a trash can, he will keep the trash with him until he gets home to throw it away. Once, he had a runny nose and spent an afternoon playing in the community park. When he returned home, all four of his pockets were filled with used tissues. I asked him why he didn’t throw them in the park’s trash cans, and he replied that the park was under renovation and the trash cans were temporarily unavailable.

My third memory is about vegetable markets. Up until 2005, going to an open-air farmers’ market was a challenge. You had to walk on rotting vegetable leaves, wade through the waterlogged seafood section, and endure the nauseating smell of the poultry area just to buy ingredients. In the past decade or so, such farmers’ markets have almost disappeared in China. They have been transformed into tall, specialized buildings, with floor-cleaning machines constantly sweeping the floors, and water flowing through specially designed hidden pipes into the city’s sewage system. Today, farmers’ markets are almost indistinguishable from supermarkets, equipped with elevators, central air conditioning, ventilation systems, Wi-Fi, and each shop having its own independent water supply system.

This is what the farmers’ markets used to be like:

main qimg 8a6d7e2282e09bb17f4db0a98118f782

This is what farmers’ markets are like today:

main qimg 430999e217f4b137f1f35b2e6a8046ce

My fourth memory is about public restrooms. The relationship between Chinese people and public restrooms could fill an entire book, as there are many legendary stories. When I was a child, public restrooms did not have flushing systems. Everyone, regardless of gender, had to squat over two concrete slabs. If you weren’t careful, you might splash yourself.

Workers would clean the waste once a day. In the summer, Chinese public restrooms would become an unforgettable experience for anyone. In 2006, I bought a book called “Foreigners’ Views on China.” Some foreigners’ most painful memories of China at that time were about “using public restrooms.”

Today’s public restrooms in China are quite a different story. Over the years, as I’ve traveled across the country with my family, we’ve encountered all sorts of interesting restrooms. Some restrooms have real-time status systems that show which stalls are occupied. Some provide tissues via QR code scanning. There are even restrooms equipped with sofas and coffee tables for people to wait comfortably. A significant number of public restrooms have “family toilets” designed for family members assisting elderly or young children.

This summer, we traveled to Qinghai Province in northwest China. The G310 national highway winds through the desolate mountains of Gansu Province for over 100 kilometers. Sometimes, we didn’t see another car for half an hour, and I had to make twelve consecutive turns to find a 500-meter straight stretch of road. This area is known for the Qinling Mountains. One afternoon, we stopped at a roadside public restroom in the middle of nowhere, not even near a village. Surprisingly, it was a well-appointed restroom, equipped with large mirrors, washbasins, stainless steel faucets, and running water. Though I’m not sure if it was tap water or spring water, in the 37°C heat that day, the water felt ice-cold on my hands. The restroom had four rooms: men’s, women’s, a “handicapped toilet,” and a “management room.” It had a functional flushing system, clean tile floors, intact stalls, and a working ventilation system.

So, if I were to explain why China is a clean country today, I would summarize based on my experiences: First, extensive and improved infrastructure means people don’t need to dirty the environment to use the restroom or buy groceries. Second, trash cans, including recycling bins, are everywhere in cities and towns, so people don’t have to search for them. Third, if everything is clean, people are less likely to litter out of embarrassment. In conclusion, China is becoming an increasingly clean and orderly country.

This is what public restrooms in China are like today:

main qimg 1450e1c3ae5c49849867962ae8ad098f

main qimg 5d2048d309868e9ad22a7b893cde0e75

main qimg 20ae48a67bd31404addfa4c749b37e00

main qimg b9e358e721a074a41a0b4875f776d407

main qimg c1c59df511203b4c2d132bdbb30d9673

“You Know It’s Serious When Amish Get Involved”

As Pennsylvania’s polls near closing, an unexpected twist has emerged: a massive mobilization of Amish voters. Known for their separation from mainstream society and reliance on traditional values, such as horse-and-buggy transportation (arguably more ‘green’ than EVs), these folks, traditionally not big participators in US politics, have been out in force at PA polling stations, voting for former President Trump after Biden-Harris’ big gov’t waged war on the community.

Let’s begin with the context. Earlier this year, the Pennsylvania Department of Agriculture and big government Democrats targeted a small Amish farmer in Lancaster over compliance issues. This apparently infuriated the Amish community that many of them registered to vote and voted red in the last several days.

Real America’s Voice’s Tera Dahl was speaking at a Trump rally in Pennsylvania on Monday, and she explained that the Amish community is not a traditional group of voters in US elections.

“But they’re voting this year – and I think a big reason is the overreach of government – and one example that could’ve had a big impact was back in January. An Amish farmer was selling his milk – and the gov’t raided his home and stopped his business,” she said.

An Amish person was asked outside one PA polling station: “Who are you voting for?”

He responded, “Donald Trump.” He explained that the Amish had “more freedoms under Trump,” while government overreach drastically increased under Biden-Harris.

US Rep. Lloyd Smucker, R-Pa., whose district includes Lancaster County, at the epicenter of America’s Amish population, told PBS News last week, “They just want government to stay not only out of their businesses but out of their religion.”

With family roots deep in the Amish community, Smucker forecasted a dramatic increase in the Amish vote, “basing that on the enthusiasm we see.”

There are currently 92,000 Amish in PA. It’s going to be a tight race, and these votes could make all the difference.

Brave kid HORRIFIES his teachers by reading their own woke garbage, then his dad shows up…

Oops

Submitted into Contest #24 in response to: Write a story set in the dark recesses of space where the two main characters are often at odds with each other in humorous and comedic ways.… view prompt

Dale Lehman

The explosion blasted a million obols worth of cometary material into the oblivion of space, a disaster even without their ship being parked at ground zero, but what really rattled Jacey Komarov was the destruction of her entire set of Space Kitchen Deluxe™ radiant cookware, which had been safely stowed on board. She’d bought the set on Callisto twenty-three years before and cared for it like a child ever since. To her, it was more precious than platinum. You couldn’t find gear like that here in the Oort Territories. Standing beside her in his hideous olive green pressure suit, staring up at a black sky liberally sprayed with stars and glittering chunks of comet ice spinning into the void, Arne Slocum seemed hardly to notice. His reaction to the cataclysm was typically juvenile: “Whoa! That was awesome!” Okay, he actually was nearly juvenile: a short, skinny seventeen-year-old with wide, brown eyes and wiry hair that Komarov figured would be ideal for scrubbing out pots and pans. Not her good Space Kitchen Deluxe™ pots and pans, since they were self-cleaning, or had been before their untimely deaths, but she could definitely see grabbing him by the boots, holding him upside down over a filthy pan, and having at it with his skull. Since she no longer had a pan, filthy or otherwise, she slugged his shoulder instead. “Idiot! Look what you did!” He bounced a few feet in the feeble gravity before replying, “I’m looking.” Then he stopped looking and fiddled with the portable extractor cradled in his arms. Its sleek, silver body, massive orange trigger, and flared red muzzle suggested it was a device for killing Tyrannosaurs rather than mining comets. He flipped open a panel on its back and poked a skinny, gloved finger at the circuitry within. “I didn’t think I’d coax that much power from her.” “Stop tinkering! We’re here to collect samples, not vaporize the place from under our own feet. All my stuff is gone!” Slocum scratched what would have been his nose if there hadn’t been a helmet in the way. “You’re not hurt, are you?” He gave her a not entirely medical examination. “Put those eyes back where they belong,” Komarov growled. She turned away from the havoc he’d wreaked. Before her, a jumbled surface of loosely-packed ice and black rock stretched to the horizon, where it melded seamlessly with the onyx sky. Nothing special, really. Every chunck of frozen primordial soup looked the same. This was the Oort Territories, a realm so distant the sun was just a bright star, a place where day was night and night was more night. People came here to strike it rich mining the hydrogen and organics that made corporate executives filthy rich, but somehow only the filthy rich ever got richer, while people like Komarov, scratching out a living employed to a third-rate mining outfit, shambled through shackled to people like Slocum. “Where’s the ship?” Slocum asked. Quick study you are, she groused. “You blew it up along with everything else, including my most prized possessions.” She spread her arms in frustration. “The comet? Fine. The ship? If you absolutely must. But my entire kitchen? Blow yourself up instead!” Slocum’s eyes did a fair impression of a faulty LED flickering between life and death. “I blew up the ship?” “I’m going away now,” Komarov said. “Enjoy the rest of your short life.” She started walking . . . stomping, really . . . okay, bouncing across the frozen wasteland, her weighted boots the only thing keeping her from launching into space. She felt rather than heard the crunch of frozen organics under her feet, smelled nothing but the synthetic cleanliness of recirculated air, saw only glitters in the dark. She didn’t know where she was going, but it didn’t matter. There was nowhere to go but away from Arne Slocum. She’d probably end up back where she started, either from aimless wandering or circumnavigation of the tiny globe, but she didn’t care so long as he wasn’t there when she arrived. Unfortunately, they were still in communications range. “There’s nothing out there.” he said. “Exactly.” “But we don’t have a ship.” “No kidding.” “How do we get home?” If she could put the horizon between them, she wouldn’t have to listen. “Jacey?” The comet wasn’t that big. It shouldn’t take long. “You’re the senior. You’re supposed to deal with situations like this.” “Be very glad you’re not standing behind me,” Komarov grumbled. “Why?” “Because I’d strangle you!” “Oh. Er. Actually . . .” Engulfed by rage, she spun about. The motion would have thrown her headlong across the icefield had not Slocum been a meter back. They collided and fell in slow motion, a tangle of arms and legs and portable extractor. Its bluish beam flashed by Komarov’s head into space where it would either harmlessly dissipate or by freak accident destroy something vital to somebody’s survival. Slocum grunted. “You’re…” His faceplate was pressed against hers and his breathing labored, as though she was squashing him flat, although she couldn’t be, not in this gravity. “…all red.” “You think?” She pushed herself up and dusted off her suit. Motes of ice and organics sparkled into the vacuum. Breathing deliberately and summoning every gram of professionalism left in her roiling brain, she let him pick himself up rather than flinging him across the cosmos. “Maybe you should engage the safety.” “I disabled it.” Mayhem flooded her eyes. “Why?” “Convenience.” She had a vision of approaching him, arms outstretched, grasping fingers encircling his neck, squeezing long and slow and hard until his head popped off. He didn’t share her vision or maybe even notice it. “How do we get home?” “We?” He bounced back up a step, so maybe he had noticed, after all. “I assume you’ve studied the procedures.” “Didn’t have time. I was working on, on, on, this.” He raised the extractor as though offering it to her. Tempting though it was, she didn’t take it. “Before people are dropped on a new target, an emergency package is soft-landed. If the crew becomes stranded, they can activate a distress call. They’ll also find basic tools and provisions.” “Oh. That’s good.” Slocum looked so pleased, he might have designed the package himself. “Where is it?” Komarov pointed. “On the edge of the blast zone.” Slocum fiddled with the extractor some more, as thought that might make all disintegrated things undisintegrate. It didn’t. He looked contrite enough, though, so Komarov set course for whatever remained of the emergency package and motioned him to follow. Fifteen minutes later, they arrived at a massive crater whose edges and walls had a glassy look. The blast had melted the ice, which refroze as it flowed downhill. She amused herself with the thought of Slocum sliding down the slope, unable to arrest his fall, swooping through the bottom and up the other side until gravity slowed him and pulled him back down, up, down, up, down, over and over, amplitude gradually decreasing, until he came to rest at the bottom and couldn’t climb out again. Sweet justice. “Is that it?” Slocum asked. Not three meters beyond the edge of the crater, a massive black box squatted on the ice, a glowing green button planted in its side. They approached and studied it. Miraculously, it didn’t look damaged. “That’s it,” Komarov decided. She pushed the button, and the box blossomed like a flower, petals opening to reveal more controls, panels, doors, and a big red button marked, “For emergency use only.” That seemed redundant. The whole thing was for emergency use. Slocum held his breath while the box revealed its secrets, then let out a sigh. “You can say that again,” Komarov told him. “You’re damn lucky you didn’t take this out, too.” More contrition was called for. He fiddled with the extractor one more time. She pushed the red button. A control lit up, informing them the distress beacon was active. “You know,” Slocum said, shifting the device in his arms. “I honestly didn’t think I’d coax that much power from . . . “ Something his finger touched when click. The brilliant bluish beam flashed, vaporized the emergency package, and raced over the horizon into space. Komarov screamed. Fortunately for her, enough distress call had transmitted that two hours later a rescue team arrived. Fortunately for Slocum, low-gravity running is trickier than it looks, and they got there before Komarov caught him.

The incredible power of spiritual protection of your cat in 13 signs

What was the strangest battle in Roman history?

the Battle of the Caudine Forks in 321 BC. This one isn’t just strange, it’s downright embarrassing.

The Romans were fighting the Samnites, a tough group from south-central Italy.

Confident as ever, the Roman consuls led their troops into a narrow mountain pass called the Caudine Forks, thinking they’d catch the Samnites off guard. Instead, they walked right into a trap.

main qimg eaf74d224227b3d2eb9077ae1e6aaa7c

The Samnites had blocked both ends of the pass, and the Romans were stuck like a mouse in a cheese factory.

Now, here’s where it gets really strange.

Instead of slaughtering the trapped Roman army, the Samnite leader, Gaius Pontius, decided to go for maximum humiliation. He forced the Roman soldiers to pass under a yoke, essentially a wooden beam, symbolizing their defeat and subjugation.

They had to stoop low and shuffle under this makeshift arch of shame, completely unarmed and defenseless.

The defeated consuls were forced to sign a peace treaty, but the Senate back in Rome refused to honor it, claiming the consuls had no authority to agree to such terms under duress.

one of the consuls, Spurius Postumius Albinus, actually proposed that he and his fellow commanders be handed over to the Samnites in chains as a sort of “sorry about that whole breaking the treaty thing.” The Samnites, showing a level of honor in this bizarre situation, refused and sent them back.

Pretty weird.

Have you ever cold emailed the CEO of a big company?

Originally Answered: Corporations: Have you ever cold emailed the CEO of a big company?

I did – sort of. When I was fresh out of university and young and innocent (well, kind of…), I joined a programme run by a large Swiss bank for graduates. When they hired me, the recruiter told me explicitly that my salary during training is just a training salary, and once I pass the training programme after a year and start as a regular employee, then my salary will roughly double, as that is a regular starting employee (graduate level) salary.

I did the programme and passed, and then went to work at the bank as a regular employee. My first monthly salary, though, was about 2% higher than what I had been earning while on the programme. So I called up HR and explained the situation, assuming there must have been a mistake. I ended up talking to the same recruiter, who laughed at me, called me a sucker and told me to go complain to the CEO.

So I did. I wrote him a very polite letter, explaining that I was terribly embarrassed to be bothering him with such a little thing, but I was told to contact him by this recruiting guy to sort out this misunderstanding. The CEO actually (and to his credit) called me that same afternoon and he had obviously looked me up and found that I was a complete nobody. But he kept it very short and to the point, basically saying that the corporate philosophy of the bank he was in charge of was very, very important and if that was what had been promised me, then that was what I would get. He then said that I should make an appointment with the head of HR and explain the situation to her. It got sorted out after a chat with the head of HR, who asked if I was happy in my job. I admitted that I didn’t find it terribly challenging, but I understood that you need to gather experience before moving on to more interesting jobs. She asked me about my background and the kind of things I have worked on in the past and asked if I would like to move to a rather more interesting job. Young as I was, I said “sure” without even knowing what it was. That same day I was transferred away from my boring job and started running a special projects team, reporting directly to… yep, the CEO. For quite a bit more than double the trainee salary. It was an… interesting decade.

Oh – I found out later that the recruiter got fired. I wasn’t exactly sad to see him go, but that hadn’t been my intention, and I felt bad about it.

Turned out okay for me…

CHINA is INSANE! (First Day in Shanghai)

How significant is Southeast Asia as a potential market for Comac’s C919 compared to other regions?

The c919 is optimized for regional service. Its entry into SEA will begin with Chinese airlines operating flights between SEA and China, provided the countries accept the type and airworthiness certification of the CAAC.

Since all 3 narrow bodies (a320, b737, c919) use the same leap family of engines, nothing much separate them in terms of operational efficiency, although the c919, being the more modern airframe, is a little lighter, and optimized for cargo duty.

Where the Chinese can be competitive is delivery time lines, cost and the speed of iteration. We will see the gradual indigenization of key components from engines to avionics, as comac develops superclusters of aviation suppliers.

SEA is 650m today, the same size as Europe. Reaching Europe’s level of connectivity will require plenty more planes, which the c919 is well positioned to serve.

But that’s in the future. The c919 order book will take the next decade to clear, and this will be a good time for the model to build a safety record, as well as a service network.

Pirate Art

AMAZING Animals Reacting to Music

Why would Taiwan not be another Ukraine in case China attacks Taiwan?

Bill Chen

Ukraine was shelling Russian majority Donbas for 8 years, killing and maiming thousands. Two treaties signed and witnessed by multiple stakeholders failed to put a stop to the killing.

There was Minsk, and Minsk ii, which as Angela recalled, were deceitful instruments to buy Ukraine time to build up its military.

Now, are the Taiwanese killing mainlanders with heavy arms today? Is the substantial Taiwanese population on the mainland living under discrimination and fear?

There is no enmity between the Chinese, yes, CHINESE on both sides of the straits.

The quarrel all along has been which system should be in charge.

I keep in regular contact with my Taiwanese friends. Despite the intense military drills which has showcased the ability of the mainland to blockade Taiwan, Taiwanese society has not mobilized on a war footing. There is no trepidation for an inevitable war in the foreseeable future, or the urgency to prepare for one.

In fact, SOPs to identify and challenge mainland contacts have been scaled down, because the intensity is just too hot to handle.

Taiwan’s replacement youth will shrink 40% in the coming years. Schools have closed and class size have come down. And yet wages remain depressed even in downtown Taipei.

Is Taiwan in the mood for war?

I figure not.

Now look at the mainland side and the capabilities coming online. There is a queue for university graduates to join the pla, while regular drills mobilizing civilian assets to assist in the war effort occur in the provinces closest to Taiwan. This includes provisions for the evacuation and care for mass casualty, as civilian infrastructure is degraded.

The Chinese are prepared to absorb Gaza level of destruction.

Is it true that Chinese people now have a high standard of living?

Not high standard of living.but I am satisfied with the following aspects of China:

1. Safety: It is extremely safe.

2. The transportation, electricity, internet, and other conveniences are all very reliable.

3. Education and Medical: The quality of Education is high and the cost is low. As long as you have good grades and are willing to learn, being from a poor family is not a big problem.Medical care is similar to education in terms of quality and affordability.

4. Industrial Products: There is a wide variety, and they are inexpensive and high-quality. On platforms like Taobao, you can find almost anything, and orders arrive the next day.

5. Convenience: For example, when buying an air conditioner, installation is free, with only a small fee for transportation, usually around twenty to thirty dollars.

Some people call this exploitation of delivery or installation workers, but that’s not entirely accurate. In another scenario, when workers fall ill, medical care is also cheap and fast, even though doctors need to spend 24 years studying.

6. Food: It is cheap and fresh, especially vegetables and fruits. Beef was a bit expensive before, but this year it has dropped nearly 50%. Some say it’s because Argentina exports a lot of beef to China.

I think this is not entirely good, as I’ve heard that many cattle farmers are suffering significant losses this year. The government should subsidize them.

Most Disappointing Aspects:

Housing Prices and Rent: Especially in big cities. For example, a 120-square-meter house in the suburbs of Beijing might cost around 800,000~900,000 dollars, which is too high given the income levels of Chinese people.

Nearby, there used to be three bookstores and several restaurants, but recently they have all closed. This is because a new subway line is about to be completed, and the landlord, anticipating increased foot traffic, shamelessly raised the rent threefold.

After the negotiations broke down, the merchants had no choice but to close their businesses. The bookstore owner, whom I really liked, said with resignation that during the negotiations, the landlord used the “six-character mantra” —爱租租，不租滚！(If you want renting, rent; if not, Get out!)

I can accept the closure of restaurants, but it s really upsetting to see bookstores closeing.

These 3 bookstores have been a part of my life for 18 years; I used to spend several hours every week browsing these bookstores.

The only consolation is that they also sell online, so I can still buy books from them online.

But I still prefer to go to physical bookstores, flipping through books and deciding whether to buy them.

One of these bookstores has a warehouse not too far from my home—just a 1.5-hour bicycel ride away. I’m still willing to ride my bike there to browse and purchase books.

Exorbitant rent is just too damaging for physical stores

A friend of mine summed it up very well:

In cities like Beijing and Shanghai, if you solve the housing problem, everything else is a small issue. But if you can’t solve the housing problem, every issue becomes a big problem.

Overall, aside from housing prices and rent, especially in big cities, I think things are still pretty good, considering how large the country is and how poor it used to be.

Col. Douglas Macgregor : US Dangerous Foreign Policy

What are some mind-blowing facts about the U.S. military during WW2?

Originally Answered: What are some mind blowing facts about the US military during WW2?

Throughout the war, the U.S. Navy lost 2 battleships, 5 aircraft carriers, 6 escort aircraft carriers, 7 heavy cruisers, 3 light cruisers, 65 destroyers, 52 submarines and a myriad of other ships. However, only one captain – Charles B. McVay of the heavy cruiser Indianapolis – was court-martialed for losing a ship in action against the enemy. If the names sound familiar, it’s most likely because Indianapolis was the ship that carried the atomic bomb “Little Boy” to the U.S. Airforce base at Tinian Island.

main qimg 7953e9e9a82a8f72529fd2e29f96b41d lq

Two days after delivering the bomb, Indianapolis received orders to proceed to Leyte Gulf in the Philippines. Captain Charles B. McVay requested a destroyer escort against Japanese submarines but higher-ups assured him that it would not be necessary because – they said – there was no enemy submarine in the area. Four days later on 30 July 1945, Indianapolis was spotted and torpedoed by the Japanese submarine I-58. The U.S. cruiser sank in less than 15 minutes. Some 300 of the total 1,196 sailors went down with the ship, the other 900 – with few lifeboats and life jackets among them – suffered dehydration, exposure, hypernatremia, and shark attacks for nearly 4 days before they were found and rescued on 2 August. By then, only 317 crewmen were alive.

“Higher-ups” should have had better intelligence about enemy activity in the area (In fact, just six days prior to the sinking of the Indianapolis, the destroyer Underhill had been attacked and sunk in the area by Japanese submarines but McVay was never informed of it.) They should have given Indianapolis a destroyer escort when McVay requested it. They should have tracked the ship more closely so that its sinking and survivors could have been noted much earlier.

But instead of blaming themselves, they made McVay scapegoat and put him on trial with the charge of failing to zigzag in good visibility. The facts that 1) the weather was actually particularly bad, 2) McVay had discretionary authority to zigzag or not and 3) the Japanese submarine commander later testified that he could have sunk even a zigzagging Indianapolis – all meant nothing to the court.

The court-martial humiliated and devastated McVay. Vicious letters and phone calls from grief-stricken relatives of dead crewmen who’d served aboard the Indianapolis didn’t help either. On 6 November 1968, McVay committed suicide with his service pistol. It wasn’t until the year 2000 that McVay was vindicated by Congress.

What was the biggest scandal at your high school?

The cops arrived at our school one afternoon. Moments later, we saw our principal being taken out in handcuffs.

main qimg 832c329c58028ff657224ec7d354a666 lq

Dana Goodman was under arrest for having a sexual relationship with an underage girl. In our rural community, the future farmers association was an important school group on campus. The president of the FFA was a sweet and friendly girl. She was well adjusted and popular among her friends, and generally having a great time at high school. Until her principal started talking to her more.

Mr. Goodman seemed like an alright principal. African Americans were honestly underrepresented in the administration, so for some this was grounds for positive receival. He dressed well, talked politely, and did his job fairly well. But occasionally he would make comments. Once at a school assembly he said something in front of the whole school about ‘homely’ girls. The first indication he was noticing the physical appearance of his female high school students.

Rumors were flying that he was friendly with the cheerleading coach, a teacher who was just a few years younger than him. But then there were other rumors. And then there was evidence. Not just a young girls brave decision to go to police, but used condoms and fluids tossed carelessly into a classroom trash bin.

Fast forward to the afternoon when the cops showed up. Students were not told directly what was going on. But more than a thousand faces were peering out all the windows, some cracking jokes, some shocked, some who already knew.

After the whole scandal, we learned that Goodman’s leadership apparently led others down the same route and two other teachers were also arrested for relationships with students.

That was the biggest scandal at our high school, but the biggest scandal outside of it? Goodman got his 15 year sentence reduced to four and he is already a free man once again.

Crab-Stuffed Catfish with Parmesan Crust

Yield: 4 servings

Ingredients

4 U.S. Farm-Raised Catfish Fillets
2 tablespoons butter
1/2 cup onion, diced
2 cloves garlic, minced
1 cup white wine
1 pound lump crab meat
2 cups Parmesan, grated (divided)
2 tablespoons chives, chopped (divided)
2 tablespoons olive oil
Salt and pepper to taste

Instructions

Melt butter in medium, nonstick skillet over medium-high heat.
Add onions and garlic and sauté until translucent. Add wine and simmer until mixture is almost dry. Add lump crab meat, season with salt and pepper, and cook for 2 minutes.
Remove from heat and cool in refrigerator for 2 to 3 hours until completely chilled. Once chilled, fold in 1/2 cup Parmesan and 1 tablespoon chopped chives to crab mix.
Using a sharp knife, butterfly each fillet lengthwise horizontally as evenly as possible. Place 2 to 3 tablespoons of crab mixture on bottom half of catfish, being careful not to overfill. Fold top of catfish over to cover stuffing.
Season stuffed catfish with salt and pepper. Dip fillets into remaining grated Parmesan, coating evenly.
Heat a large nonstick skillet over medium-high heat and add olive oil. Carefully sauté catfish until a golden brown crust is formed. Turn catfish over and cook for an additional 3 minutes.
Garnish fillets with remaining chives.

Why are so many counties joining Russia and China to de-dollarize their economy and trade?

Because the US government has been irresponsible on deficit and debt.

Soon or later, either the US would go bankruptcy, or it would solve the problem by having a war.

Acient money has actual value. It was usally made from precious metals such as gold, silver, and blonze.

Modern money is a credit, and is endorsed by the government to have virtual value.

When a government over releases money, it would create huge inflation. Not 10%, not 20%, but 1000% or 10000%.

With a full pack of money, you may be able to purchase a pack of cigarette.

In 2023 alone, the US government over-spent 1.7 trillion USD, which it has to borrow from others, domestic or foreign investors.

With the uncontrollabe over-spending, the national debt went up too.

It has just reached 35 trillion, and is about 100 thousand per US citizen.

There is no way that the US government could repay the debt in the foreseeable future, because US government is still creating more deficit every year.

Even the interest of the national debt in 2024 will be around 0.9 trillion.

With an annual revenue of over 4 trillion USD, US government would have to owe more money year by year.

To attract more people and organizations to purchase US tresury, the interest rate must be raised. With higher interest, the US government will have a higher annual expenditure, which will make the deficit bigger, so that the US government will have to release even more treasury.

It’s a typical vicious circle.

It would be impossible to increase government revenue, since it’s mostly tax.

It would be also impossible to lower the government expenditure, since too many people are making their benefit out of it.

See? They are going to spend more by borrowing more.

If it was any other country, its economy would be collapsed.

According to Ta Kung Pao in 16 Aug 1948:

Just within the first half of August,

food price increased 3.9 MILLION times
housing price increased 0.77 MILLION times
clothing price increased 6.52 MILLION times

It was because the KMT/ROC government tried to release new currency to replace the old one.

The exchang ratio was 1 Chinese gold yuan (new) to 200 old fiat currency.

According to the statistics, only 200 million CGY was enought to exchange all the old currency released, but KMT printed 2 billion CGY. The extra CGY was a disaster from the begining.

By the time people realized the government having no ability to control goods prices, all prices went up like crazy.

Someone went to buy boxes of antibiotics. The seller told him that this has no use if no one’s injured or infected. Buyer said that he didn’t give a damn. He bought them only because they were expensive.

Even shoes were all bought, regardless the size.

I am not sure if this reminds western people about something.

Like I said, if it was any other country, the economy would be collapsed already.

However, it’s the US.

According to the Modern Money Theory, the biggest export product of the US is the US dollar.

While other countries had to work hard selling goods, just to make some money to buy from other countries, the US just sit in a chairt and type some numbers into the computer, and here is the money.

US dollar is the biggest international settlement currency.

In a period, having USD is more important than having goods. Because no country can produce everything, and USD can get you goods from the market.

So the US spends USD printed out of thin air and receive goods with actual value. During the process, the US released its internal inflation to the world.

Comparing to its internal market, the global market is much bigger and is able to contain more USD. By over-release the same amount of money, the US has the world trading to absorb its inflation, while other countries had to afford it on themselves.

However, like I presented above, national debt of the US has reached a scary high level, because there is only a certain amount of USD can be transfered from US internal market to the outside world.

Because the capitalists cannot just share their benefit to the general public, so most people still have about the same salary, which makes the total disposable money in the US a rather stable number. That’s how much the US can buy, and how much the US can export its inflation to the world.

Soon or later, countries around the world would have to face the fact that economy of the US is beyond being repairable.

When that moment came, USD will become toilet paper. Whoever still holding huge amount will be fucked totally.

It happened once when the US claimed to abandon Bretton Woods system. In that system, the USD has a fixed exchange rate with gold, which is 35USD to 1 ounce gold. The US wanted to release more USD, because the total amount of gold doesn’t change fast, not as fast as the international trading.

To its allies, mostly European countries, denying the value of USD meant the USD they were holding would become toilet paper. So they chose to recognize the value of USD even when it has no connection to gold anymore.

But this time, China decided to not tolerate the irresponsible child act of the US.

China has been trying to establish a new trading system based on goods rather than any specific curreny.

Purpose of doing international tradings should not be “to earn some USD so that I could buy stuff”, but “I have goods, so I can eventually change it into something I need”.

It should be a multilateralist system instead of unilateralist.

In the current system, being kicked out from SWIFT by the US means not being able to buy vital stuff from the world, such as vaccine. Iran had this problem at early stage of COVID-19 pandemic, and Russia also had this problem right after the Ukraine War.

In addtion, the US in recent years has been more and more aggressive.

As the single pole of the world, it acted like a spoiled kid, to sanction whichever it dislike.

It created so many enemies. There are so many of them that they can actually establish their own circle.

If the emenies of the US can surive on their own, then there is even less excuse for them to keep using USD.

I think white house would be happy about it, since they are so eager to totally decouple with China.

UNFORGIVEN (1992) Movie Reaction w/ Coby FIRST TIME WATCHING

Shorpy

Why do so many Americans have a problem with alcohol?

Drinking is a large part of adult culture in the United States. Although I have gone long periods of my adult life without drinking, I have never given drinking up completely because I have realized it makes social situations more awkward.

Some people get really uncomfortable if they are drinking and not everyone else at the table is drinking. It’s also a time-honored tradition to conduct certain business meetings in informal sessions that sometimes feature drinking. Additionally, sports, holidays, and cookouts usually involve alcohol.

In my family, this isn’t a problem really. A few weeks ago we had a family gathering and a close friend came with me. She remarked how no one in my family drinks at all or does any drugs except me. First of all, survivorship bias is apparent. Secondly, because there have been so many people with substance abuse issues in my family, drinking or smoking marijuana, although perfectly legal, are nearly taboo. Our family gatherings are usually completely devoid of alcohol, because nearly everyone in my close family gave up drinking in any form years ago or never developed an interest. We never tell our guests one way or another that they can’t bring drinks, but if they do, they’re usually the odd man out.

Although I used to be a nearly daily drinker, these days I no longer prefer to drink as the main way I relax after a rough day. Increasingly, I am not the only one. Many young people are putting aside alcohol in favor of more holistic hobbies that don’t take such a toll on the body and mind. Going to a local adult arcade or bar and ordering a mocktail or alcohol free beer isn’t that unusual around here these days.

THE MATRIX (1999) Movie Reaction w/Coby FIRST TIME WATCHING

What was the first “green flag” you noticed in your partner?

My husband is a very shy man. So much so, that when we went out on a first date, he barely even looked at me. I very reluctantly accepted to go out on a second date, which ended up being pretty much the same. This led me to believe that there’s just no chemistry between us, and that it’s best we end it at that point. I really liked him, but didn’t want to get hurt as I thought he might be an emotionally unavailable person. My husband’s reaction was to say:

“Ok, this makes me very sad, but if you don’t think going out with me makes sense, there’s just no point going forward. However, may I ask for a reason?”

I have to admit I was surprised hearing such a response. Men I tried dating would typically get very angry, insult me, curse at me, or say something to humiliate me, which made me wary of rejecting someone openly.

I explained to him how I felt, to which my husband said that he actually likes me a lot, but is extremely shy, and that if I would like to go out with him again, he would be more open. On our third date he greeted me with a big grin and a warm hug and from then on we were inseparable.

So the first “green flag” in my partner was his ability to calmly accept rejection without perceiving that his ego has been hurt.

Space Burns

Stevie Aldrich

“CONKLIN!” Havaderr wailed. His face was the brightest red and steaming with heat. The veins in his neck throbbed noticeably, but he waited as still as he could for Conklin to answer. A buzz came in over the intercom above Havaderr’s head.

“Hey, was that you shouting, Havaderr?” Conklin’s voice crackled with static and attitude. Havaderr shut his eyes and repeated his Zen mantra in his head.

“Havaderr? What’s your problem?”

Havaderr’s eyes opened, and in the most even tone he could manage; he said his mantra out loud.

“I am calm. I am calm. I can overcome this. I am strong. I am strong. I can overcome anything.” Havaderr spoke through gritted teeth, spittle flying across the room as he focused on keeping his anger inside rather than shouting and blowing the place up with Conklin inside.

“Hey guy, are you going to answer me or what?” Conklin’s voice implied his own rising impatience. Havaderr moved to the button on the wall nearest him to respond.

“Yes, Conklin, I was shouting,” Havaderr said as evenly as his rage would allow. “Get your ass to 4A NOW!” As he trailed off, he clenched his teeth together so hard he felt a grinding that might as well have been a tooth chipping. Before Conklin’s reply came, Havaderr heard an irritated sigh over the intercom.

“Yeah, be right ther-.” Conklin barely finished his sentence before releasing the button, cutting himself off at the end.

Moments later, a door slid open down the hall, several yards away from Havaderr. Conklin came into the hall, looking both ways before spotting Havaderr.

“What the hell, why are you shouting and-“ Havaderr cut Conklin off with a finger to his mouth to silence him.

“I’m going to show you something in this room behind me, and it’s best if your mouth is shut when I do.” Havaderr’s voice wavered, he was still trying to control his anger. Conklin looked confused as ever but kept his mouth shut. With a worried expression, Conklin followed Havaderr to another door. Havaderr stood aside and opened the door for Conklin to enter alone. Conklin stood in the doorway staring, then Havaderr shoved him wholly into the room from behind and closed the door.

“Havaderr, what’s going on? What the fu-ahhhh!” The intercom inside the restroom was unnecessary, but Havaderr appreciated it right now. He would have heard Conklin screaming from quite a distance, but hearing Conklin’s disgust and horror in surround sound was more pleasing. A slice of anger slid off his shoulders and a small smile appeared on his face.

The door rattled, clearly Conklin on the other side trying to burst through, but Havaderr held the lock button, keeping Conklin trapped inside.

“What kind of game is this Havaderr? Let me out, for Christ’s sake!” Conklin was panicking, releasing more anger from Havaderr’s shoulders and filling his belly with laughter.

“This is no game, friend. This is you coming face to face with your own incompetence,” Havaderr said over the intercom, still smiling.

“Havaderr! Let me out of here!” Conklin screamed and started ramming the door again.

“I don’t think so, Conklin. If you look to the left of the door, I’ve been kind enough to set you up with plenty of cleaning supplies for the job, which is a lot more than you did for me. I’d suggest you start tackling that shit before it starts tackling you.” Havaderr exploded with laughter, letting go of the intercom and floating backward as he held onto his stomach. He laughed so hard he couldn’t breathe. Conklin kept banging on the door and pleading to be released, but Havaderr couldn’t hear anything over the roar of his own hysteria.

Curled up in fetal position, floating in the hallway, Havaderr worked himself out of his fits of laughter. He wiped the joyful tears from his eyes and started breathing normally again. He moved back to the intercom.

“Look mate, this restroom was in your sector to clean. Obviously, you did a piss poor job,” Havaderr grabbed his side, holding the laughter in after such a quality pun. “I told you, cleaning the restrooms would be the most important job, because if it isn’t done right, this happens. Floating excrement!” Conklin didn’t say anything, but Havaderr heard him kick or punch the door.

“I’ll take your silence as admitting you did a sloppy job the first time. You know, I needed to do some business, and I walk into the restroom greeted with a turd to the face, which I’m assuming belonged to you, so I have no sympathy for you right now. Clean the damn restroom like you were supposed to, and I’ll let you out.” Havaderr waited for a response. He was eager to shower off the stench and stain of human waste from himself before finishing his day.

“Yeah, alright,” Conklin said over the intercom, sounding defeated and guilty. Havaderr nodded his head and left Conklin to figure out how to clean a restroom with feces floating freely throughout.

“Like I said, not a drop of sympathy for you. Do it right the first time, and we won’t run into stupid problems like that,” Havaderr said coolly, scrubbing at the built-up muck in the corners of the glass.

Conklin was still cranky from cleaning the restroom the day before, and he meant to let Havaderr know just how little he appreciated the tactless way he was pushed into the situation without warning.

“Chin up, Conklin. We have one more day before our shift is over, and we can get the hell off this floating heap of death,” Havaderr motioned toward the clear chambers that housed the comatose bodies of several crew members, one of which whose glass he was scrubbing.

“Remind me, what’s up with these bodies? They’re dead, yeah?” Conklin asked.

“No, they’re alive, they’re the crew, dumbass,” Havaderr grunted at Conklin. He looked over to see Conklin hovering around the main dashboard, not a rag or mop near him. “And I wouldn’t mind if you got to work while you asked your questions,” he barked. Conklin jumped and reached for a rag tucked into a closed bucket tethered nearby. He started mindlessly wiping at the dashboard without paying close attention.

“Okay, but how come they’re asleep?” Conklin asked. Havaderr sighed as he paused and rolled his eyes.

“Do I look like the Captain of this ship? All I know is, this crew is traveling some number of lightyears, so the ship has been programed for regular stops near inhabited planets for maintenance and cleaning. We drew the short straw, so we get to hop from the ship we were on previously, to this one, and then another one before heading back home. Nobody else was this far out into deep space to do the job, so we get a long shift before our break. At least they’re paying us over time, eh?” Havaderr smiled at the thought of a paycheck double its usual amount. He looked in on the half-naked man inside the tube he was cleaning, tapping on the glass with his knuckle and laughing at how strange the sight was.

Air escaped the edges of the door, and it hissed loudly. The smile fell from Havaderr’s face as he scanned the chamber looking for an explanation. The door swung open and the half-naked man floated out as if to follow. Thankfully, he was attached to a few tubes that kept him reigned in and asleep, but the color left Havaderr’s face once he realized that would only last for so long.

Havaderr turned to Conklin, who looked just as confused.

“He just-just-he-“ Havaderr stuttered, unable to decide what he was trying to say. The man’s feet flew upward so his back was parallel to the floor and his right side dipped down. Slowly, he started to spin, so he was upside down. All the while, Havaderr and Conklin stared without any clue how to fix it.

“Did you touch something?” Havaderr shouted at Conklin, who shook his head wordlessly.

“I didn’t touch anything!” Havaderr went back to staring at the half-naked man, perplexed. After a minute, Havaderr decided they couldn’t leave the man like that.

“Get over here and help me with this!” He yelled at Conklin. Still silent, Conklin moved toward Havaderr and the unconscious man. Havaderr and Conklin wore their gravity belts at 85% power to keep from floating off like the man from the tube, but it allowed them a bit more mobility too. Unfortunately, they didn’t have any extras to strap to the man, so he continued to spin and flip through the air.

One of the wires connecting the man to his casket snapped, leaving only one left to keep him from flying down the corridor and into every other part of the ship. Havaderr and Conklin shared a look of fear but said nothing.

Havaderr grabbed the man’s knees and tried to pull them down so the man was right side up, but as he pulled, the man’s whole body moved toward Havaderr. Conklin remained motionless, watching the unconscious body float into Havaderr. Havaderr struggled and groped, trying his very best to wrangle the helpless man, but even his best efforts left him with the man’s body bumping into him clumsily. He accidentally grabbed the man’s buttocks, and the man’s armpit swung around and slapped him in the face. All in all, it reminded Conklin of two young people at their first school dance, trying not to step on each other.

Conklin covered the smile on his face, but the more Havaderr fought with the floating man and lost, the more the urge to laugh rose in his belly. When the man launched a foot directly into Havaderr’s eye, Conklin lost it. With one hand on the man’s shoulder and his other arm wrapped around the man’s torso, Havaderr stopped to see what was so funny to Conklin. He didn’t have to ask; he knew how he looked.

“Would you knock it off and help me! I don’t know what we disconnected, but that could be vital to this man’s life!” Havaderr tried to repeat his mantra in his head, but he couldn’t hear anything over Conklin’s laughter. Havaderr grumbled as he kept spinning the man back into position, with no help from Conklin, who was tumbling in circles on the other side of the room.

Finally, Havaderr got the man into his up-right position and back into the tube. As best as he could, he reattached the disconnected wires, but he couldn’t pull the door shut.

“Conklin! Find the button to close this door, hurry, before he tries to escape again!” Havaderr pleaded.

Conklin straightened up and moved to the dashboard he had been cleaning. On the first try, he hit a button, and the door closed, sealing itself. Havaderr wiped the sweat from his brow and looked at Conklin, a little puzzled. Conklin’s laughter died down, but when he saw Havaderr near collapse and panting, his laughter boiled over.

“What is wrong with you? Were you too busy finding this hilarious to help me save that man’s life?” Havaderr demanded, huffing and puffing.

“Calm down, he’s fine,” Conklin squeaked. “The buttons are clearly labeled on the dash here, see?” Conklin pointed to the dashboard. Havaderr saw buttons marked to open doors, close doors, start specific mechanisms, stop the same mechanisms, and a bunch of other things Havaderr didn’t understand. What he did think he understood, was how the door opened in the first place.

“Did you open his door on me?” Havaderr asked Conklin, the anger rising again.

“Yeah, mate, you should have seen the look on your face!” Conklin rolled over laughing.

“You idiot! You could have killed the man, we could be fired, what the hell is wrong with you?” Havaderr bellowed.

“Relax Havaderr, you’ll give yourself a stroke!” Conklin pulled himself together for a second, setting his feet back on the floor and pointing to the dashboard again.

“This here, that indicates their vital signs. You can see they’re all perfectly healthy, no harm done,” Conklin said matter-of-factly. Havaderr was flustered. He could only trust Conklin’s word, he had no idea what any of the lights or buttons meant on the dash.

“You couldn’t have known it would be okay, though. What if the tube that detached from his arm was something that kept him alive?” Havaderr exclaimed. Conklin rolled his eyes, irritated that Havaderr wasn’t figuring it out as easily as he was.

“All that tube did was give him pleasant dreams; it wasn’t important. He’ll live, and nobody need ever know you almost killed a man,” Conklin started to giggle again. Havaderr’s face turned tomato red and he clenched his fist, trying to fight the overwhelming desire to punch Conklin in the face.

“You did this on purpose?” Havaderr said, strained.

“Well, maybe don’t lock me in a room with floating shit again, and we’ll be fine,” Conklin smiled, feeling pleased with himself.

Crispy Catfish

Yield: 4 servings

Ingredients

2 tablespoons light Ranch dressing
2 large egg whites
6 tablespoons yellow cornmeal
1/4 cup grated Parmesan cheese
2 tablespoons all-purpose flour
1/4 teaspoon ground red pepper
1/8 teaspoon salt
4 catfish fillets
Cooking spray

Instructions

Heat oven to 425 degrees F.
Combine the dressing and egg whites in a small bowl and stir well with a whisk.
Combine the cornmeal, Parmesan cheese, flour, pepper and salt in a shallow dish.
Dip fish into egg white mixture, then dredge in cornmeal mixture. Place on baking sheet coated with cooking spray.
Bake for about 30 minutes or until lightly browned and fish flakes easily.
Serve with lemon wedges.

Are you guys aware of what’s happening in Myanmar?

Myanmar has long been in a state of de facto civil war.

The root cause lies in the Myanmar government’s blatant policy of ethnic discrimination. Citizens’ identification cards are divided into six levels by color, and the rights enjoyed decrease according to the level.

Only the Bamar people hold the first-level ID cards, which grant them the right to vote and be elected. This has led to 40% of the minority groups, who face varying degrees of discrimination, attempting armed resistance. There are over a dozen “ethnic local armed forces” spread across Myanmar. For decades, the Myanmar military government has tried to eradicate them completely but has never succeeded.

I am Chinese, so I will speak about the impact on China.

Border Security: In recent years, when the fighting spread to the China-Myanmar border, shells from both sides of the conflict crossed the border, hitting our schools and killing border civilians. After a stern protest from the Chinese government, such incidents have significantly decreased.
Refugees Crossing the Border: This is truly troublesome. As a Chinese person, I feel that some of these refugees may have a higher crime rate than local Chinese residents. China designated an area to provide humanitarian aid, but I heard that after the conflict subsided, tens of thousands of these refugees were sent back to Myanmar.
The Ultimate Solution: Building a Wall: The Chinese government quickly constructed a 500-kilometer border wall, consisting of 4 meters high barbed wire, non-lethal high voltage current，blades, cameras, and sensors, equipped with a loudspeaker warning system and remote shouting devices.This system can detect border crossers in the first instance, and border personnel can escort them back. The sensors are used to detect tunnels; when someone tries to dig a tunnel to cross the border wall, vibrations are captured, and an alarm is triggered.

This has nothing to do with humanitarianism, and everyone can understand this. I have heard that the United States has also built a wall on the Mexican border to prevent illegal crossings.

If the Myanmar military government does not abandon its severe ethnic discrimination policy, the situation in Myanmar will remain turbulent.

What is the nastiest thing you’ve done for revenge?

A woman came in with her 16 year old, overweight son, it matters, ro the big box store where I worked. He was starting a fast food job the next day, needed a blue, Oxford shirt. Well we had two sets of shirts. Regular sizes in sale, big sizes not in sale. When I measured the kid for a shirt turns out he needed a 171/2 neck, so I told Mama that the large size he needed wasn’t on sale. And they were all properly signed as such. So she gets pissy, it’s 8:pm, we close at 9:pm. So I take the shirts out of packages, have him try them and we find kne he can wear. Now she says to me (this was 35 years go) Greta this is in sale for $8. I said no it’s not on sale, it’s a big men’s size and they are $10, regular price. She starts in in me, I didn’t argue, I just reiterated that it was $10, I couldn’t change the the price. Well she gets Sonny by the arm and marches him out to go about 100 yards to another small regional chain department store we had in town. It’s now 8:40pm, both stores close at 9. So I’m hacked off because she really was obnoxious, the son is embarrassed terribly. So she marches out the door. I took every shirt in his size and one size larger and put them in the stockroom hidden in a fruit of the loom men’s briefs box I found empty. I left them for 4 days then brought them out again. This wasn’t the kids fault, as you’d expect, kids do everything last minute, his mother made him apply for the job, he for it and they had a late interview. Hence arriving at 8:pm. But they wanted him to start the next day so her whole works was getting turned upside down. Don’t take it out on me lady. There were 4 shirts I hid. Over those few days, I was off one. Apparently she came in while I was off and have someone else a hard time. I didn’t and still don’t care.

If a US Marine was to join the French Foreign Legion, how much easier would they find the basic training?

I was a Marine Recruiter in 1992 and I walked into the Social Security Office to get a SSN verification for one of my recruits.

The guy behind the counter tells me that he was a Force Recon Marine and I told him that I was a Recon Marine as well. We start comparing stories and he had been to Amphibious Recon School, Scout Swimmer, Scuba, Jump, Free-fall.

As it turned-out he knew quite a few people that I knew who were sort of legends in the Recon Community.

I asked him how long he had been in? He told me, “8 years.” Then I asked him,” Why did you get out if you already did two enlistments? “

He said that he got out to join the French Foreign Legion. I said, “How was that?”

He said verbatim, “It made Force [Recon] seem like Sunday School. “

He said that he had to do everything all over again Infantry, Jump, Scuba, Free fall. He told me that he he eventually made into the Parachute Commando Regiment.

main qimg 03d43102cbc5e48d0bbf58e96c1c63d3

*UPDATE EDIT. I remember an incident that I witnessed in Saudi Arabia during Desert Shield/Desert Storm.

We were waiting in line to take field showers at the Division Service Support Group (DSSG) area when a group of Legionaries drove up in their rickety jeeps.

One of the junior guys is so excited to be getting a shower, that he hops in line with us while forgetting to take his rifle with him.

A few moments later, his Sergeant comes running-up and starts yelling at him in French. Then, he proceeds to start beating the guy. He almost beat the dude unconscious at which point a whole bunch of Marines intervened.

As a LCpl, I was pretty shocked by what I witnessed. I’m pretty sure that the rest of us Marines were stunned including several Staff NCO’s and Officers who also happened to be standing in line.

I saw a couple of FFL Officers drive-up soon after and they were yelling at the Sergeant in French and then they all get in their vehicles and drove off.

My assumption is what we witnessed wasn’t supposed to have occurred in public and that it was supposed to have taken place “behind closed doors.”

Admit the truth

Emotional. Even I feel it here.

Why does it seem that kids love their parents until they become teenagers?

This is probably the only time I’ll post a picture of myself…

main qimg 3cbcbe9e426242c9abd13278ba5b461c lq

But I think I was a pretty cute little kid. I was a good little kid. I listened to everything my mom told me.

No dad in my life? No problem- I had mom. Never saw kids outside of school? Mom was enough for me. Wasn’t allowed outside by myself? Mom says it’s for the best, so it has to be for the best.

I didn’t question anything until I was around eight years old.

The first thing I started questioning was my father. Where was he? Why didn’t I have a dad like all the other kids? Why doesn’t he want me?

My father had walked out of my life when I was six (he hadn’t actually been there since I was three, really).

Even my new step dad couldn’t stop these feelings inside me- I wanted to know him. Something inside of me craved to know him so badly.

Day after day I would beg my mother and step father- they continued to ask why and say no. I cried to them- it made no difference. The answer was no.

Well, when I was eleven, no wasn’t enough for me. I called him and arranged a visit anyway.

And that’s when the fighting started.

I wasn’t a good kid anymore. I started complaining about the chores I had to do- it wasn’t fair- none of the other kids have to do as many chores as I do.

But the another common fight we had was about friends. I was never allowed out. There was no reasonable explanation- Mom said I wasn’t, so I wasn’t.

But that wasn’t enough for me anymore.

It was the same thing with a cellphone, the technology, the food I wanted to eat, the people I wanted to hang out with, the books I wanted to read, even the music I listened to.

But no just isn’t enough anymore.

I don’t think parents stop loving their kids. I think that parents just stop liking their kids. What parents don’t understand is that their kids are going to grow up- they’re not going to stay obedient and docile forever.

One day mom and dad’s “No” won’t be enough. You’ll have to have reasons to back up your answers.

I know my parents love me. But I also know that they didn’t really want a kid- they weren’t ready.

I love my parents and I hope my siblings turn out better than I did.

Are all these UFOs an Alien Invasion or has Project Blue Beam finally begun?

Little beatnik MM goes a bongoing

When I was a young boy, living in Bridgeport, Connecticut, my father would sometimes take we with him and my mom as they were still a young married couple, and still “going out”.

One day, they took myself and my sister, and went for a long drive to the center of town. Perhaps Hartford, or some other similar city. And we got out of the car and entered this small restaurant, or coffee house kind of establishment.

We piled into a corner and mom and dad seemed so out of place.

Everyone there was dressed so oddly. Many were wearing sunglasses, and it was dark outside. There was a couple of women playing bongos, and lots of people chain smoking cigarettes. There were a lot of guys with black pointy goatees, and wearing berets. And there was a raised stage where others took turns strumming guitars and singing, or reading poetry.

Beatnik Fashion Guide Embracing the Beatnik Style. 930x620 — Beatnik Fashion Guide Embracing the Beatnik Style. 930×620

Lots of guys wore black plants with loafers.The girls all seemed to wear these ridiculous wide pants, and tight striped tops. Lots of black turtleneck tops.

Yup. You guessed it.

My folks took me to a beatnik hangout.

We all are well aware that the late 1940s and early 1950s epitomized conformity, with dullness in everything, from food to clothes. Significantly, men’s fashion suffered typical neutral-colored suits, cardigan sweaters, or button-down shirts.

Where there is conformity, rebellion is inevitable, bringing the 60s beatnik fashion. A radical transformation by artists, musicians, and novelists took America by storm, and their effortless yet non-conformist fashion style was coined “Beatnik” by a news columnist in 1958.

It wasn’t ground breaking or anything like that. In fact, I just wanted to go home as I was bored out of my mind. But my parents apparently thought that it was good to endure three or four hours of this pompous environment. And so we did.

This was a long time ago, and I don’t remember much, but it was a bunch of fake people pretending to impress other fake people about imaginary chips on their shoulders.

And that is all that I have to say about that.

Today…

What offends Germans the most?

I am not German but my partner is and based on observing him, his friends, family, etc I can say that an underlying theme of fairness pervades German values.

Therefore, rules are followed in Germany because the premise is they were designed to be fair. Break rules and you are being unfair to someone else who follows them.

Sell something to a German which is priced higher than its perceived worth, they will be furious and demand a refund. It’s about the principle not the money (many people stereotype Germans as being cheap, I see it as wanting a fair price. They don’t typically haggle if what is being sold seems to hold up to a qualitative test).

Show up late and you’ve wasted their time that they can’t get back. That’s unfair.

Go on a date and expect a German man to pay (looking at my fellow American ladies), that’s not egalitarian….or put another way: it’s unfair. Everyone should be able to take care of him or herself.

I could go on but you get the idea. Germans like fairness and that manifests in frugality, lawfulness, equanimity, punctuality, cleanliness, spirited debate, and order. If you want to offend a German, propose something that is unfair and you will get an earful and a (likely organized) laundry list of why they don’t agree!

EDIT: Because some people were writing xenophobic comments and/or broad generalizations about contemporary German people and trying to associate them with Nazism I closed the comments on my answer. It is unfortunate that a few rotten, hateful people ruined the discourse but I don’t have the time, energy, or interest to moderate bigots and I will not provide a platform for them to share their ignorant and vile opinions. If you want to say something stupid or go on a “whataboutism” tirade, do it on your own time on your own response to this question.

Have you ever completely snapped? If so what did you do?

I don’t know if you mean it in this sense, but many years ago I was about 13 I was short, overweight, no good at sports and not very skilled at self defense. One of the other boys in my class had been busy tormenting me for most of the day. We were walking past the male teachers lounge on our way to the gym and he flicked my ear, it wasn’t really painful but it was the last straw. I grabbed the collar of his blazer and threw him against the wall. He was about 6 in taller than me fitter and one of the up-and-coming young rugby stars of the school. As the slid down the wall I jumped on him and grabbed his throat and started to strangle him, I might even have been bouncing his head off the floor, I don’t really remember, according to the games master who was in the staff room it took him and the other games teacher plus the German master to pull me off him, I don’t remember that either, not really, they actually had to pick me up and I was gripping him so strongly that I dragged him with us for a couple of yards. After we were separated, again from the games masters testimony I went absolutely limp. Two things I do know about the ear flicker, he was taken to the hospital and he never ever bothered me again.

What happened to me? I was taken to the sick room to calm down in the company of two of the teachers and from there to the headmasters office. That is where I was told what I had done. I was kept out lessons for the rest of the day and after school there was, I guess you could call it a trial, the game’s masters told what had happened, other teachers were there as character witnesses I suppose you would call them and testified as to how completely out of character that behavior was. I said what had been happening for most of that day and that I had no real recollection of what I had done. I was let off with a warning due to my previous good conduct. When I got home my parents knew what had happened so I suppose there must have been a phone call. But apart from that I think I got off pretty much got off Scott free.

Piers Morgan Gets SCHOOLED Like A Child On Ukraine By Jeffrey Sachs!

In China, can you look at the Sun? The air is so polluted.

First time I went to China I brought some dust masks. However, I was a bit surprised when I arrived and saw none of the signs of the terrible smog I had been warned against.

There was a clear blue sky over Shanghai and I thought I had been lucky to arrive on one exceptionally clear day.

Since then I have travelled a lot in China and visited tens of both large and smaller cities. Some places like Beijing and some industrial cities have polluted air especially in the winter, but my impression is that this problem has been much exaggerated in the western media. I do not bring dust masks anymore.

The air pollution I have seen is comparable to what we experienced in the west in the 1970-ties, and I think it is not as bad as it was in East-Europe in the 1980-ies.

Can a sailor go AWOL on a ship, and has anyone done that (some ships are pretty big)?

When I was a Division Officer in USS John F. Kennedy (CV67) one of my enterprising sailors did just that.

He had been assigned to S2M Division for a tour of Mess Cooking. The protocol was to check IN to the Supply Department, then check OUT of the parent division. With this particular transfer happening on a long weekend, my genius convinced the Duty Engineer to let him check OUT of the Engineering Department first. He then went on his merry way, not bothering to check into the Supply Department.

For the next three months, he came to the Division Office to pick up his paycheck every two weeks, and the Supply Officer frequently complained that Engineering was not supplying the requisite number of Mess Cooks. Eventually the Supply Officer and the Chief Engineer compared rosters and noted that they didn’t match.

The jig was up; my guy was busted. The Captain wanted to send him to a Special Court-Martial. The hero of the story got a smart lawyer, and pointed out that in court he would emphasize that the sailor slept in his own bunk every night, picked up his paycheck every payday, and would have performed whatever duties assigned to him.

CO cancelled the court-martial, and took the sailor to mast.

Failing to show up for duty, but not actually leaving, is unauthorized absence, or UA. Leaving the premises without leave is AWOL. Both situations are covered by UCMJ Article 86.

Sailor Moon – 1950’s Super Panavision 70

A evil woman

A woman who k’illed her husband for his wealth was met with the shock of her life after she discovered her husband had wittingly transferred his wealth to a trust.

Kouri Richins, a 33-year-old widowed mother of three, wrote a children’s book to help her bereaved sons deal with grief in the aftermath of their father’s sudden d’eath.

main qimg e74655d45675eb942d2c5eb6117eceb1

image: Pictures of Kouri Richins, and her husband

Now, only months after the book was published, she’s been charged with her husband’s m’urder. She is accused of poisoning his Moscow Mule with five times the lethal dosage of fentanyl.

Kouri was due to get access to his estate valued at $3.6million after his d’eath, according to the terms of a prenup. Under its terms, on Eric’s d’eath, pretty much everything would pass seamlessly to Kouri.

But fearing his wife might ‘k’ill him for the money’, he transferred his assets into a trust that he placed in control of his sister.

Footnotes:

Kouri Richins Charged With K’illing Husband After Writing a Book On how To Grief

From a 1-10 scale, how stupid are people who believe The Lost Cause of the Confederacy?

About an…. 8?

The Lost Cause of the Confederacy was pretty much standard U.S. history until very recently, and there’s still a strong undercurrent to preserve that in education in the American south even as university programs pretty much abandon it as a course of study.

The first serious academic works on the Lost Cause were published in 1866 – one year after the war ended. The author was Edward A. Pollard, who published a series of books on the theme from 1866 to 1868.

Everything Pollard put in his books was meticulously researched. The problem was that Pollard didn’t research anything that happened before 1866. Instead of relying on contemporaneous works from the start of the Civil War, he interviewed Confederate leaders and focused on their far more moderate post-war views, which were tempered by a large amount of ex post facto justification for their actions.

Pollard and his contemporaries established several themes that lasted over a century, such as:

The war wasn’t about slavery.
The South was fighting to preserve a way of life against overwhelming odds.
The antebellum South was a place of civility.
That slaves were content with their place in southern society
This situation actively facilitated the reunification of the country
Reconstruction, particularly giving blacks political rights, was an unmitigated disaster.

These writings largely led to the formation of the Southern Historical Society in 1869. Ostensibly an organization committed to preserving records and publishing memoirs, it soon started publishing only uncritical promotions of the Lost Cause, seeking vindication for the actions of the Confederacy.

Another influential author and lecturer was Thomas Dixon Jr., a racists and white supremacist whose allegations were accepted uncritically although nowadays it appears they were pretty much all fabricated. He wrote the book that was adapted into the film “Birth of a Nation”.

Southerners continued to publish works about the war well into the mid 20th century, and in pretty much every case they paved over the negative and accentuated the positive.

And a lot of this not only made it into standard history textbooks, but into serious academic work.

It’s really only been in the last 20 years that the Lost Cause has pretty much been challenged at every turn. One of the turning points was the 2003 film “Gods & Generals” which one critic called the most racist film since “Birth of a Nation”.

COST of LIVING in CHINA? 🇨🇳 INSANE APARTMENT TOUR in Chengdu (You won’t believe the price)

Have you ever eavesdropped and heard a conversation that terrified you?

When I was a teenager I lived with my mom and dad (before they divorced). Times got hard and for a while we stayed in a trailer that had no electricity or hot water. We lived in a swampy forest in Mississippi, no neighbors, lots of mud and trees. My dad worked about an hour away at an airport, so he was gone most of the time, leaving me home alone with my mother. She was extremely mentally ill- in and out of institutions, she had vivid hallucinations and delusions, and the darkness didn’t help. We never got along, and I was often the subject of her abuse and frustration. One night I was sitting in the living room with her waiting for my dad to come home from work. He called to see how we were doing and to tell us that he would be bringing home food, and then asked if I was home because sometimes I would go for walks (the room was so silent I could actually hear him on the other end). Instead of telling him that, yes, I was home and I was sitting right in front of her, she told him “No, she’s not home. The back gate is open. She must have run off somewhere.” It was like some scene from a horror film- she was sitting in a dark corner and all I could see of her was the reflection of her eyes staring at me darkly. I had the immediate sense that I was in danger, and thoughts of being actually murdered by my own mother raced through my mind. I got up and walked slowly to my room, shut the door, and called my dad to tell him what had just happened. He said “She’s really dangerous. You need to lock the door and hide under your blankets until I get home. I’ll be there soon.” He got home less than an hour later. Everything turned out fine and we never mentioned it again.

How would China react if the United States strategically missiles in Taiwan?

That is a “Red Line”.

Direct placement is a “Red Line”, as is funding the placement, actively preparing for the placement, or making treaties involving the placement. This was all clearly specified in the Biden Xi talks in November 2022 in Bali, Indonesia.

It would be a terrible move initiated by the United States and would result in horrific consequence.

This would result in the well and clearly specified consequences that China has repeatedly stated over and over again.

To the credit of the United States, the talk between President Biden and Xi Peng reiterated this stance, and additionally, the USA said that it will not do this. This was repeated by President Biden and Anthony Blinken in the “five Nos” statement repeatedly reiterated by President Biden.

However…

The United States has a reputation of lying, telling untruths, doing one thing and saying another, all the time while fomenting wars and breaking treaties. Truthfully, China welcomes the dialog, but has no illusions as to what a monster the United States has become, and what a real threat it actually is.

Now THIS TIME, if the USA (yet again) breaks it’s promises, it’s treaties, and it’s contract with China then the result will be clear… It’s already been explained to the American “leadership”. Quite clearly. Very clearly. So clear than a mentally retarded three year old can understand it.

There would be a very large and massive war between the United States and China.

Ah.

But maybe you heard that before. But you really don’t have any idea what it means. For if you are an American you think of war as being police actions in far-away distant places. Like Yemen, Syria, Cambodia, Somalia, Ukraine, Iraq, Angola, Iran, etc.

Well, this time it won’t.

Of course, everything being said so far sounds like screeching chalk on a blackboard to Americans. It makes no sense at all. America is gifted by God with Democracy (TM) and is formidable nuclear power; a shining city on a huge white hill.

That’s great Hollywood.

Makes great sound bytes.

But has zero effect on actual reality.

For starters, consider Taiwan; a province of China. Much like Texas is a state of America. China would of course, take care of this “matter”. Those of you who have zero experience in actual real China, but instead watch movies, and play first-person shooters, and read neocon journals would think that this is some kind of a fantasy.

It’s not. China is DEAD SERIOUS.

For starters, all of the placed missiles would be destroyed, with no concern for collateral damage or civilian causalities. China doesn’t give a fuck.

China would then take over Taiwan with hours. China is ready, well trained, and doesn’t give a fuck.

Though “mop up” operation might last as long as a week. Taiwan’s “soy soldiers” will not die for American democracy (TM). Of course. The idea and hope in the Pentagon is for a long drawn-out Vietnam, Afghanistan or Ukraine. Not. Going. To. Happen. China will be ruthless. Lethal. Dirty and the result will be nasty.

Spill-over? You bet-ya.

Simultaneous to this would be the destruction of ALL of the USN military presence in the Pacific. No carriers would remain. Guam would be gone. Hawaii would be in rubble as would be San Francisco. Australia want’s to join in the cluster-fuck. Good bye Sydney, Perth, Brisbane, and Adelaide. Anyone else wants to join in the fray? Any takers?

Which would ALONE probably trigger an American nuclear counter-response.

Then of course, you would see (again) what China has done to the pitiful attempts that the United States in trying to suppress it. Freak Geomagnetic storms will mysterious suddenly cause constellations of satellites to tumble out of orbit. There will be massive submarine accidents accidentally ramming undersea mountains. American VTOL carriers will catch fire by Navy personnel burning trash in the munitions lockers, and so on and so forth.

Even if things did not get HOT, things will be very uncomfortable for the United States and it’s proxy nations. What ever happens; hot war, or cold war, lit it be well understood that all trade would stop…

The few remaining American factories would stop, and close.
American medicines will be all gone. Fully 98% are made inside of China.
Shelves would be empty. All consumer goods would become a rare commodity. Including socks, shoes, pantyhose, toothbrushes, and cellphones.
The US dollar, already worthless, would suffer from astounding inflation.
No diesel. No batteries. No electricity. A war would EMP the living shit out of the USA. This is a reality, and whatever potential that the Untied States has for oil, gas, resources will need to start from scratch with a massive handicap.

Then things will get really bad. Because you all have no idea how powerful and formidable China is today.

Anyone who thinks that violating Chinese “Red Lines” is a good idea is a suicidal idiot.

The EU Is Already Begging China For Mercy

What’s the biggest double life you’ve ever personally seen revealed?

Here’s a photo from the 1990s of a man called Josef Fritzl, vacationing in Thailand without a care in the world. Fritzl was a businessman, married, father of seven, from Austria. He’d frequently travel the world. One year he’d be in Thailand. Another year he’d go to Africa. At times his friends would join him, they would drink, swim, lounge around resorts and float in the swimming pools of resorts…

Fritzl was a doting grandfather of twenty. Three of his grandchildren lived with him and his wife — his youngest daughter Elizabeth, their mother, had ran away from home and joined a cult. So Fritzl and his wife raised their grandchildren. By all means, Josef had a charmed life. What no one knew? The three grandchildren he was raising were also his own biological children… their mother Elizabeth hadn’t joined a “cult”, she lived in a dungeon Fritzl had built inside his own basement. With three other children Fritzl also fathered there by his own daughter.

Fritzl was arrested in 2008, at the age of 73. Because he had brought one of the “dungeon kids” to the hospital along with Elizabeth, his captive daughter, who then alerted authorities. Josef Fritzl remains in prison in Austria of this writing. He believes he should be freed, famously telling a judge: “I am just one man. But look inside the basements of other people… you would be surprised what you find!”

Glazed Ham with Dried Cherry Caramelized Onions

Perfect for a late lunch or dinner. This cooked, boneless ham is glazed with a mixture of honey, mustard and cider vinegar. Serve with sugar snap peas and roasted new potatoes.

spiced cherry bourbon glazed ham 98719 1

Yield: 10 servings

Ingredients

3 pounds cooked boneless ham
4 tablespoons honey, divided use
1 tablespoon stone-ground mustard
1 teaspoon cider vinegar
5 medium onions, halved lengthwise and thinly sliced
3 tablespoons butter
1/2 cup dried tart cherries
1/3 cup cider vinegar
5 medium onions, halved lengthwise and thinly sliced
1/2 teaspoon ground cardamom
1/4 cup almonds, sliced or slivered and toasted

Instructions

Heat oven to 325 degrees F. Place ham on rack in shallow baking pan and roast 45 minutes to 1 hour or until a meat thermometer registers 140 degrees F, about 15 to 18 minutes per pound.
In a small bowl, combine 2 tablespoons honey, 1 teaspoon cider vinegar and mustard. Brush ham with glaze during the last 5 minutes of baking.
Sauté onions over medium heat in a Dutch oven in butter for 12 to 15 minutes or until onions are just tender, stirring occasionally.
Stir in dried cherries, 1/3 cup cider vinegar, 2 tablespoons honey and 1/2 teaspoon cardamom. Simmer, uncovered, for 5 minutes. Stir in toasted almonds.
Serve ham slices with onion mixture.

What are the top ten craziest facts you know in psychology?

Psychopaths say “um” more frequently in order to appear like a normal person.
It is incredibly easy to pass a Polygraph Test if you trick yourself into thinking that everything is fine and that everything you say is the truth, no matter what.
When you lie, you may shake your head. This is your body saying that it doesn’t believe you.
If someone accuses you and threatens you about a wrongdoing relentlessly, you will eventually find that it is in your best interest to fess up to the crime, making you guilty of something you never did. This is a minor form of brainwashing.
The closer you are in a relationship, the more you can read the other’s mind.
We disregard our morals if a person of higher power takes responsibility for your actions. Essentially just obeying authority.
1/5 people in France have depression, making it the saddest country in the world.
It is impossible to stay angry at a loved one. If you are able to do so for more than 3 days, then you may not love them.
You never truly value a moment before it becomes a distant memory.
Crying reduces stress and causes you to feel better.
The people you most often think about are the ones you love or the ones who cause you pain.
Music can bend and shape the way you see the world, or life in general.
Your favorite songs are decided by the emotional events you attach to it.
Narcissists think they’re brilliant while most have a below-average IQ.
Long periods of isolation may cause you to hallucinate, but they consist of mostly auditory hallucinations.
Ignorance of your feelings causes them to swell and essentially just take over your thoughts.
Fast-thinkers tend to have sloppy handwriting. Thoughts are fleeting, so they must be written down almost immediately.
When choosing a romantic partner, look for how they treat their inferiors or pets. That says a lot about their nature.
Speaking other languages may cause someone to shift their personality as well. (I am more secluded when speaking Spanish and more confident when I speak Italian.)
We care more about the death of one than the death of many. It feels more personal when one human dies, yet when multiple perish, we feel as we don’t know any of them.
Some people just love to see you angry. The solution? Relax the muscles in your face and watch as theirs visibly deflates.
We believe what we WANT to believe.
Extensive loneliness is just as bad as smoking 15 cigars.
The human brain is always searching for a problem or a flaw. Perfection is always key for many, and some just can’t let it go.
The more power you gain, the more empathy you lose.

My First Week in China

What is the craziest thing a car salesman said to you?

My husband took me to Silver Spring to buy a 2 door Ford Explorer back in the 90s.

It was really late at night (11 pm) and we barely got the title to the car given to us before they had to close.

We were told to come by the next day after work to finish up some of the other paperwork.

When we arrived the next day, the salesman told us he had made a mistake.

He had forgotten to add taxes to the price of the car he sold us. So we owed them an additional $1000.

We were tapped out and couldn’t afford another $1000. I told him to take the car back.

The salesman lost his cool and started screaming at my husband.

He insisted we pay this extra $1000 or he would call the police on us.

My husband stood up and they went nose to nose. Hubby called his bluff and invited him to call the police. We already had the pink slip (title). There was nothing he could do about it.

The salesman turned beet red and started hurling personal insults.

We were in a private room but I’m positive the entire showroom floor heard the commotion. It was that loud.

I plastered myself against the wall, as I feared their proximity would escalate to either physical violence or a stroke.

The salesman finally stepped back, adjusted his tie and became silent.

He realized he wasn’t getting any more money from us.

He announced, “Never mind. I’ll just get it from some other customer later on.”

His callousness in thrusting his mistake onto the next unsuspecting customer took me aback.

No wonder car salesmen have such a bad reputation.

Prof. Mearsheimer REVEALS: the FATE of Humanity May Hang on the 2024 US and European Elections

In this video, Prof. John Mearsheimer discusses the results of recent European elections, public vs. elite opinion on Ukraine, the divided European Parliament, country-specific analysis of France and Germany, the importance of the US election perspectives, Biden vs. Trump foreign policy approach, Russian strategy, and internal NATO divisions.

Uncle Arthur’s Many Secrets

Submitted into Contest #251 in response to: Dream up a secret library. Write a story about an adventurer who discovers it. What’s in the library? Why was it kept secret?… view prompt

TE Wetzel

From: James Benson (jben****@gmail.com)To: Anders Westbrook (ande****@cornell.edu)Time/Date: 5:36pm, July 18, 2024Subject: This weekendHey Andy,Just letting you know that I can’t make your BBQ this weekend. I was looking forward to having a few beers with you and the guys and maybe playing a few hands of poker once the eating is done, but I have to head to Albany in the morning.Remember my Uncle Arthur? Don’t worry, I don’t either. (Well, a little.) Anyway, he passed away a few days ago and his sister – my Aunt Bonnie out in Wisconsin – contacted me this morning to inform me that he left “certain assets” to me in his will. Most intriguing! I won’t know the details for a while but Bonnie begged me to go to his house in Albany right away to take care of his cats and locate some important documents in his library. (My recently-deceased uncle who named me in his will was wealthy enough to have a personal library? The plot thickens…)Anyway, I’m packing a bag and planning to stay up there for a little while to help manage affairs at the house and work with Bonnie on the local funeral arrangements while she lines up a flight over the next few days. Not much else to do at the moment as I await my next work assignment but I should be back by this time next week. In the meantime, you know how to reach me. Tell the boys I said hola.- Jamie—————————————————-

From: Anders Westbrook (ande****@cornell.edu)

To: James Benson (jben****@gmail.com)

Time/Date: 7:48pm, July 18, 2024

Subject: Re: This weekend

Hey Jamie,

Sorry you can’t make it this weekend. Me and the guys will look forward to the next poker game after you score your big inheritance. Crazy news, man. Barely known rich uncle dies and leaves you a possible fortune? The stuff of legends…or daydreams? LOL. Anyway, good luck there. (Don’t forget your old college roommate when you strike it rich!)

See you when you get back. Talk soon man.

Andy

—————————————————-

From: James Benson (jben****@gmail.com)

To: Anders Westbrook (ande****@cornell.edu)

Time/Date: 6:12pm, July 20, 2024

Subject: Re: This weekend

Hey Andy,

Greetings from gloomy Albany! Hasn’t stopped raining since I got here. Also, I’m fairly certain these cats are plotting my demise. Other than that, things are fine and the house is basically a smallish mansion.

Listen to this, while searching for the documents that my Aunt Bonnie asked me to find for her in the library I found some really interesting old books. I think we might have some pretty rare first editions here, plus some other really strange stuff. I need to do a little web research tonight to try to figure out what I’m looking at but I’ll let you know.

As a newly-minted Ivy League literature professor I thought you would be interested. Maybe I will come home with a copy of In Cold Blood signed by Capote for you?

– Jamie

—————————————————-

From: Anders Westbrook (ande****@cornell.edu)

To: James Benson (jben****@gmail.com)

Time/Date: 11:22am, July 21, 2024

Subject: Re: This weekend

Hey Jamie,

Very interesting! Bring home a signed Capote first edition for me and we can totally forget about that $80 Venmo request I sent you for golf last week. Seriously though, that sounds really amazing. Looking forward to hearing more.

Andy

p.s. The guys all say hello and they missed your “easy money” at the poker game last night. (Their words, not mine.)

—————————————————-

From: James Benson (jben****@gmail.com)

To: Anders Westbrook (ande****@cornell.edu)

Time/Date: 9:52pm, July 22, 2024

Subject: Re: This weekend

Andy,

In addition to Capote’s In Cold Blood, so far I have already found four more signed first edition iconic novels; Heart of Darkness, To Kill A Mockingbird, The Illustrated Man and – hold on to your hat here – A Tale of Two Cities! No telling if the autographs are legit but I don’t know why my uncle would be hoarding counterfeit-signed copies in his home library. More research necessary here but I have attached photos of the covers, bindings and the author-signed pages in each.

The library has floor-to-ceiling shelves full of books on three walls and I have only checked out about a third of them so far. Stay tuned!

– Jamie

—————————————————-

From: Anders Westbrook (ande****@cornell.edu)

To: James Benson (jben****@gmail.com)

Time/Date: 9:36am, July 23, 2024

Subject: Re: This weekend

Hey Jamie,

Okay listen. Just give me the Dickens novel and not only will I cancel the $80 Venmo request, but golf is on me for the rest of the year. I think that’s a fair deal.

Seriously man, I just did a quick bit of Googling here and those books do look like legit first edition copies and the signatures look right too. Usually people take these sort of things to Sotheby’s or Christie’s, where they employ rare book experts who can authenticate them properly. Even if they’re not going to be put up for sale this is probably a good idea, just to officially document these historical items.

Can’t wait to hear what you find next. I’m seriously on the edge of my seat here!

Andy

—————————————————-

From: James Benson (jben****@gmail.com)

To: Anders Westbrook (ande****@cornell.edu)

Time/Date: 11:45pm, July 24, 2024

Subject: Okay, this is getting weird now…

Andy,

Forget about the signed first editions. I am into some strange new terrain here.

Yesterday I found a number of extremely interesting books way up on one of the top shelves I hadn’t explored yet. Listen to this. I found a copy of For Whom The Bell Tolls by William Faulkner. Yes, William Faulkner! And it wasn’t just a different author’s name transposed onto the cover. It was the same third-person omniscient narrative of the Spanish Civil War, only it wasn’t written in the short staccato sentence styles and brief paragraphing of Hemingway but the long, leisurely prose of Faulkner. I’m not even a fan of Faulkner and I couldn’t put it down!

Similarly, I also found a copy of The Catcher in the Rye by Dalton Trumbo and The Iliad by EE Cummings! (Seriously, I can’t make this up.) Still so many more books to look through. I am simply overwhelmed here. Stay tuned.

– Jamie

—————————————————-

From: Anders Westbrook (ande****@cornell.edu)

To: James Benson (jben****@gmail.com)

Time/Date: 7:51am, July 25, 2024

Subject: Re: Okay, this is getting weird now…

Jamie,

Okay. You’re just fucking with me now, right? You had me going with the thought of all those rare, signed first editions, but that’s at least within my fathomable universe. What you just described has to be a joke. Come on, man.

What about the funeral plans? Isn’t that a big reason why you are there?

Andy

—————————————————-

From: James Benson (jben****@gmail.com)

To: Anders Westbrook (ande****@cornell.edu)

Time/Date: 11:56pm, July 28, 2024

Subject: Okay, this is getting weird now…

Hey Andy,

You’re right. I have been negligent in my funeral arrangement duties of late. I accidentally let my phone battery die out, not sure when. The truth is that I haven’t slept much in the last few days. This continues to get more and more fascinating.

And no, I wasn’t kidding about those strange books I mentioned in my last message. But never mind that. I am into some truly bizarre territory now. I found some old 3-ring binders filled with dot matrix printed files listing the daily opening and closing numbers of each of the stocks contained in the Dow Jones Industrial Index running from January 1, 1977 through December 31, 2026. Andy, it has accurate stock performance data through the end of 2026! I’m sure you think I am kidding again (or maybe just crazy) but I have been watching those stock prices over the last few days and my God man they are accurate right down to the last decimal point!

You think I’m joking? Here’s a random selection for tomorrow for you to check out. Merck & Co. (ticker symbol NYSE: MRK) will open the trading day at $154.34 and it will close at $156.12 per share with a total of 7.126 million shares in overall trading volume. I’m sure you won’t but you can literally bet the house on it. I guarantee it.

– Jamie

—————————————————-

From: Anders Westbrook (ande****@cornell.edu)

To: James Benson (jben****@gmail.com)

Time/Date: 9:41pm, July 29, 2024

Subject: Re: Okay, this is getting weird now…

Jamie,

I don’t know what to say at this point. I have been thinking about this since the market closed about 5 hours ago and I have no idea how you were able to make that prediction with such accuracy. I would call it dumb luck but I actually opened up Excel and took the time to do a little statistical modeling and what I found was that a stock prediction with that level of precision is basically like calling out the next day’s lottery numbers. Not quite that improbable but close enough that I am simply baffled.

I need answers, because I just can’t believe you found an old set of stock market printouts from almost 50 years ago that can perfectly predict what will happen tomorrow. I’ve tried to call you several times but it goes straight to vmail every time and your mailbox is full. You gotta get back to me asap. I don’t think I’m going to be able to sleep until you do.

Funeral plans? Still a concern?

Andy

—————————————————-

From: James Benson (jben****@gmail.com)

To: Anders Westbrook (ande****@cornell.edu)

Time/Date: 2:13am, August 1, 2024

Subject: Whole new level

Hey Andy,

Forget about the stock market. Forget about the rare first edition signed books. Those things are trivial. At least for now.

I just found a medical manual that seems to contain advanced diagnostic techniques and curative/surgical treatments for most common, and some uncommon, forms of cancer and various other deadly diseases. I am only about halfway through it and without the benefit of a medical background it is taking me forever to research the basic terminology needed just to understand this even on a rudimentary level, but if it’s true it’s an incredible discovery and I owe it to the world to get this into the right hands once I can at least confirm its basic legitimacy.

I can’t say when I will be able to call you or even write back since my time is so limited now. I don’t see this changing anytime soon. Who knows what I will find next? So much more to still be explored. I can’t worry about the funeral arrangements right now either. Before my phone died I got a message from my Aunt Bonnie saying that she had some health problems that were preventing her from flying in. I can’t remember the details but that’s just going to have to wait for now. I have far more important concerns at this point.

– Jamie

p.s. I have discovered a number of old hand-written notes, presumably penned by my late Uncle Arthur, warning anyone who comes across these documents against sharing them in any way. The writing is rambling and paranoid in nature and some of the warnings give me pause but how could anyone possibly just sit on all this? It would be immoral, no?

—————————————————-

From: Anders Westbrook (ande****@cornell.edu)

To: James Benson (jben****@gmail.com)

Time/Date: 8:51am, August 2, 2024

Subject: Re: Whole new level

Hey Jamie,

I just hope you are all right. Maybe it’s time to take a break? You were supposed to be back here a week ago. Are the cats okay at least?

Andy

—————————————————-

From: James Benson (jben****@gmail.com)

To: Anders Westbrook (ande****@cornell.edu)

Time/Date: 3:45am, August 5, 2024

Subject: Re: Whole new level

Hi Andy,

I let the cats out a few days ago when all of the remaining cat food ran out. Don’t think I’ve seen them since. Not sure. They should be okay. It’s summer.

Dude, you wouldn’t even believe what I’m looking at now. No time to explain but I will get back to you when I can. Not planning to head home anytime soon.

– Jamie

p.s. Please see the attached file containing stock market data for the next two years. I just ask that you don’t share this with anyone else. “Law of Unintended Consequences” and all that.

—————————————————-

From: Anders Westbrook (ande****@cornell.edu)

To: James Benson (jben****@gmail.com)

Time/Date: 7:51am, August 6, 2024

Subject: Re: Whole new level

Jamie,

I‘m really getting worried about you man. Please call me.

Your Friend,

Andy

—————————————————-

From: James Benson (jben****@gmail.com)

To: Anders Westbrook (ande****@cornell.edu)

Time/Date: 4:37pm, January 1, 2029

Subject: Re: Whole new level

Andy,

Happy New Year! Don’t worry about me. I am well. Not sure if I will ever see “you” again (that is, the “present day” you) but that is primarily a temporal and theoretical question. I have a set of guidelines to follow and I will soon find out where all the boundaries lay. I will fill you in (whatever version of “you” that might be) whenever I see you next!

Stay healthy. It might be a while…for you anyway.

– Jamie

—————————————————-

From: Anders Westbrook (ande****@cornell.edu)

To: James Benson (jben****@gmail.com)

Time/Date: 7:01am, August 9, 2024

Subject: Re: Whole new level

Jamie,

How did you change the timestamp on your email like that? Seriously, stop messing with me. What’s going on? I am really having a hard time with all of this. Can we please just talk?

Andy

p.s. They announced that a potential breakthrough cure had been found for various types of cancer and other diseases on the news today. I really don’t know what to think at this point.

p.p.s. Thanks so much for the stock market data you forwarded. I plan to pay off my mortgage before the end of this month!

—————————————————-

From: mailer-daemon@gmail.com

To: Anders Westbrook (ande****@cornell.edu)

Time/Date: 7:02am, August 9, 2024

Subject: Delivery Failure Notice: Re: Whole new level

Sorry, we were unable to deliver your message to: <jben****@gmail.com>

The email account that you tried to reach does not exist. Please try double-checking the recipient’s email address for typos and try again.

THE END

Washington DC is messed up

Shorpy

Thomas

Does your family have a legend that sounds near impossible?

During the Depression, my grandfather took one of the very few jobs that paid well – because it was so hard to find someone to do it. He drove a gravel truck up the side of the mountain, every morning, to take the day’s allotment of dynamite and nitro to the quarry. It was a one lane track with a lot of curves but not enough switchbacks, so it was very steep. It was barely a road and almost not quite wide enough for the truck.

There were two trucks, and the way the system worked, every morning a truck went up the mountain, and was sent back down in the evening full of gravel. Once the day truck was at the bottom of the mountain, the night truck went up with their load of dynamite for the night shift. In the morning, it came down before the day truck went up.

One day, signals got crossed. A truck that looked like the night truck pulled into the lot, and my grandfather saw it, so he started up the mountain track. About halfway up, he heard a horn blasting and realized it was the night truck, signaling that his brakes had failed. That happened at times, and was dangerous, but usually the truck would make it to the bottom and roll to a stop. Only THIS time, my grandfather’s truck was on the road. There was nowhere to pull off or turn around … so he laid on the horn of HIS truck, to tell the other driver he was there.

He tried backing down the mountain, but that wasn’t really going to be fast enough. Realizing there was no hope for it – and not wanting to be near the truck when the impact came (and the dynamite blew) he jumped out of the truck and started running down the mountain.

He had been a track star when in college, and before the Depression hit, had been a track coach for the local college and high school, so he was in shape and known to be a fast runner.

According to the story, my (atheist) grandfather learned to pray on his way down the mountain. He loudly promised the Lord that if he was not killed that day, that he would attend church faithfully for the rest of his life. As he came off the mountain and was on flat land, he realized he had not heard the expected explosion, but was still running hard. So he changed his prayer to say he would attend church once a week for the rest of his life. Then as he got closer to town, it was to attend church for ten years. By the time he reached the church in the center of town, he “bargined down” to attending church for the rest of the year.

He was praying so loud to the Lord that everyone he passed heard his promises. Finally, he reached the church and collapsed. (Still no explosion). By some stroke of luck (or as the townspeople would say – by the Grace of God) the driver of the other truck had been able to use the gearshifts and emergency brakes and managed to stop his truck before it could ram the day truck.

Granddad reverted to being an atheist almost immediately, however my grandmother was a formidable woman. He had made his promise to the Lord in public and it was witnessed by the community. She would not allow him to back out of the promise.

So, every Sunday, for the rest of the year, as soon as services were done, my grandfather would round up the oldest sons, and they worked on the church. They replaced the roof, repaired the stairs in the back, painted the church and school, and basically did all kinds of maintenance work. Every Sunday. The last thing they did was carve new end pieces for all the pews, and installed a prayer rail so that elderly or infirm members could hold it when then knelt for communion.

After it was done, he still did not attend church, but any time something needed to be repaired, the pastor would call and remind him of his promise to the Lord.

I Left America And You Should Too. Here’s Why !

The cost of living is unbearable in the USA. There is no reason at all why you should stay there.

This is a MUST watch video. This is really good. He talks about FAMILY and lifestyle. Loving and caring families.

What is the coolest line a pilot has said to the passengers?

Originally Answered: What is the coolest line a pilot has said to his passengers?

This was a flight from Las Vegas to Los Angeles. For those of you unfamiliar with the geography of that area, that place is entirely void of any bodies of water (or at least our flight path was). The pilot was a pretty hilarious guy.

During the safety presentation:

“In the highly likely event of a water landing during our trip over the Mojave Desert, you can use the seat cushion as a flotation device.”

“Okay, I know most of you have got your seatbelts on already, take them off again so I can feel like my safety presentation actually did something.”

“If you are traveling with a child or someone who acts like one, please secure your mask first before assisting others.”

And after that:

“Hey people in the front, would you please sit down for a moment? I’m trying to back up here.”

“The policy on this flight is no smoking indoors. We have plenty space on the two wings if you would like to smoke.”

Mediterranean Chopped Salad

Try packing this salad into a Mason jar, and take your salad to go. Add dressing immediately before eating.

TIPS

Use a mixture of red and yellow cherry tomatoes for added interest. Prepare with canned red or white kidney beans instead of the chickpeas if desired.

Substitute fresh basil for the parsley, or skip the fresh herbs and make dressing using 1 to 2 tablespoons prepared basil pesto. Dressing can be made with fresh lemon juice instead of the red wine vinegar, or with a combination of both ingredients.

Ingredients

6 cups packed chopped romaine lettuce hearts
1 cup halved cherry tomatoes
1 cup chopped cucumber
1 cup canned chickpeas, rinsed and drained
1/4 cup pitted quartered Kalamata olives
1/4 cup crumbled feta cheese
2 tablespoons red wine vinegar
1 tablespoon each finely chopped fresh parsley and chives
1 teaspoon Dijon mustard
1/4 cup extra-virgin olive oil
4 hard-boiled large eggs, cooled to room temperature, peeled and quartered

Instructions

Combine lettuce, tomatoes, cucumber, chickpeas and olives in large bowl. Top with feta cheese.
Whisk together vinegar, parsley, chives and mustard in small bowl. Add olive oil slowly, whisking until combined.
Toss salad lightly with dressing and DIVIDE evenly among 4 dinner plates. Top with eggs.

Prep: 20 min | Yield: 4 servings

Easy 12-Minute Method for Hard-Boiled Eggs: Place eggs in saucepan large enough to hold them in a single layer. Add enough cold water to cover eggs by 1 inch. Heat over high heat just to boiling. Remove from heat. Cover pan. Let eggs stand in hot water for 12 minutes for large eggs. Drain. Cool completely under cold running water or shock eggs in a bowl of ice water.

You can refrigerate unpeeled eggs for several days if not using immediately. Hard-boiled eggs are easiest to peel right after cooling.

They have managed decline to unacceptable levels to average citizens

What can I learn in one minute that will be useful for the rest of my life?

The smarter you become, the crazier you’ll seem to “dumb” people.
Nobody literally wants you to tell them the truth. Rather, we all want you to reaffirm our beliefs.
Today’s saint was yesterday’s sinner.
Most people spend a lifetime trying to be like someone who is trying to be like someone else.
“Reality is for people who can’t face drugs and drugs are for people who can’t face reality!” —Genius Turner
You know a man is really smart when you forget to notice how cheap his clothes are.
“Science without religion is lame, religion without science is blind.” —Albert Einstein
Your own siblings will “sell you out” if the price is right.
You might as well stop caring what others think about you because they seldom do! After all, everybody is knee-deep in their own troubles.
A wise person knows: if you think you can, you can; if you think you can’t, you can’t! Either way—you’re right.
Being normal has become abnormal.
If by chance you browse the Law Book, notice the fine print that states: Here lies one law for the rich and another for the poor!
“Genius is 1% talent and 99% hard work…” —Albert Einstein
Few people are wise enough to recognize when the price of money costs too much! Be wise, then.
A heterosexual telling a homosexual that being gay is “wrong” is no different from someone born right-handed telling a left-handed person to write with the “right” hand.
How can you ever declare to “know someone” when most of us have yet to Know Thyself?
If you become too successful, your own friends will succumb to jealousy and envy.
Because a billionaire is, by definition, equivalent to 1,000 millionaires—in light of world hunger—every billionaire is by definition selfish.
The only thing separating the dreamer from the dream is a bridge called WORK!
Last but not least: you might as well be yourself, dahling, because everyone else is already taken!

Why I left America and why you should too!

If you think that the USA is the “best” then you really need to step outside and see just how ridiculous the USA actually is.

Spending just to live. It’s the American way.

What’s the most expensive thing you’ve gotten for an insanely cheap price?

I once went to a property sellout auction, when a three ton truck came up for sale, the auctioneer wanted to start the bidding off at $5000, he couldn’t get a bid, so kept reducing the starting price by $100 at a time, still no bids so I sang out $100 dollars, he ignored me at first I sang out again so he started at $100, another bloke thought it was to cheap so he also started bidding, he gave up when it got to $1000, so I bought three a ton truck for $1000, a bit later I felt a tap on my shoulder and a chap asked me if I was the one that bought the truck I said yes I was, and he asked me if I would take $3000 for it? BLOODY OATH! so I made $2000 profit without doing a thing,

one other thing, at the same auction, the auctioneer, held up a jar of pebbles’ I recognised them as sapphires, Because I used to dig for them as a hobby, also no bid, I got it for 5 dollars, I took it with me the next time I went to the gem fields, and took them to an Indian buyer, they were only small stones but he still gave 500 dollars for them, so that was also a good profit margin, from 5 to 500, not bad at all.

What is the most satisfying passive-aggressive thing you have ever done to a really mean or rude person?

This occurred while I was still married to my second husband in New Hampshire. We lived on top of a hill we called “Heck’s Hill” and for many years, ours was the only house within several miles.

A builder in town, known for his arrogance, bought a huge parcel of land behind and beside us on the right. His intention was to build a road around us, ending in a cul de sac to the right of our hill, where he would build eight homes.

Since the road would go up the left side and wind around behind our property before continuing on to the cul de sac, the builder claimed an easement for some of our property for a cut through the hill to make it level enough for his road. Otherwise, he would have to curve his road much more to go further out away from our hill for level ground and it would cost him more.

We were told by the Planning Board this would take about 150′ from the back of our property to allow for the slope. Then his road would be cut into our hill with a 25′ drop. It seemed like a lot, but we had to agree according to the Planning Board.

Our home was totally surrounded by woods, including the trees to be removed for the road. Most of the trees were old, huge, and established. Just inside the tree line on top of our hill in back, was a rock/stone wall, which went almost entirely around our home. The stone wall was only a couple of feet from our in ground pool. In the photo, you can see the concrete deck that goes around the pool and under the slide, and just outside of the deck, you see the dark rock/stone wall. You can also see the wall to the left in the photo behind the cabana and house.

“In the State of New Hampshire, it is against the law to destroy, or remove, an existing stone or rock wall as they are deemed to be historical.”

On the day the bulldozer and other machinery arrived to make the cut into our property, the bulldozer operator came to the house to let me know he would start cutting trees in an hour and if we had a pet, to make sure it was kept indoors.

When they left, curious me went out to the back of our property where they had placed orange ribbons around the trees to be bulldozed. Two of the largest trees were within a foot of the rock/stone wall and only a few feet from the pool. The dozers had already taken three trees down they weren’t approved to remove which used to be beside the white birch in the photo.

Horrified, I called the builder on his cell phone and told him that was NOT what we had agreed to when we met with the Planning Board —it was not even close. I told him, per our agreement, okayed by the Planning Board, he would have to move his road further out, because he was NOT approved to make his cut that close to the existing stone/rock wall.

(By already taking out the three wrongly marked trees, and more that were planned, it was obvious he would take part of the stone wall, too). His plans would make the 25′ cut down to his road within a foot of the rock/stone wall —we would have a 25′ drop off (a cliff) there? I had eleven grandchildren that also swam in our pool!

He said, “Plans change. The additional feet of moving the road further out would make it cost prohibitive. Get over it, lady. The road is going in where I say it’s going in.”

I told the builder we were going back in front of the Town Planning Board and let them decide. We would leave it to them to make the determination, because there was no way my husband and I would allow the builder to take even more than the 150′ easement just on his say-so.

He said the Planning Board wasn’t going to be meeting for another three weeks and he didn’t have time to take shit like this from me —he had a job to do and the equipment was already there. Then he hung up on me.

Now I was pissed. I went inside, got a rifle, loaded it, and planted myself on the rock/stone wall behind our pool and I waited with the rifle laying across my lap.

When the drivers came back, I told them to get off our property or I would shoot. They complained and I told them to go call their arrogant employer and tell him I was going to sit right where I was until the Planning Board met and I didn’t care how long it took.

I’m normally an introvert, but I said it with all the bravado I could muster. (Oh boy, I was thinking. The police will be here any minute and I’m going to be in so much trouble …)

No police ever came and when the builder called the Planning Board to complain, they put an immediate hold on the whole project. They decided to convene and review both sides of the agreement again in two days’ time.

The Planning Board heard both sides and the arrogant bully was forced to move his road further out.

Satisfying … oh yes, it was very satisfying.

I Left America & I Don’t Plan To EVER Go Back !

What was the most satisfying way you saw a defense get derailed in a courtroom?

The defendant was guilty. The mountain of evidence against him was the size of Everest. He was a white-collar criminal — an educated professional with a high six-figure income who apparently believed the criminal laws only applied to the “little people.”

He refused to hire a lawyer to conduct his defense, although he had been charged with a major felony, and insisted on representing himself. He expected to succeed. From what I saw of the guy, it looked like he was so accustomed to always having people kowtow to him and getting his own way, it never occurred to him that his experience in a federal courthouse might be different.

The guy adopted a defense strategy of trying to bully the judge into dismissing the case.

For more than a month, he was the most belligerent, obnoxious, uncooperative defendant imaginable. The only reason he didn’t get thrown into jail for contempt of court was because his case had been assigned to the nicest, most patient judge in the courthouse.

The defendant had also made several requests to have his case transferred to a different judge.

Although judges rarely reward obnoxious defendants by granting their motions to have the case transferred to a different judge, the nice judge decided to make an exception in this defendant’s case. She “rewarded” the defendant’s bad behavior by granting his motion and intentionally transferring the case to the toughest judge in the courthouse.

Shortly thereafter, the defendant received a lesson in some of the strategies no-nonsense judges use to deal with defendants who try to turn the courtroom into a three-ring circus. The guy sat like a statue through most of his first hearing with the tough judge and then decided to hire a lawyer.

Moral of the story: Be careful what you ask for. You may get it.

Graham Handcock

“everyone will be WIPED out in 21 days”

What has been your biggest surprise while being married to someone?

My parents did not have a good marriage. My father was cold, distant and absent. My mother was a stereotypical 90s Indian wife who served food to him and picked up after him. They didn’t communicate, didn’t understand each other. My father outbursts would often result in throwing plates across the room while my mother cleaned every bit of food off the floor without saying a word. Later, she confided in me that she was scared. She didn’t want him to cross boundaries and hit her. Keeping silence was her plea. Needless to say, I grew up with very distorted sense of marriage.

I jumped from one relationship to another all my life. When things got tough I moved to another until I met my husband. My husband is an American and grew up in Texas. We were in a long distance relationship for 4–5 years until we decided to get married. In the beginning of our relationship, I was skeptical. When I realized I had feelings for him, I did what I know best. I started to push him away but he stayed. Regardless of being in a long distance relationship I never had to second guess his feelings. He was always there, emotionally if not physically.

Once we got married, I kept waiting for the marriage to crash and burn, kept waiting for the pain to return which I’m so used to, but it never happened. He made sure of it. My husband did everything he could to make me feel comfortable in the new country. He even learnt to cook Indian food so I don’t feel home sick. Being in a new country where I knew no one, isolated and away from friends and family took a toll on me. I have been dealing with depression and severe anxiety for years but he stood by me through it all. He accepted me for who I am without trying to change anything about me. Every time we had an argument, I waited to see glimpse of my father in him but he proved me wrong each time.

I always thought that marriage makes one miserable. I once found a poem written by my father dedicated to my mother. I couldn’t believe it. I had to ask my mother several times to be sure because they were never happy, never in love, as long as I could remember. That was the perception of marriage I grew up with until this beautiful man walked in my life and changed it forever. I’m still haunted by the dysfunctional marriage my parents had but then I look at him and know everything will be okay.

Compilation: Ancient Mysteries vol 1

Great stuff. Enjoy this one.

A basket of heads

When I was really young, say 2 to 3 years old, I had these reoccurring dreams of me being beheaded by guillotine. Of course at that age, I had no idea about what a guillotine was, or the French Revolution, or anything like that. But my dreams were consistent.

My sister and I were both led up the stairs to this wooden platform. She was always fist, and she laid down on the board, and there was a big crowd that was watching. She laid down and this metal piece slid down and hit her, but her head did not come off, so they had to raise it again, and then the second try it came off. And her head fell into this woven basket.

Then it was my turn.

I went onto the gallows and laid down. I faced the basket and it it was like five heads. All were lifeless, including my sister. She had blonde hair and it was in a tight bun. Then the steel knife went down. My head moved a little, but I felt nothing. And just waited while it went back up again.

Then it slid down. I saw the bucket get up close and my last image was the view of the gallows from the bucket looking up as darkness surrounded me.

Today, I am pretty much convinced that it was a past life that I was remembering, or maybe a television show that my parents must have watched when I was six months or so old. The take away from this are numerous. For if it was a memory from a prior life, then…

My sister and I shared reincarnation experiences.
The guillotine was not fool-proof, and in fact was very inefficient, and multiple chops were required to kill someone.
I still retained consciousness for a few seconds after my head was removed.
I felt no pain, once the first chop hit.

Interesting.

What do you think about this one, eh?

Today…

Have you ever seen an employee get fired on the spot because of you?

Yep. I was a worker at McDonalds and only sixteen at the time, and we had a new employee. He was on grills, and I was on table right behind him. There’s another side to the table that cannot see the grills through the cabinets of food, so when any cook-to-order meat, in this case quarter pounder, was finished, the grill person would call “Quarter’s up!” So side two would know to get their meat and send the burger on its way.

Well, our new employee absolutely refused to talk near me. I didn’t really get it, he would talk to other people. But he wouldn’t call out quarter’s up for the life of him. After multiple times of doing it myself, I finally stopped and took the meat and held it back to him and asked him to call it out himself. He slammed it into the table and splattered grease into it. I stood there and told him he needed to call out quarter’s up for side two. He would not, he turned back to his grills and ignored me.

I called out quarter’s up and slid them their meat, and the shift continued. I stopped calling out quarters’ up, mostly because I was busy keeping up with the lunch rush and didn’t notice when he slid the meat onto the table out of my line of sight. And out of side two’s sight.

So a manager asks why side two is so slow, and they explain they don’t have their quarter meat and I would slide it over to them and apologize. Someone would tell the grill person to call it out, and the shift would continue again until he went on break.

I didn’t actually know anything had happened until the big boss of the store was called in and he came rushing up to me and told me very sternly,”If someone threatens you like that again, you need to tell management immediately!”

I did not understand. Nobody threatened me?

Turns out, when the grill dude went on break, he loudly told everyone how he was going to “beat the shit out of that little kid.”

And well, he got fired

Western Women Are Too Woke For “Passport Bros”

Men ware galloping away from the West.

The German-American Strategic Depth Clown Show

Pepe Escobar • March 15, 2024

• 1,200 Words • 69 Comments

The Four Stooges saga of Bundeswehr officers plotting to blow up the Kerch bridge in Crimea with Taurus missiles and getting away with it is a gift that keeps on giving.

President Putin, in his comprehensive interview to Dmitry Kiselev for Russia 1/RIA Novosti, did not fail to address it:

“They are fantasizing, encouraging themselves, first of all. 

Secondly, they are trying to intimidate us. 

As for the Federal Republic of Germany, there are constitutional problems there. 

They correctly say: if these Taurus hit that part of the Crimean Bridge, which, of course, even according to their concepts, is Russian territory, this is a violation of the constitution of the Federal Republic of Germany.”

Yet it gets curioser and curioser.

When the transcript of the Taurus leak was published by RT, everyone was able to hear Brigadier General Frank Gräfe – head of operations of the German Air Force – speaking with Lieutenant Colonel Fenske from the German Space Command Air Operations on the plan to deploy Taurus systems in Ukraine.

A key point is that during the plotting, these two mention that plans were already discussed “four months ago” with “Schneider”, the successor of “Wilsbach”.

Well, these are German names, of course. Thus it did not dawn on anyone that (Kevin) Schneider and (Kenneth) Wilsbach could instead be… Americans.

Yet that did raise the eyebrows of German investigative journalist Dirk Pohlmann – who I had the pleasure to meet in Berlin years ago – and his fellow researcher Tobias Augenbraun.

They found out that the German-sounding names did identify Americans.

Not only that: none less than the former and the current Commanders of the U.S. Pacific Air Forces.

The Four (actually Six) Stooges element gets an extra boost when it is established that Liver Sausage Chancellor Scholz and his Totalenkrieg Minister Pistorius learned about the Taurus plan no less than four months later.

So here apparently we have a clear cut case of top German military officers taking direct orders regarding an attack on Crimea – part of the Russian Federation – directly from American officers in the Pacific Air Forces.

That in itself opens the dossier to a large spectrum ranging from national treason (against Germany) to casus belli (from the point of view of Russia).

Of course none of that is being discussed on German mainstream media.

After all, the only thing that seems to disturb Brigadier General Gräfe is that German media may start seriously prying on the Bundeswehr’s Multiple Stooges methods.

The only ones who actually did proper investigation were Pohlmann and Augenbaun.

It would be too much to expect from German media of the “Bild” type to analyze what would be the Russian response to the Multiple Stooge shenanigans against Crimea: a devastating retaliation against Berlin assets.

It’s so cold in Alaska

During the jolly Bundeswehr conversation yet another “plan” is mentioned:

“Nee, nee. Ich mein wegen der anderen Sache.” (“No, no. I mean the other matter.”) Then: “Ähm … meinst du Alaska jetzt?” (“Ahm, you mean Alaska now?”)

It all gest juicier when it is known that German Space Command Air Operations Centre officer Florstedt will meet none other than Schneider next Tuesday, March 19, in Alaska.

And Gräfe will also “have to go back to Alaska” to explain everything all over again to Schneider as he is “new” in the post.

So the question is: Why Alaska?

Enter American shadowplay on a lot of “activities” in Alaska – which happen to concern none other than China.

And there’s more: during the conversation still another “plan” (“Auftrag”, meaning “mission”) also surfaces, bearing a not clearly understandable code name sounding like “Kumalatra”.

What all of that tells us is that the Crash Test Dummy administration in the White House, the CIA and the Pentagon seem to betting, in desperation, on Total War in the black soil of Novorossiya.

And now they are sayin’ it out loud, with no shadow play, and coming directly from the head of the CIA, William Burns, who obviously sucks at secrecy.

This is what Burns told the members of the U.S. Senate Intelligence Committee earlier this week:

 “I think without supplemental assistance in 2024, you’re going to see more Avdeevkas, and that – it seems to me – would be a massive and historic mistake for the United States.”

That spells out how much the Avdeevka trauma is impressed on the psyche of the U.S. intel apparatus.

Yet there’s more:

“With supplemental assistance, Ukraine can hold its own on the front lines through 2024 and into early 2025. Ukraine can continue to exact costs against Russia, not only with deep penetration strikes in Crimea, but also against Russia’s Black Sea Fleet.”

Here we go: Crimea all over again.

Burns actually believes that the humongous $60 billion new “aid” package which must be approved by the U.S. Congress will enable Kiev to launch an “offensive” by the end of 2024.

The only thing he gets right is that if there’s no new package, there will be “significant territorial losses for Ukraine this year.”

Burns may not be the brightest bulb in the – intel – room. A long time ago he was a diplomat/CIA asset in Moscow, and seems to have learned nothing.

Apart from letting cats and kitties galore out of the bag. It’s not only about attacking Crimea.

This one is being read with surpreme delight in Beijing:

“The U.S. is providing assistance to Ukraine in part because such activities help curb China.”

Burns nailed his Cat Out of the Bag Oscar win when he said

“if we’re seen to be walking away from support for Ukraine, not only is that going to feed doubts amongst our allies and partners in the Indo-Pacific; it’s going to stoke the ambitions of the Chinese leadership in contingencies ranging from Taiwan to the South China Sea”.

The inestimable Andrei Martyanov perfectly summed up the astonishing incompetence, peppered with tawdry exceptionalism, that permeates this performance by Burns.

There are things…

...“they cannot grasp due to low level of education and culture. 

This is a new paradigm for them – all of them are ‘graduates’ of the school of ‘beating the crap from defenseless nations’ strategic ‘studies’, and with the level of economic ‘science’ in the West they cannot grasp how this all unfolds.”

So what is left is panic, as expressed by Burns in the Senate, mixed with the impotence in understanding a “different warrior culture” such as Russia’s:

“They simply have no reference points.”

And still they choose war, as masterfully analyzed by Rostislav Ishchenko.

Even as the acronym fest of the CIA and 17 other U.S. intel agencies have concluded, in a report shown to Congress earlier this week, that Russia is “almost certainly” seeking to avoid a direct military conflict with NATO and will calibrate its policies to steer clear of a global war.

After all the Empire of Chaos is all about Forever Wars.

And we are all in the middle of a do or die affair. The Empire simply cannot afford the cosmic humiliation of NATO in Novorossiya.

Still every “plan” – Taurus on Crimea-style – is a bluff.

Russia is aware of bluff after bluff. The Western cards are now all on the table. The only question is when, and how fast will Russia call the bluff.

Harry Potter as a Mexican Soap Opera | Telenovelas are Hell

What did a teacher say that made you immediately walk out of the classroom?

Once I walked into my college class of 200 people only to see my picture displayed on the projector screen and my instructor asking my classmates who had been signing in for me since I had clearly never been to class. Apparently I’d accidentally signed the attendance sheet for that day, the class day prior, and was a couple minutes late, so he had his ga literally examine my signatures and they determined that the letters were written differently each day. Since I was safely hidden behind a large pillar, I promptly left and called my mom crying. I had attended every class, albeit late on occasion, and was a very shy person. I dreaded going back to that class where I was certain everyone believed me to be a fraud.

Edit: I saw some people asked what happened afterwards, and I ended up emailing the professor during that class telling him what I’d seen and assuring him that I had attended every class and that I was very confused as to why he had made the accusation. It was then that he told me I’d been signed in on the wrong day and that was what had prompted his investigation into my attendance and signatures. He made it very clear that he did not believe my explanation and I met with him in his office where he had me sign my name about 20 times and kept threatening to fail me, saying I could easily be faking it. At this, because I was telling the truth, and had never had anyone question my honor like that before, I started to cry again, and begged him not to fail me. I honestly don’t remember much after that, only that my crying made him begrudgingly agree to allow me back in class. The rest of the time I attended class, I showed up early, sat in the very back and wore a hood until class began. I caught a couple people looking back at me on occasion (and I turned bright red as a result), but for the most part my incredible ability as a shy person to remain utterly invisible served me really well.

Cattle Drive Cornbread

Ingredients

4 cups cornmeal
1/2 cup vegetable oil
1 cup all-purpose flour
1 1/2 cups chopped onion
1 to 2 finely chopped jalapeño peppers
2 tablespoons granulated sugar
1 1/2 tablespoons salt
2 teaspoons black pepper
1 (16 ounce) can creamed corn

Instructions

Boil a pan of water.
Mix cornmeal and vegetable oil well in a large bowl. Add just enough of the boiling water to form a dough that could be made into a ball.
Add remaining ingredients except for the creamed corn. Mix to blend, then add creamed corn.
Coat the bottom of a cast iron skillet with vegetable oil. Heat over medium heat.
Remove one cup of the cornbread mixture from the bowl, and add it to the skillet.
Flatten out the cornbread, and cook as you would a pancake.

This Japanese Man has 4 Wives, 2 Girlfriends & 54 Children…

An aunt and uncle are not invited to their niece’s wedding, but are invited to a bridal shower 300 miles away. Is this a gift grab? Should the aunt send a gift for the shower if they choose not to drive the distance?

Randy Miller suggested an edit to my story. 
He blew my story away because I have never run into an ASSHOLE that removed an entire story. 
Fuck You Randy Miller! 
I had to rewrite it you ass!

I will tell you my story.

My sister-in-law has a son. When my nephew was young we saw him a lot, even visited a few times while he was in college, and took him out a few times for dinners. When he got married, we were not invited to his wedding. We weren’t even told about it. When we found out, I have to admit we were a bit hurt.

The reason we weren’t invited was because his grandmother, my MIL, was a crazy mean, lying, horrible woman. The entire family except the nephew and my husband had felt her wrath. To her, he was a golden child. She filled his head with lies, and she is convincing, especially to a kid. She did spend money on him, but nothing is without a string. When she met his girlfreinf, he was told she was a sl*t, a woman that would hurt him, a dirty girl, not worthy. Eventually, they broke up, but got back together., and then secretly engaged, and finally secretly married.

So there was a plausible reason why only his immediate family was present. They did not have any big thing, justice of the peace, ate out, done.

Now married, his wife was pregnant with their first child. I was invited to the baby shower. A part of me did not want to go because I was still hurt. Plus, I dislike showers. But I thought about it, and let it go. I attended the shower and bought a gift of of their registry that was fairly expensive for the baby, and them.

So the question is why would I agree to give them a gift for a baby shower, when I wasn’t invited to the wedding. Because I had found out the entire story, and realized I was being unkind, childish, selfish, and ignorant. And most important, I want a relationship with them.

I have never discussed being disappointed about not being able to attend their wedding, I love weddings. But I’m glad I rethought the emotions I felt because we have a great relationship now with his family. I know I would have regretted not going to the baby shower, and giving a gift to them for their baby.

So, you haven’t explained why you weren’t invited to the wedding. Could it be they were trying to keep it small. There could be many reasons, even that your invitation never arrived. But you need to decide if you have a relationship with these people that you wish to continue. If the answer is yes, then send a gift. If not, you have made up your mind.

Regarding the 300 miles away, unless they are living somewhere you could turn your trip into a vacation, if you have the time and money, I would just send the gift with a congratulatory note.

My opinion only!

Gen Z Doesn’t want to Work Anymore …..

Be the Rufus

“I was on the way home a couple of days ago when I saw this girl from my neighbourhood being very upset and crying on the street.

I decide to approach her. I asked: ‘Hi! Is everything okay?’

She barely looked up and then she just started bawling about her crappiest day she had.

She said she had lost her best friend because a stupid fight and that her mom is depressed all the time and she was also bullied in school all day…

I really wanted to make her feel better but I didn’t really know what to say, so I just asked: ‘Do you want to come in for a cup of tea?’

She said yes!

When we walked in the door, she looked up, her eyes opened up, and she was like: ‘Wooow!!!’ My house is full of paintings and all sorts of weird stuff; it’s messy but very colourful.

On the way in, I was even thinking about how messy my house was and felt bad about leaving tobacco all over the table that morning. But she didn’t seem bothered at all.

She said it was the coolest place she has ever seen. I asked her if she wanted to paint with me so we did. She painted the biggest canvas we could find with lots of bright colours. She used like 10-12 brushes and when she finished, her face had changed completely.

She was beaming!

main qimg 2720f3485ada3a8ac9d43fe210c5cbf5

I may have made her feel better that day but she also made me realise how lucky I am. Maybe I am weird and I often feel that I don’t really fit anywhere, but my art was able to make this girl feel better about herself and lift her up from a dark place.”

America Collapsing Like Rome?- Upcoming Recession, WW3, Trump, China & Joe Rogan | Patrick Bet David

Have you, while repairing a computer, ever found anything that made your jaw drop?

Not working on a computer but: I worked at the 24 hour photo processing lab back in 1990. Based in Phoenix we got film flown in from all over, including Las Vegas. The usual family photos, the occasional but weekly roll of film for some one with a anatomically correct BDSM Barbie with ever-changing costumes, personal intimate photos for a loved one, and once in a while something different and more sinister.

One of our Las Vegas rolls showed men with a pair of boys, all nude no clothes in sight(ha-ha), no intimate contact showed just these men and the children. The lead tech made the call to the FBI for possible child porn or abuse. After the FBI came and collected the pictures and the address from the packaging, they proceeded to the Las Vegas area address.

What they discovered was the address was a nudist retirement community. The men were a couple and one of them was the grandfather of the boys. The parents knew about granddad and his partner living in a gay nudist community and had no concerns about the safety of the boys.

Douglas Macgregor Reveals the Truth: Russia’s -Ukraine Terrifying Hidden Power in the Conflict

https://youtu.be/otyhVg-oUHs

What is the most extreme example of human willpower and discipline?

A Woman Finds Her Daughter’s ‘Dead’ Rapist: people are in awe of her “willpower”

A woman from a remote village in Bihar, India tracked down her daughter’s rapist after he was declared dead leading to the closure of the case. The rape convict, Niraj Modi, has been sentenced to 14 years of imprisonment for raping a minor girl and his father to seven years for forgery, cheating, and dishonesty.

Modi, a 39-year-old man who was a school teacher at a government school, was accused of raping his 12-year-old student, a minor girl, in October 2018. The girl was attacked while she was by herself in a sugarcane field, and her assailant threatened to post a video of the assault online to keep her silent.

Soon after a complaint was lodged by the survivor’s mother, and Modi was arrested. But, he was out on bail after merely two months in prison.

In February 2022, Modi’s father Rajaram Modi, who is over 60 years old and works as a farmer, travelled to a court nearly 100km (62 miles) away from the village, with a lawyer to claim that his son died on February 27, 2022, at their village home. In order to get a death certificate issued, he provided two pictures from the cremation, receipts of the firewood bought for the ritual as evidence, signatures and the unique biometric identity number of five villagers as per Indian laws. However, as per a 54-year-old law, the authorities didn’t question the cause of death.

main qimg aa86bbebf5dba95beb6616de864b4967

Two months after this, the local authorities issued a death certificate and the court closed the case in May 2022 as the “only accused in the case” was dead.

However convinced that this was a forgery, the girl’s mother was the only person who suspected that the teacher had faked his death with the help of his father.

The mother said that she went from one home to another in order to enquire if Modi was really dead and not to her surprise, nobody had heard of the news. Following which, she went to the court urging an investigation into the matter.

In May 2022, she also wrote a petition to the local official claiming that the death certificate was issued based on forged documents and it needs to be investigated. Soon, investigation began and the authorities demanded more and fresh evidence from Modi’s family regarding his death including photos of the “deceased after his death, of the cremation, of the burning pyre, the last rites and [fresh] testimony of five witnesses”.

As a part of the investigation, members of the village council met the inhabitants of the 250 families in the village. It appeared that no one was aware of Modi’s death. Hindus often only shave their heads as a sign of mourning if a close relative passes away. However, none of the Modi family members had done so. In fact, Modi’s own relatives did not have the information regarding his death.

main qimg 046f62c7a5463c0383b191bbd3be53c6

After Rajaram failed to provide fresh evidence of Niraj’s death, he was questioned by the investigative office again.

Following the investigation, it was confirmed that Modi’s death was faked. The officers found that the teacher had falsified the signatures of the parents of five of his students’ parents on a document requesting his own death certificate. He informed the parents that in order to set up the students’ scholarships, he would need their biometric identity numbers.

The officials, then, cancelled Niraj Modi’s death certificate and charged his father with forgery and in July 2022, the case was reopened.

The mother’s relentless battle to track down her daughter’s “dead” rapist came to an end finally and in October last year(2023)he was convicted for his crimes.

Keep smiling

Beefy Cowboy Beans

There’s plenty of hearty ground beef in this Beefy Cowboy Beans recipe.

cowboybeans 750x1000 — cowboybeans 750×1000

Yield: 4 servings

Ingredients

1 1/2 pounds ground beef
1 medium onion, chopped
1 red or green bell pepper, cut into 1/2 inch pieces
1 (16 ounce) can baked beans
1 (15 1/2 ounce) can Great Northern beans, rinsed and drained
1/4 cup tomato ketchup
1/4 cup Heinz 57 sauce
1 tablespoon packed brown sugar
2 teaspoons Worcestershire sauce

Instructions

In a large nonstick skillet, brown ground beef, onion and bell pepper over medium-high heat 6 to 8 minutes or until beef is no longer pink, breaking up into 1 inch crumbles.
Pour off drippings.
Season beef mixture with 1/2 teaspoon salt and 1/8 teaspoon pepper.
Stir in beans, ketchup, Heinz 57 Sauce, brown sugar and Worcestershire sauce.
Reduce heat to medium low.
Simmer, covered, 10 minutes, stirring occasionally.

What is the strangest way you kept yourself entertained while in prison?

I have a theory about the sorts of people that are easy to entertain…. 😉

One cellie of mine was really into the markets. He spent incredible amounts of time building models to use against the daily Dow or NASDAQ numbers when we could get them in long enough blocks to be useful. A friend sent him five years of daily data for one index. He built some formulas to fire triggers when conditions were right. The formulas were designed to work in excel.

My job? Human spreadsheet. I took a couple months worth of the data, plotted it across a “spreadsheet” that I’d made from steno notebook pages taped together. The spreadsheet went from A1 to something like BK68. A handful of cells were raw data, the remainder were things like, “=If(And(AI22>AI21,B22>B21,Or(H22=I22,K22=K21)),BB22-BC21,BB22+BC21)”.

Pure drudgery. I had to proof for syntactical and lexical errors and churn out the data. We were sending the finished product (formulas) to someone who would drop them in excel and (hopefully) use them to come up with actionable Intel.

Woof. It took weeks to produce what excel can do in the blink of an eye!

Then there was this:

main qimg b06ac94849a29dbe797625958f129e02 lq

I set a goal for myself to memorize two hours of poetry. I copied poems I liked in tiny handwriting and kept them with me most of the time so I could study while I waited (lots of waiting in prison).

I didn’t hit my goal, but I did manage to get to about forty minutes. The more I did, the easier it got. I learned that our memory works (kind of) like a muscle. Give it a good workout and it’ll get stronger.

Are those pastimes strange enough?

The (Overdue) Collapse of the 9-5 Job

Do police officers ever let criminals go because they sympathise with them?

A sheriff’s deputy drove up to me while I was standing leaning against my vehicle and asked me if I had any guns. I said not on me but there were some in the back of the pickup. He told me to stay where I was.

He walked back to the bed of my truck and picked up a poster that I had made up that said “WANTED Dead or Alive: Baby Bomber Brandes”

He read the poster and then said to me, “I know who you are. You are the man whose home was bombed and whose baby daughter has been in the hospital for the last 6 months, and this is going to be the hardest arrest I ever have to make in my career, but I want for you to know that if I were in your shoes, I would be doing exactly what you are trying to do.” Brandes was up a dead end road, and I was at the bottom waiting to kill him.

Brandes had called his employers at the ATF and told them that I had him trapped and they needed to help him get out of there. The ATF called the sheriff and had them come up and arrest me.

The deputy arrested and drove me to jail without handcuffs and when he dropped me at the jail explained to the jailers the situation. I was treated very well by everyone at the jail. A couple of days later I made a deal with the federal DA that I would leave town and leave their snitch alone. I had to, I had a quadriplegic daughter getting out of the hospital to care for.

I came to Oregon and had to care for my daughter while wearing an ankle bracelet for a few months. The feds did live up to their end of the bargain though: all charges were dropped a short time later. There really are some great cops out there and they are just like you and I and have big hearts.

The deputy actually apologized for having to take me in.

the American dream is dead… this is why people are leaving the US.

What are some fun and actually useful historical facts?

In early March 1933, a man walked into the Hi-Way Cigar Store in Pismo Beach, California, and laid a huge clamshell on the counter. “Gimme a box of cigars,” he said.

[1]That day, the clam was paying.

main qimg c6db5e99e48109d1dddcef72ce9c7158 lq

A clamshell used as scrip currency in 1933 shows the name of the shop issuing the currency, its value, and, on the inside, signatures of the people whose hands it passed through. (Clamshell Currency | Hakai Magazin

History is full of examples of successful local initiatives aimed at providing exchange media, but the Great Depression of the 1930’s saw this done on an unprecedented scale. There were literally hundreds of scrip issues that were put into circulation by a variety of agencies, including state governments, municipalities, school districts, clearing house associations, manufacturers, merchants, chambers of commerce, business associations, local relief committees, cooperatives, and even individuals.

[2]

These issuers went by different names, depending on who issued them and the circumstances of their issuance. Common scrip types were certificates of indebtedness, tax anticipation notes, payroll warrants, trade scrip, clearing house certificates, credit vouchers, moratorium certificates, and merchandise bonds.

[3]

main qimg 68c9b8a6c195d8c9557dd30744688d2a lq

Crescent City, California 1933 10 cent clamshell From the collection of Ken Barr Numismatics (Depression Scrip.com)

Besides learning how to “make do, or do without,” people began to establish mutual support structures, like workers’ cooperatives, many of which would recycle and repair donated or broken items.

[4]

People learned to share what they had, and to by-pass the market and financial systems. Most of these measures were considered stop-gaps to be utilized until things “got back to normal,” but in some of them there seemed to be the promise of more permanent improvements. One of these “stop-gaps,” which was intended to address the problem of the dearth of currency in circulation, was the issuance of “scrip.”

[5]

When the Depression and resulting banking crisis hit their community, the residents of the coastal town of Pismo Beach, California picked an unusual but logical medium of exchange. The pismo (Tivela stultorum) is a species of clam with a very thick shell

[6], found in large numbers at least as far south as 300 miles south of the US–Mexico border in Baja California on the Pacific Ocean side, where strong surf sometimes washes ashore live clams. Native American tribes in California relied upon the clams as a main dietary staple.

[7]

main qimg 9c02e3d658cf14cff94de8b6d2e007b2 lq

Emergency Money

The shells are surprisingly large—up to roughly 15 centimeters in width—and many have faint traces of the clams’ natural shell patterning, faded wispy lines of purple at the edge of the exterior sides.

[8]

Shells were marked with India ink in denominations ranging from 25 cents to $20. Each piece was numbered, and signed on the front and on the back. As with the stamp notes of the Midwest, it was necessary to sign each clamshell on the back in order to keep it in circulation.

[9]

The idea was that the growing list of signatures would be a boost to morale — proof that, even in tough times, business was being transacted.

[10]

No formal requirements may have existed, but informal pressure certainly would have endorsed the practice. The shells were more or less credit—placeholders for real currency.

Eleven of the town’s merchants got together to issue the clam currency. Among them: K.L. Phillips service station, Henderson’s Drug Store, Hi-Way Cigar Store, Leiter’s Rexall Pharmacy and Restwell Cabins. Even the Pismo Beach Post Office accepted clam currency. It was agreed that when change in dollars or cents wasn’t available, they would issue shells to customers instead. Customers would use the shells in subsequent transactions after signing their names on the inside, endorsing them somewhat like checks, which gave businesses a record of who had “spent” their shells. If any customers still had shells rattling around once the banks reopened, they could ask the retailer to exchange them for cash.

[11]

Officials had one concern that most issuers would hang onto them as souvenirs of the lack of traditional currency.

[12]

Some issuers destroyed the notes after they were redeemed.

main qimg c190e5658c1bf6c5c1dae262788a1d85 lq

Pismo Beach, California, 1 Dollar, 1933 (clamshell)

Restwell Cabins issued “notes” in three denominations: twenty-five cents, fifty cents, and one dollar.

[13]

The larger the amount, the larger the shell. The issue may have been partly intended as a spoof, or for sale to tourists, in the manner of German notgeld around 1920.

[14]

Redemption would never be a problem because collectors would want to keep these pieces in their cabinets or trade them with their friends.

But it was also intended partly as a real, if unique, circulating medium. The Restwell Cabins issue bore the motto, “IN GOD WE TRUST.”

[15]

Each piece was numbered, and each was signed on the front and on the back. This was in the middle of Roosevelt’s 1933 national banking holiday, from March 6 to March 9, 1933, during which withdrawals were frozen. This gave his administration a chance to stabilize the banking system

[16]

.In an era of economic turmoil, thousands of banks were failing and Americans’ trust in the institutions had evaporated. Fearing that their money was no longer safe at the bank, many people had emptied their accounts and stashed dollars at home—which, unfortunately, further undermined the banks.

[17]

Proclamation 2039 ordered the suspension of all banking transactions, effective immediately.

The terms of the presidential proclamation specified that:

“no such banking institution or branch shall pay out, export, earmark, or permit the withdrawal or transfer in any manner or by any device whatsoever, of any gold or silver coin or bullion or currency or take any other action which might facilitate the hoarding thereof; nor shall any such banking institution or branch pay out deposits, make loans or discounts, deal in foreign exchange, transfer credits from the United States to any place abroad, or transact any other banking business whatsoever.”

[18]

This 10-cent note was issued by the Crescent City Chamber of Commerce. It’s worth about $500 today. (Cash-Strapped California’s IOUs: Just the Latest Sub for Dollars)

main qimg 340508ce25f23674c58e14464ba31eb3 lq

The thought of having to go for four days without readily available cash shocked and traumatized America. Around the country, businesses began issuing IOU-style notes or ersatz dollars—often called scrip currency—in the form of metal or wooden tokens so that everyday transactions could continue even when retailers couldn’t easily issue change.

[19]

An estimated $1 billion in this scrip was issued by towns and counties, not to mention corporations, school boards, newspapers and a few wealthy individuals.

[20]

Most promissory notes looked like paper currency, but scrip was also printed on leather, metal, fish-skin parchment and, in Tenino, Wash., on slabs of pressed wood.

[21]

In Hood River, Ore., Hal’s Tire Service printed $1 bills on scraps of old tires, briefly giving the rubber check a good name.

[22]

main qimg c20fe28cade8379506fb579fbcc653ca lq

Depression scrip: 1934 25-cent fish skin parchment Friday Harbor, Washington

In creating the currency, the Pismo Beach business owners turned back the clock to the era before the Civil War when it was common to find locally produced scrip.

[23]

The 1933 scrip reflected the small community’s expression of resilience. A lack of dollars didn’t worry them. “All of a sudden this group of people said, ‘Well, we have what we do have’,

[24]

They had clamshells. Appropriating them as currency helped insulate the community from the practical difficulties of the bank holiday.

main qimg f6fe02537133853c0653ff8536f18cf3 lq

Pismo Clam Money

In 1985, the Pismo Beach City Council considered buying back the clam scrip from an Arcadia coin and stamp collector for $3,000.

[25]

The clams are now on display at City Hall in the lobby by the city clerk’s office. Not a bad investment, especially considering how rare it is to find a legal-sized clam in Pismo Beach these days. In 2013, to celebrate the 80th anniversary of the clam script, Pismo Beach citizens resurrected clamshell money, making colorful homages to the 1933 variants.

[26]

Among the businesses that accepted them were a restaurant and a pawnshop specializing in video games and DVDs.

So the next time someone asks, “How many clams did that cost?”

[27] , remember they are asking for a value in dollars, not bivalves.

Footnotes

[1]

Clamshell Currency | Hakai Magazine

[2]

The Economics of Depression Scrip | Clifford F. Thies

[3]

https://www.google.com/url?sa=t&source=web&rct=j&url=https://fraser.stlouisfed.org/files/docs/publications/frbatlreview/pages/67217_1990-1994.pdf&ved=2ahUKEwju3titgtDqAhWCHc0KHVBmDygQFjARegQIBRAB&usg=AOvVaw2mc2W7nM6kiS6UQ82Pxtky&cshid=1594842307902

[4]

Moneyless Economy: The History Of Barter System And Reputation Of The Business Involved | | Curious History

[5]

Stamp Scrip in the Great Depression: Lessons for Community Currency for Today?

[6]

The natural world of the California Indians : Heizer, Robert Fleming, 1915- : Free Download, Borrow, and Streaming : Internet Archive

[7]

The natural world of the California Indians : Heizer, Robert Fleming, 1915- : Free Download, Borrow, and Streaming : Internet Archive

[8]

Pismo Beach Clam Money: the local scrip currency of 1933

[9]

https://www.google.com/url?sa=t&source=web&rct=j&url=https://scholarworks.uni.edu/cgi/viewcontent.cgi%3Farticle%3D1441%26context%3Detd&ved=2ahUKEwiF-LHh98_qAhWbbs0KHXJpDcsQFjAPegQICBAB&usg=AOvVaw2ReCuMeDNc6J4apiEAFmb9

[10]

Newman Numismatic Portal at Washington University in St. Louis

[11]

The California Clam Shell Scrip Currency of 1933: Crescent City and Pismo Beach’s anomaly in an era of Banknote Scrip : Joshua Smith : Free Download, Borrow, and Streaming : Internet Archive

[12]

Emergency Money

[13]

Pismo Beach, California, 50 Cents, 1933 (clamshell)

[14]

Notgeld: German Emergency Money 1914-1923

[15]

Clamshell Currency | Hakai Magazine

[16]

Bank Holiday of 1933

[17]

Banking Panics of 1930-31

[18]

https://www.google.com/url?sa=t&source=web&rct=j&url=https://www.loc.gov/law/help/statutes-at-large/73rd-congress/session-1/c73s1ch1.pdf&ved=2ahUKEwjUqq-asM7qAhXTK80KHTr9A6MQFjAFegQIBBAB&usg=AOvVaw3JbXaysjI9mpcEeIJCtPtA

[19]

The Clamshell Currency Of Pismo Beach, California

[20]

https://www.google.com/url?sa=t&source=web&rct=j&url=https://www.ebhsoc.org/journal/index.php/ebhs/article/download/191/174&ved=2ahUKEwiSrpHw8c_qAhUHHs0KHUJLDrcQFjALegQIBRAB&usg=AOvVaw0h3PXM7DGpONdmDTKjGfoH&cshid=1594837871040

[21]

Depression scrip: 1934 25-cent fish skin parchment Friday Harbor, Washington

[22]

Depression Scrip.com

[23]

Stamp Scrip: Money People Paid to Use

[24]

https://www.sanluisobispo.com/news/local/news-columns-blogs/photos-from-the-vault/article39449784.html

[25]

Clamming Up : Pismo Beach Has Hopes It Can Get Sea Otters to Share

[26]

Pismo Clam Money

[27]

Dollars and Sense: Many slang terms for dollar

10 Countries Where Americans are Not Welcome in 2024

As a new manager, have you ever had to fire someone on your first day?

I once had to fire someone just a few days after they started and it’s one of the very few times in my entire career where I fired someone on the spot. I had no choice.

At the time we were riding high as a company having rebuilt an entire culture and the company was working well. This admin who answered to me and a few others, while I was at lunch demanded access to HR documents that were confidential to the other employees. When our HR manager told her no but that she could talk to me, she started screaming at the top of her lungs at the manager and everyone in the offices was completely rattled by the scene.

I receive a call while I was eating my lunch to get back to the office because it was bad. I raced back and saw the looks on everyone’s face and asked a few what had happened. They all said the same thing. There was no other side to this. A few heard her demand for records and thought it was out of line in the first place and then with the screaming on top, there was no way to keep her. When I fired her, I explained that there was no turning that around. You couldn’t undo that damage no matter how she apologized and I didn’t want our culture to be everyone thinking that was even remotely okay.

It sucks to fire anyone. It’s not something any manager ever wants to deal with, but sometimes you have to do it for the greater good of everyone else. There were no employees who thought she should have a second chance. Not one. In fact, they were thrilled that I didn’t put up with it.

Male inequality, explained by an expert | Richard Reeves

The number of male therapists decreasing while the number of men needing therapy increases is worrying to think about.

What are some last-minute decisions that changed world history?

On April 14, 1865, as he walked into the morning Cabinet meeting at the White House, General Ulysses S. Grant received rapturous applause. Five days earlier, Grant had accepted the surrender of Confederate General Robert E. Lee at Virginia’s Appomattox Court House.

main qimg 791fe8246b9d1f341fa48a32c626509c lq

Image: Lee’s surrender to Grant at Appomattox. April 9, 1865: General Robert E. Lee surrenders at Appomattox

The nightmarish Civil War had ended. Lincoln and his Cabinet were in a celebratory mood, but Grant was bone-weary. As author Ron Chernow recounts in his biography Grant, the general looked forward to a short respite from the battlefield.

After the meeting closed at 2pm, Grant “lingered to speak with the president.” Lincoln invited the general and his wife to the theater that evening to see the play Our American Cousin, starring celebrated actress Laura Keene.

[1]

Newspapers had already trumpeted both Lincoln and Grant’s upcoming attendance.

[2]

Edwin Stanton, Lincoln’s Secretary of War, immediately worried for their safety.

“He had for some months been aware that threats of assassination were being made by certain evil minded persons against the leaders of the Federal government and army. The presence of the President of the nation and the Lieutenant-General of the armies at any public function at such a critical hour was simply courting disaster.”

Lincoln reacted flippantly, chaffing Stanton “for his lack of faith in human nature.” The president of a democracy, he averred, had to show himself to the people, and some danger was an inescapable hazard of office.

“To be absolutely safe,” he told John Nicolay resignedly, “I should lock myself up in a box.”

[3]

Lincoln believed the sight of the “victorious president and general” together would be of great benefit to the public.

[4]

Grant searched for a gracious way to decline. The general soon received a note from his wife Julia, detailing her wish to leave for Burlington that day to see their children.

[5]

Grant politely declined to attend Ford’s Theatre, joking that he now had a command from Mrs. Grant. As he subsequently said, “I was glad to have the note, as I did not want to go to the theater.”

Lincoln, who was disappointed, understood. “Of course, General, you have been long from home, fighting in the field, and Mrs. Grant’s instincts should be considered before my request. I am very sorry, however, for the people would only be too glad to see you.”

[6]

Lincoln extended invitations to Stanton, Speaker of the House Schuler Colfax, and his son Robert Todd Lincoln, but all turned him down. Eventually Clara Harris and her fiancé, Major Henry Rathbone, agreed to accompany him.

[7]

At 10:13pm, while the Grants traveled east to change trains in Philadelphia, John Wilkes Booth slipped into the president’s box at the theater and pointed a derringer at the back of Lincoln’s head. He then “executed the gentle president with brutal efficiency.”

[8]

Image: Booth murdering the president at Ford’s Theatre. Lincoln’s Missing Bodyguard

In a small appointment book, Booth was eager to record his accomplishment for posterity.

Until today nothing was ever thought of sacrificing to our country’s wrongs. For six months we had worked to capture, but our cause being almost lost, something decisive and great must be done. But its failure was owing to others, who did not strike for their country with a heart.

I struck boldly, and not as the papers say. I walked with a firm step through a thousand of his friends, was stopped, but pushed on. A colonel was at his side. I shouted “Sic semper” before I fired.

[9]

Telegrams notified the general of the terrible news, and he was immediately summoned back to Washington.

Grant had seen untold horrors during his campaigns. But he would remember this day as among the saddest of his life.

Weeks later, as the assassination conspirators stood trial, Grant discovered that he was one of several targets of the Confederate sympathizers. The killers had hoped to decapitate the Union government in one bold strike, but they lost their golden opportunity to attack the now-famous general.

[10]

The night of Lincoln’s assassination, as Grant and his wife prepared to board their train, they had noticed a man on horseback who had galloped past them twice. Each time, the figure had “thrust his face” at the couple and glared at them.

[11]

Grant later learned the glowering horseman was John Wilkes Booth, who had been conferring on the sidewalk with his actor friend John Mathews when the Grant carriage sped by and he set off in pursuit of it. From the heaped-up baggage, he must have confirmed that the Grants were leaving town and would not be at Ford’s Theater.

“It seems I was to have been attacked,” Grant stated, “and Mrs. Grant’s sudden resolve to leave deranged the plan.”

[12]

Next Steps (Almost there!)

Confident Dragon Lays Out Modernization Roadmap

Pepe Escobar • March 12, 2024

• 1,800 Words

As Project Ukraine goes down the drain of history, Project Taiwan will go on overdrive. Forever Wars never die.

This is the Year of the Wooden Dragon, according to China’s classic wuxing (“five elements”) culture. The dragon, one of the 12 signs of the Chinese zodiac, is a symbol of power, nobility and intelligence. Wood adds growth, development and prosperity.

Call it a summary of where China is heading in 2024.

The second session of the 14th National Committee of the Chinese People’s Political Consultative Conference (CPPCC) was finalized on Sunday in Beijing.

The wider world should know that within the framework of grassroots democracy with Chinese characteristics, an extremely complex – and fascinating – phenomenon, the importance of the CPPCC is paramount.

The CPPCC channels wide-ranging expectations of the average Chinese to the decision level, and actually advises the central government on a vast range of issues – from everyday living to high-quality development strategies.

This year, most of the discussion focused on how to drive China’s modernization even faster. This being China, concepts – like flowers – were blooming all around the spectrum, such as “new quality productive forces, “deepening reform,” “high-standard opening-up,” and a fabulous new one, “major-country diplomacy with Chinese characteristics.”

As the Global Times emphasized,

“2024 is not only a critical year for achieving the goals of the ‘14th Five-Year Plan’ but also a key year for achieving the transition to high-quality development of the economy.”

Betting on strategic investment

So let’s start with Chinese Premier Li Qiang’s first “work report” delivered a week ago, which opened the annual session of the National People’s Congress. The key takeaway: Beijing will be pursuing the same economic targets as in 2023. That translates as 5% annual growth.

Of course deflationary risks, a downturn in the real estate market and somewhat shaky business confidence simply won’t vanish. Li was quite realistic, emphasizing Beijing is “keenly aware” of the challenges ahead:

“Achieving this year’s targets will not be easy.” And he added: “Global economic growth lacks steam and the regional hotspot issues keep erupting. This has made China’s external environment more complex, severe and uncertain.”

Beijing’s strategy remains focused on a

“proactive fiscal policy and prudent monetary policy”.

In a nutshell: the song remains the same. There won’t be a “stimulus” of any kind.

Deeper answers should be found in the work report/budget released by the National Development and Reform Commission: the focus will be on structural change, via extra funds to science, technology, education, national defense, agriculture.

Translation: China bets on strategic investment, the key for a high-quality economic transition.

In practice, Beijing will be heavily invested in modernizing industry and developing “new quality productive forces” such as new-energy vehicles, biomanufacturing and commercial space flight.

Science Minister Yin Hejun made it clear: there was an 8.1% increase in national investment in research and development in 2023.

He wants more – and he will get it: R&D spending will grow by 10% to a total of 370.8 billion yuan.

The mantra is “self-reliance”.

On all fronts – from chipmaking to AI. A no holds barred tech war is on – and China is totally focused to counter “tech containment” from the Hegemon as much as its ultimate goal is to wrest tech supremacy from its prime competitor. Beijing simply cannot allow itself to be vulnerable to U.S.-imposed tech choke points and supply chain disruptions.

So short-term economic problems will not be causing sleepless nights.

The Beijing leadership is always looking ahead – focusing on long-term challenges.

Learning lessons from the Donbass battlefield

Beijing will continue to steer the economic development of Hong Kong and Macau, and invest even more in the crucial Greater Bay Area, which is the premier southern China high tech, services and finance hub.

Taiwan of course was central to the work report; Beijing fiercely opposes “external interference” – code for Hegemon tactics. That will become even trickier in May, when William Lai Ching-te, who flirts with independence, becomes president.

On defense, there will be only a 7.2% increase in 2024, which is peanuts compared to the Hegemon’s defense budget now approaching $900 billion: China’s stands as $238 billion, even as China’s nominal GDP is approaching the U.S.

A great deal of China’s defense budget will go for emerging tech – considering the immensely valuables lessons the PLA is learning out of the Donbass battlefield, as well as the deep interactions part of the Russia-China strategic partnership.

And that brings us to diplomacy.

China will continue to be firmly positioned as a champion of the Global South. That was made explicit by Foreign Minister Wang Yi in a press conference on the sidelines of the National People’s Congress.

Wang Yi’s priorities:

to “maintain stable relations with major powers; join hands with its neighbouring countries for progress; and strive for revitalisation with the Global South”.

Wang Yi once again stressed that Beijing favors an “equal and orderly” multipolar world and “inclusive economic globalization”.

And of course he could not allow U.S. Secretary of State Little Blinken – always out of his depth – to get away with his latest “recipe”:

“It is impermissible that those with the bigger fist have the final say, and it is definitely unacceptable that certain countries must be at the table while others can only be on the menu.”

BRI as a global accelerator

Crucially, Wang Yi re-emphasized the drive for “high-quality” cooperation within the Belt and Road Initiative (BRI) framework. He defined BRI as “an engine for the common development of all countries and an accelerator for the modernisation of the whole world”. Wang Yi actually said he’s hopeful about the emergence of a “Global South moment in global governance” – in which China and BRI play an essential part.

Li Qiang’s work report, incidentally, had only one paragraph on BRI. But then we find this nugget as Li refers to the New International Land-Sea Trade Corridor – which links China’s landlocked southwest with the eastern seaboard, via Guangxi province.

Translation: BRI will be focusing on opening new economic roads for China’s less developed regions, diversifying from the previous emphasis on Xinjiang.

Dr Wei Yuansong is a member of the CPPCC and also the Chinese Peasants’ and Workers’ Democratic Party – which happens to be one of the eight non-CCP parties in Chinese politics (very few outside of China know about this).

He offered some fascinating comments on BRI to Fengmian News and also stressed the need to “tell China’s story well” to avoid “conflict and incidents” along the BRI road.

For that, Wei suggests the need to use an “international language” in telling these stories; that implies using English.

As for what Wang Yi said in his press conference, in fact that was discussed in detail at the closed-door Central Conference on Foreign Affairs Work in late 2023, where it was established that China faced “strategic opportunities” to raise its “international influence, appeal and power” despite “high winds and choppy waters”.

The key takeaway: the narrative war between China and the Hegemon will be pitiless.

Beijing is confident it’s capable of offering stability, investment, connectivity and sound diplomacy to the whole Global South, instead of Forever Wars.

That is reflected, for instance, by Ma Xinmin, the Chinese Foreign Ministry’s legal advisor, telling the International Court of Justice that the Palestinians have the right to armed resistance when it comes to fighting the colonialist, racist, apartheid state of Israel. Therefore, Hamas cannot be defined as a terrorist organization.

This is the overwhelming position across the lands of Islam and across the majority of the Global South – linking Beijing with fellow BRICS member Brazil and President Lula, who compared the genocide in Gaza to the Nazi genocide in WWII.

How to resist collective West sanctions

The Two Sessions did reflect Beijing’s full understanding that Hegemon containment and destabilization tactics remain the biggest challenge to China’s peaceful rise. But simultaneously it reflected Chinese confidence on its global diplomatic clout as a force for peace, stability and economic development. It’s an extremely sensitive balance that only the Middle Kingdom seems capable of pulling off.

Then there’s the Trump factor.

Economist Ding Yifan, a former deputy director of the World Development Institute, part of the State Council’s Development Research Centre, is one among those who’s aware China is learning key lessons from Russia on how to resist collective West sanctions – which will be inevitable against China especially if Trump is back at the White House.

And that brings us to the absolute key issue being currently discussed in Moscow, within the Russia-China partnership, and soon among the BRICS: alternative settlement payments to the U.S. dollar, increasing trade among “friendly nations”, and controls on capital flight.

Nearly all Russia-China trade is now in yuan and rubles.

As much as Russian trade with the EU fell by 68% in 2023, trade with Asia rose by 5.6% – with new landmarks reached with China ($240 billion) and India ($65 billion) – and 84% of Russia’s total energy exports going to “friendly countries”.

The Two Sessions did not get into detail on some extremely thorny geopolitical issues. For instance, India’s version of multipolarity – considering New Delhi’s unresolved love affair with Washington – is quite different from China’s. Everyone knows – and no one more than the Russians – that within BRICS 10 the biggest strategic issue is how to accommodate the perpetual tension between India and China.

What’s clear even behind the fog of goodwill enveloping the Two Sessions is that Beijing is fully aware of how the Hegemon is – deliberately – already crossing a key Chinese red line, officially stationing “permanent troops” in Taiwan.

Since last year U.S. Special Forces have been training Taiwanese in operating Black Hornet nano microdrones. In 2024 U.S. military advisers are deployed full time at army bases on Kinmen and Penghu islands.

Those actually driving U.S. foreign policy behind the Crash Test Dummy at the White House believe that even as they are powerless to handle the Houthi Ansarallah in the Red Sea, they are capable of poking the Dragon.

No posturing will alter the Dragon’s roadmap.

The CPPCC’s political resolution on Taiwan calls for uniting “all patriotic forces”, “deepen integration and development in various fields across the Taiwan Straits”, and go all out on “peaceful reunification”.

That will translate in practice into increased economic/trade cooperation, more direct flights, more cargo ports and logistics bases.

As Project Ukraine goes down the drain of history, Project Taiwan will go on overdrive.

Forever Wars never die.

Bring it on.

The Dragon is ready.

White Women Are PISSED At White Men Dating Asian Women!

What do you know that most people don’t?

I’ve literally (and I actually mean literally here) won cash money on bets with friends about this and it is a method I’ve been using since I was a little kid. Works every single time; no exceptions.

I’m going to let you in on my secret to treat your hiccups in a few seconds every single time.

Let’s first understand what causes hiccups; only when we understand how a machine works can we fix it if it’s acting up. Your diaphragm is a dome-shaped muscle at the bottom of your chest. The diaphragm almost always works perfectly. When you inhale, it pulls down to help pull air into the lungs. When you exhale, the diaphragm relaxes and air flows out of the lungs back out through the nose and mouth.

But sometimes the diaphragm becomes irritated. When this happens, it pulls down in a jerky way, which makes you suck air into your throat suddenly. When the air rushing in hits your voice box, your vocal cords close suddenly and you’re left with a big hiccup.

Some things that irritate the diaphragm are eating too quickly or too much, an irritation in the stomach or the throat, or feeling nervous or excited. Almost all cases of the hiccups last only a few minutes. Some cases of the hiccups can last for days or even months, but this is very unusual and it’s usually a sign of another medical problem.

So now that we understand the cause of hiccups, it’s fairly evident that to treat them, all we need to do is soothe the diaphragm, reduce the irritation and bring it back to a normal operating state.

Fill a cup a little over half with water and hold the cup right side up. Stand and bend over, while placing your mouth on the opposite side of the cup so the opening is around your chin. Sip the water slowly, holding your breath as you do and breathing between sips. The combination of these forces your diaphragm to get back to its expected state of behavior.

main qimg 8f6275661ddffb623f5cfa327cc8924e lq

So the next time that cute girl you were trying to talk to has a bout of the hiccups, skip the cheesy lines telling her how “someone” is thinking of her and instead treat her hiccups with this method. I can assure you that will score you more brownie points that way.

What if God’s plan for me is to have an insignificant, unfulfilling, and miserable life?

There is a Russian joke.

At some point in life, a man who had previously been a great sinner has spiritually awakened and started to preach the word of God. He believed that he was inspired by the Lord Himself. So he dies, and meets St. Peter.
– Saint Peter, I need to see God.
– Why? You were an okay guy, we won’t send you to hell.
– No, I really need it. I need to ask Him one question.
St. Peter shrugs his shoulders and brings him in God’s Presence. The man asks:
– My Lord, tell me, did I understand my destiny well? Was it to carry Your word?
God is silent.
– Please tell me!
– Do you really want to know? – asks God.
– Yes, I long to know, I crave for this knowledge, I implore you!
– Okay, okay. Do you remember how you travelled by train from Samara to Syzran’? It was forty-seven years ago.
– Yes!
– Do you remember how you went to the dining car?
– Yes!
– Do you remember how your neighbour to the left asked you to pass the salt?
– Yes!
– This was your destiny. You were born to pass the salt to this person.

When I first heard this joke, I was shocked at the utter pessimism it expressed. Now, I see it in a different light. Yes, the guy was mistaken about God’s designs. But he was born just to pass the salt during a train voyage – and yet he managed to have a rich and fulfilling life. Good for him, isn’t it?

So if you really believe that God had such horrible designs on your life, why not try to see what you can do yourself?

My GF Made Friends With College F**inists And Thought I’d Be P-Whipped…Instead I Tossed Her Out

Plumbing. Yeah. Good selection for a career.

Fail-safe is now

Today I have a real treat for you all. It is the movie “Fail Safe” which is a 1962 depiction of the build up to world war 3. And it stars Henry Fonda, so you know it’s a great movie.

Please take the time to watch it. It was 60 years ahead of its time.

Meanwhile, my post on Quora…

Why is the USA so eager for a war with China

Any one who wants war has a mental disorder.





Obviously they have never experienced war, and has no idea or concept of what it entails. Pain is real. The loss of everyone you ever knew is real. The lost of your money, your homes, your jobs, and your friends is real. The loss of your culture and your society is real.





The loss of your innocence is permanent.





…





So why do so many American “leaders” want to engage a war with China?





I’ll repeat myself.





Anyone who wants a war has a mental disorder. They are not right in the head. They need to be seen by a doctor and treated for this disorder. If need be, well then, locked in a padded room. But they should not be permitted anywhere near the levers of power.

…

Ah. It was deleted.

I guess that stating the obvious is against the “rules” in the United States.

Today…

“The boy and the banker“

a young boy, puts $100 in the bank every single day. One day the boss at the bank noticed and asked, hey buddy, why do you keep dropping $100 in here everyday? The kid says, Can we talk in your office? The boss says, yes, and they go to his office. Then the kids spills the beans. Well, I make a bet everyday with someone new that I can kiss my right eye. The boss laughs and says, no way you can do that. The kid smirks. Wanna bet? The manager agrees, and quick as a wink, the kid takes out his fake eye and kisses it. The boss feels kind of silly and gives him $100. But he wants it back. So The kid says, okay, but with a twist. I’m pretty sure that you are wearing red girly panties. If I’m wrong, I’ll give you back your $100 plus another 100. Thinking he’s too smart, the boss agrees. The kid adds, but before you drop your pants, we need 10 witnesses to make it official. The boss gathers his team and after taking his pants off, he feels very proud to have won $100. Then he notices the kid is all smiles about losing money. Confused, he asks, why are you happy about losing your cash? The kid grins. Well, I had a bet with your team about how fast I could get you to drop your pants.”

Braised Pork with Green Chile Sauce

Mild green chiles season this meaty pork stew. Serve it with rice or as a burrito filling. This can also be served with tamales. This chile verde is also good served with scrambled eggs.

Ingredients

Pork

1 (3 pound) lean boneless pork butt
2 tablespoons vegetable oil
1 large onion, chopped
4 garlic cloves, minced
2 large green bell peppers, seeded and chopped
1 (7 ounce) can diced green chiles
1 teaspoon dried oregano leaves, crumbled
1/2 teaspoon ground cumin
1 1/2 teaspoons kosher or sea salt
1/2 cup fresh cilantro, chopped
1 tablespoon wine vinegar
1/4 cup water

Garnish

Tomatoes, cut into wedges
Cooked rice
Sour cream
Lime, cut into wedges

Instructions

Trim and discard fat and cut pork into 1 inch cubes.
In a large frying pan, heat oil over medium-high heat; add meat a few cubes at a time and cook until very brown.
Push meat to side of pan and add onion, garlic and bell peppers; sauté until limp.
Stir in chiles, oregano, cumin, salt, cilantro, vinegar and water.
Cover and simmer until meat is fork tender (about 1 hour).
Skim off fat and discard.
Serve with rice or make burritos or serve in your favorite way.
For Burritos: spoon pork into warm, soft flour tortillas, add sour cream, tomato wedges, and a squeeze of lime juice and fold to enclose. Rice may also be enclosed with the filling in the burritos, if desired.

Attribution

From the kitchen of Linda Ann Jolly, Arizona.

Accurate

https://www.youtube.com/shorts/wb0WWMTYLko?feature=share

What can you do to upset your neighbors the most in a well-to-do neighborhood?

What can you do to upset your neighbors the most in a well-to-do neighborhood?

Set up a drug dealing operation.

Because I was raised poor, a lot of things DID NOT bother me once I moved into a nice neighborhood. Things that might drive other neighbors (who have always been wealthy) absolutely crazy wouldn’t faze me at all. Loud music? So what. Kids shooting off fireworks? Hey, it’s better than gunfire. Lawns that grew a little too tall? Big deal. But set up a crime syndicate in one of the nicest neighborhoods in the U.S., and you’re going to make some very influential people extremely irate!

I lived in poverty when I was younger. The shack we lived in measured 500 square feet. My bed was in the kitchen. Stabbings and shootings in the neighborhood were routine. Before I was born, my parents found a guy dead on the front porch. He had been stabbed overnight and I guess he stumbled toward the house for help, only to collapse there. Drug deals became common.

My father worked very hard to eventually escape poverty, and I applied the same work ethic to my life. I had no desire to remain in a neighborhood where I had to fear for my life every single day. Anyone who has lived in such a place can tell you that it’s a miserable way to live!

I became successful. I got married. My wife was also successful. It took me 42 years, but we finally bought one of the more modest homes in one of the wealthiest towns in America. Celebrities became my neighbors. I didn’t hear gunfire. There was no crime. Kids left their toys on the lawn overnight and nobody stole them. People left their car doors unlocked at night. This is why I had worked so hard, for this level of safety and peace of mind. I had finally arrived!

About a year after moving in, our very quiet neighbor (an older lady who lived alone) moved out. A lady who had just divorced her multimillionaire husband moved in. She had triplets who were 17 at the time, two boys and one girl. She apparently had no control over them. Among many infractions, the girl once drove through our lawn, tearing up the grass and the driveway. Who drives through your neighbor’s lawn? One of the sons was driving drunk when he plowed through a neighbor’s fancy brick driveway entrance. But worst of all was the other son, who apparently had a large drug dealing operation.

Sketchy-looking cars would pull up at all hours of the day. The kid would come out of his house, sit in the back seat, make some sort of exchange, and then go back inside. Cars and houses throughout the neighborhood began to be broken into, probably linked to the people showing up to buy drugs.

This is what I had escaped. When you’ve worked so hard to live in a place with no crime, and you’re suddenly faced with drug dealing, people breaking into cars and houses, vandalism, and all that stuff you escaped, you become pretty ticked off. We didn’t pay all this money for a house only to have flashbacks of where I grew up. Other neighbors who were unfamiliar with such behavior were even more furious!

One particular neighbor, who happened to be a big time television producer, finally made the call. Police swarmed the house, found A LOT of drugs, and the kid who had now turned 18 got a pretty hefty prison sentence. The family moved out a month later.

As a car mechanic, what is the craziest discovery you have found on an automobile?

My dad bought himself a 1973 Mercury Montego two door. Every option you could imagine, back when you could actually order a car built for you.

Really sharp car, dark blue metallic with a blue vinyl top. Had a dark blue leather interior with front bucket seats. Was his pride and joy. Biggest motor available, 460 4bbl. That car was a real sleeper. Fast as hell. Got about 8–9mpg. Every time you went around a right turn there was a metallic thump from the back somewhere. Turn left, nothing. Dad was an OCD prick. Drove him nuts. Was to the dealership for service multiple times. They replaced all kinds of stuff, even the rear axle. Finally he had me lay in the back seat and listen as he drove around. I isolated the sound as coming from the area of the drivers side rear quarter panel. Dad and I took out the rear seat and removed the interior panel. We found heavy nut and bolt hanging from a string. Taped to the sheet metal was a note, “How long did it take you to find this?”

Coconut Corn Bread (Dominican Republic)

Ingredients

1/2 cup diced mixed candied fruit
2 tablespoons dark rum
1/3 cup granulated sugar
1/3 cup butter, softened
2 eggs
1 cup coconut cream
1 cup yellow cornmeal
1 cup all-purpose flour
1 1/2 teaspoons baking powder
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/2 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1/4 teaspoon ground cloves
1 cup shredded fresh coconut

Instructions

Heat oven to 375 degrees F.
Mix candied fruit and rum in small bowl; reserve.
Beat sugar and butter in a large bowl; add eggs, one at a time, beating until well blended. Stir in remaining ingredients except candied fruit mixture and coconut; beat until smooth, about 30 strokes by hand. Fold in candied fruit mixture and coconut. Pour into greased 9 x 5 inch loaf pan.
Bake until top is golden brown and wooden pick inserted in center comes out clean, 40 to 45 minutes.
Cool for 20 minutes; remove from pan. Cool completely before slicing.

What are the best loopholes found in history?

In the 17th century, a priest in Venezuela was particularly fond of meat. Yet during the Catholic holiday of Lent, eating meat is not permissible — only fish may be consumed. So he wrote a letter to the Vatican.

He had found an animal, he said, which “lived in the water, had webbed feet” and “it even kind of tastes like fish when you cook it”. Would it be allowed to consume this creature during Lent? The Vatican replied, also by letter — it was allowed to eat the creature, provided they classify it a fish. So they did. And Venezuelans have been eating this animal ever since.

[1]

What species do I speak of? The capybara. World’s largest rodent, a largely aquatic species that loves to dwell in water. A meatlover’s delight — from giant hamster, to conveniently reclassified “fish”. One hell of a good loophole, if you ask me.

Footnotes

[1]

How the World’s Largest Rodent Became a ‘Fish’

Russia’s About To Unleash The Unthinkable On The Global Economy

https://youtu.be/uWsyPGxjVRU

Have you ever called in sick but you were convinced or threatened by your superiors to come to work? Did it end well for you?

I worked for a food establishment that keeps all of its food on a “line”. One day I was sicker than I’ve ever been and needed to call out. I figured this wouldn’t be a problem since I never called out, but I was wrong.

So they force me to come in under threat of termination.

So i come in. I’m making food on that line, and I have a very specific urge everyone knows well. But, oh my oh me! I can’t leave the line! I have a lot of food to make! So I threw up. On the food in the line.

The company had to close for a short time to have the line professionally cleaned and sanitized.

When they finally reopen, I get called into the office. They ask me what happened. I tell them quite plainly that I tried to call out sick and was forced to report to work. Their genius response was ”you were scheduled to work so you had to come in.“

So I simply asked them how much it had cost to have the line cleaned. They give me a rough figure. I tell them they forgot about the money they lost out on by being forced to be closed during that time. Lastly, I tell them, straight to their face, that if I call out, it’s for a reason. If they force me to come in while I’m sick and throwing up, I will purposely throw up on the line again and they can pay that price again. And if they try to saddle me with the bill of cleaning the line, reduce my hours, or fire me for any reason, I would be more than happy to report them to the number that’s literally above their head about us not being allowed to come in sick. The next week my hours were reduced. I pulled out my phone, looked at the sign I referenced the week prior, and started typing in numbers in front of the manager. My hours were immediately reinstated.

After that, anytime I called out sick, I was told to feel better and call when I wasn’t sick anymore.

How To Create The Best Videos

https://www.youtube.com/shorts/Iz-5s36TmJg?feature=share

Would you rather own a hybrid or a 100% electric car if you drive 50 to 60 miles daily? Why?

I feel like I’m a good fit to answer this question because I used to own a Chevy Volt, which is a plug-in hybrid (PHEV). In the summer, the Volt would drive 50–60 miles using only the battery, before switching to the 4-cylinder engine and acting like a normal hybrid, alternating between gas and battery.

Most days I did not drive anywhere near 50 miles. So I would come home, plug in to 120V, and the car was fully charged in the morning.

Why not a PHEV, then?

Well, it’s got an engine I rarely used, and some complicated electronics and wizardry to switch back and forth between the battery and the engine. It was something else that could go wrong on top of a straight EV propulsion system.

Some people like PHEVs because once they exceed range of the small battery pack, the car switches to gas and then you can just drive it like a gas car. Fillups are quick, and you’re back on the road. When you get to your destination, you can charge if you like, and your next 50 or so miles are all electric.

I loved the Volt. But I always felt it would grow up to be a Tesla, and last year, it did.

I much prefer having an EV. It’ll handle that 50–60 miles of daily driving you ask about with aplomb. Since the range of my EV is 318 miles, I could do that much driving for 4 days easily, without recharging if I didn’t want to.

Or I could charge at 120V/15A, as I typically do, and in the 12 hours or so that I’m sleeping and doing other things at home, I can add 36 or miles of range. Yes, eventually I’ll have a deficit, if I really do drive 50–60 miles per day, but I don’t. And for those that do, you can easily install a 240V outlet and charge quicker if you need it. So it’s a non-issue.

The Lord of the Rings 1950’s Super Panavision 70

Great AI.

https://youtu.be/TH59vTJFFhU

What behavior is considered extremely rude in the US, but would be considered normal in other countries?

My in-laws are Chinese. I am a white American with mixed West-European ancestry. When I sit down to a meal with them, I have learned to practice strategic food placement on my plate so that it is never actually empty.

In the US, we have drummed into our heads as small children that it is incredibly rude to leave uneaten food on your plate, especially if you are a guest at someone else’s table. It is an insult to the chef. “There are starving children in Africa!” was the exhortation when I was a child. “Eat your vegetables and be grateful you have them!”

In Chinese culture, it is the obligation of the elder generation to make sure that the younger generation(s) are fed. If your plate is clean, that means you must still be hungry, but are too polite to ask for more. So they give you more, whether or not you actually have the capacity to eat it, whenever they observe sufficient empty space on your plate. Furthermore, it is extremely impolite to refuse to eat food given to you by a parent, auntie/uncle, or grandparent.

Therefore, I have learned to eat an amount sufficient for myself at meals while leaving enough on my plate to spread out and take up all of the large bits of contiguous space that might accommodate an additional serving.

I still feel guilty about the starving children who might like to have my leftovers, though.

What did you learn at your first job that you have utilized at every job since?

“We’re here to make money, not friends.”

My first boss told me that when she realized that several of us-all teenagers-were trying to coordinate our schedules so we all got off on the same day, so we could hang out outside of work. I didn’t understand it then. I thought she was just being a bitch.

But, ten years later, when I was in management, it made more sense. Coworkers are one group. Friends are another. Mixing those groups can cause problems, especially when one friend is put in charge of another.

It’s fine to be friendly with your coworkers. You should be friendly with them. But being friendly, and being their friend, are two different things.

I’m anti-social anyway, so it was easy for me to avoid making friends with the people I’ve worked with over the years. I’ll chat with them at work. I’ll ask them about their families, and they’ll do the same for me. But when work is over, I don’t hang out with them.

I suppose a lot depends on the type of job, though. Not every job is about making money. What I do now, for example: teaching. It’s not-for-profit. But I also don’t see my coworkers very often. Just in the halls during passing periods and during our weekly staff meeting. Other than that, I’m usually the only adult in the room. If adult interaction is your thing, teaching probably isn’t the best career choice.

When your cat is a trained assassin (John Wick)

https://youtu.be/Dqo4cWsJmrw

What happens if you scandalize and make people angry on the internet?

This image was uploaded on an Internet forum with the caption:

“This is the lettuce you eat in your burger when you go to Burger King, enjoy it“

The netizens were shocked and horrified. They were angry to learn someone working in the kitchen has been messing up with their food.

Soon people got down to tracking the person; ‘where done and who doing this’! The image was posted anonymously, on the 4Chan forum. 4Chan users got down to work to discover the person behind it.

In the picture you can only see the shoes and pants of the uniform of the hamburger chain and that does not reveal anything since they are all dressed the same.

The image was tracked to its location. They found out where came from.

It came from an area where there was only one Burger King for many miles around.

Thereafter the netizens wrote and posted many mails to the Chain manager of Burger King, Mayfield Rd.

Then the Manager got into action and in a short time, the manager was able to find who had done it Two people who were on that shift were fired on the spot, they lost their jobs, and faced a fine of thousands of dollars.

So now you know, never make people angry on the internet, you could end up paying dearly.

Ref:

4Chan Outs Burger King Employee Who Put His Feet in Lettuce

Burger King fires lettuce-stomping employee outed by 4Chan

Why is Gen Z Slowly Giving Up?

https://youtu.be/3lAxoQG8XQo

What are the benefits of working longer versus retiring earlier?

The benefits depend on a great many things.

I remember a guy who worked at a company with me. He was a professional who loved his job. He was 83, when the company forcibly retired him.

He made good money, and took fabulous vacations, had his house paid off 30 years before. He died 3 weeks after they forced him out. He lost the will to live, when he stopped doing what he loved.

I knew this lady that I worked with, who hated her job, she was depressed about having to go into work every morning. The happiest day of her life was when she retired early, with an early retirement package.

I think the benefits of working longer or retiring early very much depend on how you feel about your job.

It also depends on your health. If you think you will die early, then there is really not much point in working late. Unless you really love your job.

If you think you will die late, then working later, getting a bigger pension, and more savings, and using your wages for vacations and toys, now that your house is paid for, is the way to go.

I think it also depends on the country you live in. I live in Canada, I loved my job, I got 30 vacation days, 12 flex days, plus 3 golf days a year. I don’t know how many sick days and compassionate leave days I was entitled to because I never used them all up. So I got the equivalent of 9 weeks vacation. With weekends and statutory holidays I got 162 days off a year. Which is almost exactly half a year, so work wasn’t the same to me as an American who worked weekends, and only got 2 weeks vacation.

I could take fabulous exotic vacations, or just relax at the cabin while working.

Jamaican Rum Punch

Yield: 10 servings

Ingredients

4 cups water
1 cup lime or lemon juice
6 cloves or allspice berries
3 cups strawberry-flavored syrup
2 cups Jamaican white rum

Instructions

Mix all ingredients together in a punch bowl, and let the mixture settle for 1 hour before removing the cloves or allspice.
Stir and serve over ice cubes in old fashioned glasses.
Water and rum may be added to weaken or strengthen as needed.

Why did Eva Kor shake hands with a former Auschwitz guard?

One reason I wanted to shake hands with Oskar Groening is because our first meeting did not go so well. On the first day of the trial, I introduced myself and reached out to shake his hand. The strangest thing happened. He was trying to say something as he was sitting sideways in his chair. He turned white and fell backwards, not saying a word. He was holding onto my arm so he did not hit the floor. At that moment he was not a Nazi but an old man who fainted and I was trying to save him from falling. I screamed, “He is falling and I can’t hold onto him – he is a big old guy!” This was not the interaction I was hoping for. I knocked out an old Nazi.

The second reason is because I am interested in what will happen when someone from the victims’ side meets with someone from the perpetrators’ side. You cannot predict it. So today after the trial session concluded, I went up to Oskar Groening. He wanted to stand up but I said, “Please don’t, we do not want a repetition of last time.” I just shook his hand and said, “I appreciate the fact that you are willing to come here and face us. But I would like you to appeal to the old Nazis who are still alive to come forward and address the problem of neo-Nazis in Germany today. Because these young misguided Germans who want Hitler and fascism to come back — they will not listen to Eva Kor or any other survivor. You can tell them you were in Auschwitz, you were involved with the Nazi party, and it was a terrible thing.”

As I was talking to him, he grabbed me and gave me a kiss on the cheek. Well I probably wouldn’t have gone that far, but I guess it is better than what he would have done to me 70 years ago.

Everything he is accused of — I am saying he did all that. I have forgiven the Nazis and everyone who has hurt me, but I told him that my forgiveness did not prevent me from accusing him nor from him taking responsibility for his actions. And I told the media that he was a small screw in a big killing machine, and the machine cannot function without the small screws. But obviously he is a human being. His response to me is exactly what I was talking about when I said you cannot predict what will happen when someone from the victims’ side and someone from the perpetrators’ side meet in a spirit of humanity.

I know many people will criticize me for this photo, but so be it. It was two human beings seventy years after it happened. For the life of me I will never understand why anger is preferable to a goodwill gesture. Nothing good ever comes from anger. Any goodwill gesture in my book will win over anger any time. The energy that anger creates is a violent energy.

I am asking a question: What do we want in the future? Do we want to keep pointing fingers and the accused stay in one corner and the accuser stay in the other corner and they never connect? How will that work out? Look at the world – it doesn’t work out. All we have is people who are feeling angry, people who are running around doing crazy things.

When tragic things happen, we have to sit down and discuss, what are the options for the victims and for the perpetrators? Most people are only here in court to accuse him of things he has already admitted. So now what? I don’t think we should raise a statue in his honor, but he can serve as a good example to young people that what he participated in was terrible, that it was wrong, and that he is sorry that he was part of it. Now there is a message that has some usefulness for society.

If I had it my way, the dialogue between the survivors and perpetrators would have started a long time ago. And it would have helped the survivors cope and maybe heal themselves, but even more so not to pass the pain on to their children.

My ideas in life are very different, I know. I am in the minority — maybe a minority of one. I know how society looks at it, but as I look at society, I do not think it is working very well. So what I am saying is, maybe we ought to try something else. And my idea is for people from the victims’ side and people from the perpetrators’ side to come together, face the truth, try to heal, and work together to prevent it from ever happening again.

Dad Came Back 1,5 Month Later. Cat’s Reaction.

Cute and heart warming.

https://youtu.be/QNUgqpz_3Bc

What is the biggest secret that your first boss told you that has helped you the most?

Back some 30 years ago, fresh out of college, I worked at a real estate company owned by a Greek immigrant.

The company did everything involving real estate, loans, brokerage, management, home flipping…. It was a good place to get all around experience.

About 3 months into the job, the owner approached me and asked if I was ready to purchase my first house. Told him I was not ready, I was living with my parents and saving money. Then he told me a real gem.

He said to not purchase a condo or house for my first home. Huh? I said. He told me to purchase a four unit apartment. I told him I did not have that kind of money. Then he gave me the whole spill.

A single family home cost $150,000 and I would need $10,000 deposit plus pay $1000 per month for loan payment plus upkeep.

A four unit apartment cost $250,000 and I would need $15,000 deposit plus pay $2,000 per month for loan payment plus upkeep.

Here is the real kicker. If I bought the house, I would not have anything left over after I paid for all my expense.

If I bought the apartment, I can rent 3 other units at $700 each and the rents will actually pay all my cost.

WOW!

Here is the second kicker!

He said I can save that $1,000 a month and after two years, purchase another 4 unit apartment. Then I can move to my second apartment and rent the original place for extra $700. Now I will be saving $1,700 per month! My head was spinning. I realized how he made his fortune. He had multiple apartments collecting rents.

I went home and told my parents about what the owner told me. My Dad was bit skeptical but said he will help me to get the loan if needed.

Fast forward 30 years…my wife and I are making retirement plans. Thanks to the advise from my boss early in my career, things look good.

Breaking Bad but in France

https://youtu.be/Y2yCIxL8O0E

As a police officer, what is the oddest thing you found during a pat down?

You kinda had to be there…..

Back when homeless people were Hobos, Drunks were Winos, and “substance abusers” were Hypes, I pounded a classic foot patrol beat on San Francisco’s Mission Street. After 3 or four years, I literally knew everyone on my beat, bad, good, or wack-a-doo.

We’d periodically get some merchants complaining about this or that, so the Captain would tell the Lieutenant, and he would lean on the street Sergeant, who in turn would tell us: “ Its the weekly sweep time boys”.

Mitch would grab the BIG paddy wagon, and the six beat cops would ride its rear bumper while picking up the usual miscreants more or less at random.

We’d do a decent job of disarming them before tossing them in the wagon, and in that the prisoners and the cops knew how to play the game, we didn’t get any big surprises.

Untill:

I forget his real name, but if I called him “stinky” , and mentioned that he NEVER took off any of the 3 pairs of pants, or five overcoats he wore, everyone knew who he was.

Stinky was face down on the pavement across the street from the food market at 22nd when we grabbed him. Mitch did a cursory high risk pat search for weapons, or bottles of cheap wine, and finding none, cuffed him up and put him in with the other 15 bums in the back of the wagon.

At the Station, we had a regular assembly line thing going where the arrestees would line up, get a photo taken, have their meager belongings tossed into a brown grocery bag, and then shamble into the drunk tank.

Stinky shuffles up, and is so out of it, he can’t empty any of his 11 coat pockets. Mitch leans him against the booking counter, and begins taking handfuls of God know what out of the pockets.

Suddenly Mitch jumps in the air, yelling all sorts of Germanic based profanity, and is yelling “ Something bit me..something M….F….g BIT ME !!!”

Stinky has a semi-blank look on his face, but says; “ Oh, that’s just my lunch”

I grabbed the offending coat, ( while wearing gloves!) , turned it up-side down, and shook it.

About 7 or 10 half-dollar sized LIVE soft shell crabs fell out, and began scuttling around the booking room.

Stinky had apparently stolen them out of the fresh sea-food bin at the fish market up the street before we nabbed him.

To say that hilarity ensued would be vastly understating the commotion that followed, but suffice to say Stinky didn’t get his lunch, and Mitch never lived it down.

The Lieutenant had Mitch prepare a Line Up Briefing presentation on the “importance of proper searches during custody” later that week. There wasn’t a dry eye in the house when he finished

Avdiivka, Ukraine FALLS to Russian Army – “Complete Rout”

World Hal Turner 16 February 2024

Once considered impregnable, the KEY city for Ukraine defense, Avdiivka, the most heavily fortified city on the entire planet, has fallen to the Russian Army.

Within hours, the bloodiest battle of the 21st century (so far) will be over.

For those who have not kept up on developments in the Russian Special Military Operation (SMO), Avdiivka is the place from which the Ukrainian Army has shelled the civilians of Donetsk City for TEN YEARS!

There are going to be lots of tactical, strategic, and political implications from this that we will see over the next days and weeks.

There are reportedly very FEW Ukrainian defenses behind Avdiivka; the Ukrainians put all their eggs into one basket, counting on the deep Soviet-era nuclear bunker system, and defenses built since the end of the civil war to make it “impregnable.”

ALL of those defenses have failed and the Russian Army now controls the city.

(HT Remark: Remember how CNN and Bloomberg crowed endlessly that cutting Russia off from SWIFT was like using a Nuclear Weapon, and that there was no way Russia could survive that?  Here we are, two years later, and now, there is no way for UKRAINE to survive!)

This is a developing story . . . check back for updates.

2023.02.22 China Declares War On The United States

Gonzalo was correct.

https://youtu.be/mj7mauNj8DY

Be the Rufus

“Today I went to Dunkin and saw a clearly homeless guy singing on the side of the road and picking up change. Eventually I saw him stroll into Dunkin, as he was counting his change to buy something I began to get super annoying and talk to him over and over again even when he didn’t really want to talk. Since he had maybe $1 in change I bought him a coffee and bagel and asked him to sit down with me. He told me a lot about how people are usually very mean to him because he’s homeless, how drugs turned him into the person he hated, he lost his mom to cancer, he never knew his dad and he just wants to be someone his mom would be proud of (along with another hours worth of conversation.) this lovely mans name was Chris and Chris was one of the most honest & sincere people I’ve ever met. After realizing I really need to get back to class Chris asked me to wait so he can write something down for me. Handing me a crumpled up receipt he apologizes for having shaky hand writing, smiled, and left. I opened his note and this was it. “I wanted to kill myself today because of u I now do not. Thank u, beautiful person.”

The Side Of Trauma No One Talks About

https://www.youtube.com/shorts/PreedjvD9jU?feature=share

When preparing for rehab, what can one expect once there, and what can be brought with you?

The most important thing that drug rehabs understand that soon to be patients don’t, or can’t, or have forgotten, is that your being there is a matter of life or death. Plain and simple — you will die or you will get clean — that’s it.

Preparation for rehab goes like this.

You make the call to rehab and tell them you need help. Their phone intake staff will ask you a handful of questions like:

What is your drug of choice?
How long have you been using?
Are you safe?
Have you ever been to rehab?
Do you have a phone number that we can call you back if we get disconnected?
Are you on probation or parole?
Do you have an address where we can pick you up?

Those are a few of the questions the rehabs I’ve been to have asked me during the phone intake interview.

If you noticed, there is a seemingly important question that isn’t asked (or wasn’t asked of me).

That is: “Do you have insurance?”

Every rehab that I’ve been to didn’t require insurance. Once I got into rehab they helped me find funding.

Once you make the call asking for help, rehab is usually less than twenty-four hours away.

Here is a list of things that are great to have, but without resources not all of them are possible.

Your shoes and clothing.
Toothpaste, toothbrush, body wash, stick deodorant, razors. Don’t bother bringing any aerosol deodorant, mouthwash or cologne. If it has alcohol and has an outside chance it can be abused, it is contraband.
Cigarettes.
Money.
Hard candy in an unopened brand new package.

Don’t bring drugs, alcohol or weapons. That’s a crime in and out of rehab. They will call the cops. You will pay dearly.

Now you’re packed up and ready to go.

Usually, within twenty-four hours they send a van to pick you up at your doorstep. Again, it’s life or death so time is ticking and rehabs understand that.

The van is probably going to have four or five other people heading to rehab also. They’re in the same boat as you.

Once you get to rehab, you’re gonna get naked and searched. So, let’s back up. Before you get picked up, get a shower and shave. Somebody is going to be looking at your body without your clothes on.

Once you’re searched and all your belongings are searched, you’ll be assigned a bed.

You’re going to have 1–5 roommates.

You’ll go through 1–7 days of detox. This will seem difficult. You’ll be on medication. It’s gonna hurt, but it gets better.

After detox, you’ll be moved to rehab.

Now it’s official.

There are lots of people with lots of problems in rehabs.

Focus on yourself — they are not your friends. Don’t trust them, don’t believe them and don’t leave with them.

Listen to your counselor.

Pay attention.

If you have the opportunity to get into a halfway house after rehab, take it.

It’s awesome. You get to work, save money and start your life over.

That’s what it’s all about.

Starting over.

Do soldiers in war ever help the enemy?

Yes.

All the time.

Everywhere…

In WWII, Nazi Germany was concentrating their man power toward the Eastern Front.

An ENTIRE Wehrmacht Division which consisted of 2 brigades of about 12,000 soldiers was up against a single Soviet KV Heavy tank.

The crew of the tank (5 personnel) held off the German advance for hours. The Germans simply couldn’t disable the beast. Eventually, the crew of the tank ran out of ammo and was killed by the Germans.

The Germans took the bodies of the Soviet soldiers and buried them with full military honors.

They swept through the KV and grabbed a flag of the Soviet Union. The bodies were buried with the flag, saluted, and 21 rounds were fired in their honor.

Everyone is aware of the infamous Christmas Truce of 1914 during WWI. Similar things about during WWII. Please remember that during WWII, Germany was signed under the Geneva Conventions. The SS didn’t really care for this. But the Wehrmacht did and had to abide by it.

During national holidays like Christmas, the Germans and British once again ceased fire. They all agreed to stop shooting to give themselves time to bury their fallen soldiers. This happened on multiple occasions but was looked down upon, especially by Adolf Hitler.

During Operation Barbarossa (Invasion of the USSR), German was winning in the beginning. They were sweeping through the Soviet Union fast and capturing millions of Soviets. With the unforgivable Einsatzgruppen killing off Soviet Jews in the rear.

There are many pictures out there of Wehrmacht and even SS soldiers helping their enemies (Soviets). With the increasing victories of the Germans, thousands of Soviets were being injured. There are pictures and stories out there of SS soldiers caring for those victims. I know, it’s really hard to believe. (I’ll add the pictures in once I find them).

The Geneva Conventions state that once the enemy is disarmed, they’re no longer an enemy but a POW. And POWs must be treated humanely and taken care of.

During WWII, the Wehrmacht captured American POWs. They were separated (officers from enlisted). They were given jobs (mostly for junior ranks). They were given 2 full meals a day, and were able to receive care packages from the Americans Red Cross.

This was different with the SS most of the time.

Americans were captured by the 1st SS Panzer Division (Hitler’s Honor/Body Guard Division, Leibstandarte SS) after the Battle of the Bulge.

This image completely breaks my heart, as I’m an American soldier and have massive respect to my veterans, especially WWII veterans.

Instead of taking prisoners, the SS decided to shoot them dead and leave them in the snow. An MG-42 opened fire at them, killing 84. A few survived and managed to reach another American Division. After that, most divisions gave the order to kill all SS personnel on sight. In 1944, the commander of the SS Division (Joachim Peiper) was caught along with his men. They all stood trial for killing POWs. Peiper unfortunately got away with his crime. He was later killed by Nazi Hunters long after the war.

Jamaican Banana Bread

Ingredients

Bread

2 tablespoons butter, softened
2 tablespoons light cream cheese, softened
1 cup granulated sugar
1 large egg
2 cups all-purpose flour
2 teaspoons baking powder
1/2 teaspoon baking soda
1/8 teaspoon salt
1 cup mashed ripe bananas
1/2 cup skim milk
2 tablespoons dark rum or 1/4 teaspoon rum extract
1/2 teaspoon grated lime rind
2 teaspoons lime juice
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
1/4 cup chopped pecans, toasted
1/4 cup flaked, sweetened coconut

Topping

1/4 cup packed brown sugar
2 teaspoons butter
2 teaspoons lime juice
2 teaspoons dark rum or 1/8 teaspoon rum extract
2 tablespoons chopped pecans, toasted
2 tablespoons flaked, sweetened coconut

Instructions

Heat oven to 375 degrees F. Coat an 8 x 4 inch loaf pan with cooking spray. Set aside.

Bread

Beat butter and cream cheese at medium speed with electric mixer; add sugar, beating well. Add egg; beat well.
Combine flour, baking powder, baking soda and salt; stir well. Combine banana, milk, rum, line rind, lime juice and vanilla extract; stir well. Add flour mixture to creamed mixture alternately with banana mixture, beginning and ending with flour mixture; mix after each addition. Stir in pecans and coconut.
Pour batter into prepared pan; bake for 60 minutes.
Let cool in pan for 10 minutes; remove from pan. Let cool slightly on wire rack.

Topping

Combine brown sugar, margarine, lime juice and rum in saucepan; bring to a simmer. Cook 1 minute; stir constantly. Remove from heat. Stir in pecans and coconut; spoon over loaf.

What do you do when someone has road rage and tries to follow you home to fight you?

I pulled an idiot move and had the other driver follow me. New town, didn’t know my way around very well but knew I was being followed. Drove past my apartment complex and into a neighborhood, make a u-turn back out to make sure I am being tailed and yep, I am. Ended up driving to a convenience store and parking up front. See the other guy park as well, then as soon as he gets out I back up and leave. Do a few more twists and turns and catch a red light or two, make sure I lost them, then go to my apartment. Lucky for me they didn’t know which drive I was going to or even where I was going. And I left about an hour later for the airport and was gone a week plus. Thankfully they never saw me again, out of state plates would’ve been a give away for me.

If an Aussie went to Hogwarts

https://youtu.be/SB179Y7vTBk

The MoA Week In Review – OT 2024-060

Last week’s post on Moon of Alabama:

Ukraine:

February 20 – Screw The Facts – Europe Commits Itself To Further Escalation
February 23 – Ukraine Can No Longer Win – It In Fact Never Had A Chance To Win
Related:
– Ukraine’s Deepening Fog of War (archived) – New York Times, Feb 24 2024
– Don’t expect a ceasefire in Ukraine – Stephen Bryen / Asia Times, Feb 24 2024
– Fire Jens Stoltenberg now before it is too late – Stephen Bryen / Asia Times, Feb 25 2024
– First 2 Years of US Proxy War Against Russia Finds Both US and Ukraine in Downward Spiral – Antiwar, Feb 24 2024
– The Spy War: How the C.I.A. Secretly Helps Ukraine Fight Putin – (archived) – New York Times, Feb 25 2024

– Kursk 2.0? – Moon of Alabama, Jun 09 2023
– Collapse of Operation Citadel 2.0 – TASS, Feb 24 2024
by Konstantin Sivkov – Vice President of the Russian Academy of Missile and Artillery Sciences for Information Policy

Middle East:

February 21 – “A Final Solution”
Related:
– The Humanitarian Catastrophe in Gaza Can Only Get Worse – New Yorker, Feb 24 2024
– Shielding US Public From Israeli Reports of Friendly Fire on October 7 – FAIR, Feb 23 2024
– Israeli ground offensive in Rafah ‘aimed at making Gaza uninhabitable’ – France24, Feb 22 2024
– Netanyahu’s Messianic Coalition Partners Want an All-out Regional War. Gaza Is Just a First Step (archived) – Ehud Olmert / Haaretz, Feb 22 2024

Election:

February 24 – Trump Wants NATO To Be The Same Racket That It Has Always Been
Related:
– Trump Is Blunt and Right About NATO – American Conservative, Feb 22 2024
– Alarmed at Mark Rutte for NATO Secretary-General – American Conservative, Feb 22 2024
– Biden wants to put the US on permanent war footing – Responsible Statecraft, Feb 23 2024

—
Other issues:

Nordstream:

Independent investigator: Elements of UK government behind Nord Stream attacks – Nordic Times

Syria:

OPCW identifies ISIL as perpetrators of 2015 chemical attack in Marea, Syria – OPCW, Feb 24 2024
Syria – OPCW Engineering Assessment: The Douma ‘Chemical Weapon Attack’ Was Staged – Moon of Alabama, May 13 2019

Russia:

BAUD’S BOOK, THE RUSSIAN ART OF WAR (BY HELMHOLTZ SMITH) – Sonar21, Feb 20 2024
“Navalny,” documentary nominated for March 12 Oscar, is crude disinformation – Lucy Komisar, Feb 22 2024
U.S. Campaign to Isolate Russia Shows Limits After 2 Years of War – New York Times, Feb 22 2024
Russia’s victory in Ukraine resonates in Central Asia – Indian Punchline, Feb 24 2024

Health:

Are Evidence-Based Medicine and Public Health Incompatible? – Naked Capitalism, Feb 24 2024

Boeing:

Boeing touts 737 Max as ‘the safest airplane’ – CNBC, Feb 22 2024
Boeing in ‘last chance saloon’, warns Emirates head (archived) – FT, Feb 4 2024

> Sir Tim Clark told the Financial Times he had seen a “progressive decline” in Boeing’s standards, which he put down to long-running management and governance mis-steps, including prioritising financial performance over engineering excellence. <

Use as open (not Ukraine or Palestine related) thread …

Posted by b on February 25, 2024 at 13:03 UTC | Permalink

Cheese Tortellini Crock Pot Dinner

A creamy, cheesy crock pot dinner recipe featuring cream cheese, cheese tortellini and spinach.

Ingredients

1 (8 ounce) package cream cheese
1 large bag cheese tortellini
1 (16 ounce) can diced tomatoes, undrained
1 bunch fresh spinach, stems removed, or 1 bag frozen spinach
2 teaspoons garlic powder
1 teaspoon onion powder
1/2 teaspoon pepper
1 1/2 teaspoons Italian seasoning
1 container vegetable or chicken broth
4 ounces grated mozzarella cheese

Instructions

Place block of cream cheese in the slow cooker.
Pour the bag of tortellini over the cream cheese.
Pour the can of diced tomatoes over all.
Add the spinach to the top.
Sprinkle garlic powder, onion powder, pepper and Italian seasoning over the top.
Pour the chicken broth into the slow cooker.
Sprinkle mozzarella cheese over the top.
Cover the slow cooker, and cook on HIGH for about 2 1/2 hours.
Stir well and serve.

Fail Safe (1964) | Full Movie ft. Henry Fonda | Voyage

A U.S. plane loaded with hydrogen bombs is flying towards Moscow and because of technical difficulties, is impossible to recall. Starring Henry Fonda and Walter Matthau. Directed by Sidney Lumet.

“Dr. Strangelove” and “Fail Safe” were released the same year, 1964, and deal with the same subject. Dr. Strangelove got more attention due to its satirical, comedic approach to the subject of nuclear destruction, but Fail Safe brings home the point in a far clearer, more compelling manner. It’s just as chilling today as it was 60 years ago.

https://youtu.be/TseO7_0an0s

A smelly experience

When I lived in Indiana, it was an experience in extremes. The Summers were roasting hot. And the Winters were frigid and cold with gusts blowing and wind chill factors in the negative double digits.

To keep warm in our mobile home, we supplemented the heater (which was kerosene) with electric space heaters. And it worked out fine.

This is… or was…

Until my one cat, Scooby (might have been another) decided to pee on the heating coils of the heater.

Of course, we didn’t know this occurred until the very moment we need to use that heater.

Ah. It was a howling cold night, with wind gusts and sub-freezing temperatures. And so we pulled out the old space heater and fired it up.

Let me tell youse guys… nothing quite stinks like well heated, year old cat urine. Lordy!

I’ll tell you what…

I turned that thing off and threw it in the snow. It was horrible. I think that the stench permeated everything and it took weeks to air out the house in that particular Winter.

A word to the wise; never heat up cat urine. You will despise the experience. Ugh!

Today…

What is an experience you had at a gas station you’ll never forget?

Having worked at gas stations off and on for decades, I have a few more than normal, but this is the one that keeps me going with “what were they thinking”.

Many years ago, the owner of the gas station that I was working evenings at volunteered one of the garage bays to Fish and Wildlife as a weigh and tag station during hunting season.

This vehicle pulls in and the driver goes up to the state biologist completely chuffed with himself. Apparently he had just bagged the biggest deer he had ever seen. I got work to do inside, so I keep on going until the biologist walks up to the counter and tells me to call the troopers, and have them send along a sergeant, cause “They are going to want to see this.”

I make the phone call, and about ten minutes later, two state police cruisers pull in. and at the exclamation of “You sorry SOB.” had to step outside to sate my curiosity. Turns out this out of state hunter had not bagged himself a record white tail deer, but a good sized Jersey cow. Almost certainly the best milker in that farmers herd.

Gentleman winds up arrested, car impounded, rifle confiscated, hunting permit revoked, fine to the state, and one hell of a payment to that farmer.

The Chinese

The PRC is nowhere sitting idle. It may not speak a language that you (or I or the West) understands well but it acting decisively.

Common Russia-China patrols in the Pacific
Military exercises with *mixed* troups

China is diplomatically much less cautious than they used to, too. But their real target audience isn’t the West, it is the rest of the world. And I think they’re winning that discussion fair and square.

Posted by: Konami | Jan 23 2024 11:51 utc | 12

Greek Spaghetti (Lemon butter)

Ingredients

12 ounces spaghetti
1/2 cup (1 stick) butter
Garlic powder or mashed garlic cloves

Why you’ll love this lemon butter garlic pasta sauce

It’s ready in 15 minutes. You can have a bowl of delicious garlic lemon butter pasta in your hands super fast. Just what I want to hear when I’m pressed for time!
It’s super versatile. This creamy lemon butter garlic pasta sauce is great on its own but also perfect with prawns, chicken or salmon.
It’s loaded with flavour. Lemon, butter and garlic are an amazing flavour combo just perfect for a no-frills pasta dish.

What goes into pasta al limone?

Olive oil — Use the best quality extra virgin olive oil you can for this recipe for the best flavour.

Butter — Unsalted butter is best for this garlic lemon butter pasta sauce. if you use salted butter, you may not need to add any extra seasoning.

Garlic — Feel free to add as much garlic as you like. I like to make this sauce with at least six cloves. You can either finely slice the garlic or mince it.

How to make garlic lemon butter pasta?

Cook the pasta al dente in salted water according to the instructions on the package. Reserve 1-2 cups of pasta water before draining.

Meanwhile, heat the olive oil in a large pan or Dutch oven and melt the butter in it over low-medium heat.

Stir in the garlic and red chilli flakes and cook for 1-2 minutes until the garlic changes its colour, careful not to burn it.

Transfer the cooked pasta to the pan and toss well with a pair of kitchen tongs to cover it in the butter sauce. Add a splash of pasta water if it looks too thick.

Recipe notes and tips

To make sure the pasta water is extra starchy, cook the pasta in less water than you’d usually do. The starchier water will make the sauce creamier.
It’s always a good idea to grate your Parmesan or hard cheese yourself because freshly grated cheese has more flavour than bagged cheese.
Pasta al limone is best served immediately, and I don’t recommend reheating it.

What’s one instinctive thing you did that prevented something bad from happening?

This is something my husband did to help a young lady who was being followed after a road rage incident.

He was in the military and they were putting him through Graduate school so was in good physical shape. He was on his way to class around 1:00 and as he pulled into the parking area for the college and got out he heard someone crying and heard what sounded like someone being thrown against the chain link fence.

He ran down and saw a man throwing a young college girl hard against the fence and then would let her drop to the ground and do it again over and over while yelling at her the entire time. There was blood everywhere.

He ran to help her and grabbed and threw him to the ground. He jumped in his car and left fast. My husband memorized the tag and turned to help the girl. He yelled at another student walking by to call 911. (No cell phones then)

She was shaking, crying and in shock. He said he would stay with her until the ambulance came and asked her name and number so he could get a hold of someone for her. The ambulance was soon there and immediately took her to the hospital.

He met with the Police and after telling them everything he called the number and left a message telling which hospital she was in and what had happened and left his phone number and name if they had questions.

Later that evening a man called and thanked him for protecting his daughter. He said, “I’m her Dad and just wanted to thank you for saving my daughter today. I truly believe you saved her life. She had broken ribs, stitches in her head and a concussion but wasn’t hurt worse because you stepped in to help. You can rest assured he is in jail as we speak and by the way, I am the Superintendent of the Police. Thank you so much.”

~ You may never know whose child, sibling or mother you might be saving or who might be watching.

A few apples fell from my neighbor’s tree branch which hangs over onto my property. I picked them up and kept them. He called the police on me for “stealing food” and threatened to sue me. Will the police do anything? Does he have a case?

“A few apples fell from my neighbor’s tree branch which hangs over onto my property. I picked them up and kept them. He called the police on me for “stealing food” and threatened to sue me. Will the police do anything? Does he have a case?”

Here, no. Oh, he can sue you. Lawyers love this as it means money for them, even if they can’t win. Parasites.

But, his property was on, or over, your property line. So, if it falls naturally, it’s yours. You can TRIM the tree back, but not go over and cut it down. He can trim it so it’s not over your property, but he can’t go over and collect “his” fruit that falls or it’s trespassing.

The most we would do is explain this to him and leave.

However, when you go to court, it’s anyone’s guess. Lawyers and judges, kindred souls, tend to do whatever they want. Unless you have someone who can play the game, you might very well have to pay him for the “stolen” food, damages, and emotional pain and suffering. Heck, maybe even court costs. Criminally, he doesn’t have a leg to stand on, but…

I’ll tell you, growing up, kids used to pick an apple or two to eat and it didn’t cause any problems. It was only if you picked the whole tree, or took more than you needed, that people complained. Even apple orchards didn’t freak too much. If it fell on the ground, it was “free.” In fact, some even liked for you to clean this up for them to keep wasps and other insects from feeding on them and making a mess.

Oh, and another thing, those will be some expensive apples for him. Court isn’t cheap and neither are lawyers. Were they golden apples, maybe? If so, he might be worried you’ll plant the seeds and grow your own gold apples, stealing from his market.

You know, if he claims the apples, you might be able to make him pay for the leaves and branches that fall on your property. Clean up and damages, if you get my meaning. I figure there are a lot more leaves and branches that fall than apples, and, while you’re at it, how about the damage that those apples did to your lawn when they hit it? If you didn’t pick the apples up, they could attract wasps, which could sting you, and possibly dull your mower blades or become risks, such as slipping.

Why are Americans MAD at China?! (I Know Why)

https://youtu.be/U_ddmbjCKjQ

Have you ever walked out of a doctor’s office because the doctor was being disrespectful to you?

I arrived at my doctors office 15 minutes early for a routine visit in the evening. I paid my $5.00 co-pay. The receptionist informed me that I was early. I thought that was strange since most people arrive early for doctors’ appointments. There was a couple waiting to see the only doctor on duty. The receptionist called the woman’s name so she was the patient. I am a registered nurse and the patient did not seem to be in any distress. She and her male partner went into the doctor’s office. I waited an hour. It is none of my business what the patient and the doctor talked about but talking with the same patient for an hour seemed a bit long to me even if she had cancer or some other serious chronic disease. I patiently waited for the hour.

A young male patient came in and he apologized for being late. The receptionist said it is okay and he will be seen next. He did not seem to be in any particular distress. I had been waiting for an hour. I informed the receptionist that I am leaving. She asked me if I wanted to re-schedule the appointment and I said no. I went home and I filed a complaint with the HMO. The doctor’s office had to respond to the complaint. Eventually, they sent me my $5.00 co-pay. I did not care about the co-pay. I was concerned that I was waiting for an hour and the couple was still seeing the doctor and the young man, who was late for his appointment, was going to be seen before me.

I changed primary physician offices. When I called the office of the doctor I eventually selected I asked them how their appointments go? Is a patient generally seen within 15 minutes of their appointment time? They said yes. They also said I can call before my appointment to see if they are exceptionally busy. I have never had an experience like the one I just reported ever again.

I am stupid…

https://www.youtube.com/shorts/mk1pmrtlVL8?feature=share

What was the most disappointing Christmas gift you saw someone get?

I get choked up telling this but I will. In 1987 I was 7 years old, my parents had divorced and my father paid my mother $20 a month for 3 kids. Now this was pretty pathetic already, but he had not paid her for 6 months. Anyhow my mother was struggling to make ends meet, we had very little food in the house and I did not know it at the time but my mum was starving so the food would last longer for us kids. Christmas day my father turns up and accuses my mother of being a drug addict (I assure you she’s not) and told her I’m not paying cash anymore or she will spend it in drugs. He gave her a Christmas card and inside was 2 gift cards for the local supermarket totalling $200, he even said “Merry Christmas” to her as this was all the owed money and then some more. My mother did not care, she would have used $200 cash for food anyhow. She took what little she had in cash and used it to buy fuel for her car, we drove to the supermarket and loaded two trollies (1987 $200 went a long way) mum even purchased Froot Loops for us kids, it was a happy day…… Well until we got to the check out. The bill came to $199.90, mum presented the 2 gift cards, they were both declined. People stared at her, and the store accused her of stealing the gift cards, they told her to leave or they would call the police. People stared at us, and my mother left so embarrassed. My younger brother was 4, he was crying as the Froot Loops were taken from his hands.

What actually happened: My deadbeat father stole the gift cards from the store, however their is no money in them despite them saying $100 on each. You see if you want to purchase the card you need to take them to the counter and pay the face value, then the card is activated and can be used in the store. A few days later my mother collapsed from starvation, we had apple trees next door at the neighbours farm, we took some for my mother, she ate apples for 5 days straight. It gets worse however, when my father was confronted by my mother a big argument broke out, my father accused my mother of lying and then refused to pay her any child support for another 4 months as he had given her $200.

Over the course of 6 years my father paid a grand total of $60 for us 3 children. In 2002 when I was 22, out of sheer coincidence, I saw my father enter a bar. I sat next to him he pretended like nothing had happened, he offered to buy my drink I told him “I don’t want anything from you” and paid for my own drink, the tension was so thick at this point. He started talking about how “that was the past and it’s okay now.” I finished my drink, opened my wallet and pulled out $60. I sat it in the bar in front of him and said “that is everything I owe you, don’t you ever f@cking contact me or my brother’s again.” Then left the bar, I honestly have no idea where he is today, and I really do not care.

EXTRA PART.

I have had a few people question about the last time I saw my father as a child, this includes my own daughter, well it was not at age 8. When I was 8 he started to hardly ever see us, he saw us once a month, then on our birthdays and Christmas, then he called us on these days. Now when you are 8–10 years old a month is a long time, so as a child I was always wondering if I had done something wrong. Yes my mother comforted me, but deep down you can not shake that “why was I not loved enough to want to see me” feeling.

By the age of 10 he had barely seen us for a year. On my 12th birthday be turned up with a fantastic cake, it had a fighter jet on it made out of icing, he remembered I liked fighter jets. He was such a loving father that day, I don’t know why, but he was. I remember him going, telling me “I will see you again real soon son,” then he left. That guilt feeling went away, I still felt I had done something to upset him, that’s why he left the first time, but I had now been punished, and forgiven. I felt my nightmare was over, I could live a life with a loving father again.

That night I went to bed and I recall my mother asking me if I had a good birthday? I told her “today has been the best day ever,” it really had. I rang dad’s phone about 2 weeks later as he had not contacted us, I was excited to talk to him, the number was disconnected, I had no address and I was 12. Mum could not contact him either, I don’t know if it was deliberately done, or if the phone was disconnected, I really don’t know. What I do know is that he knew our number and our address, but didn’t want to know us. I had a $2 coin that I would put in the pay phone near my school every afternoon while waiting for the school bus I would dial his number over and over. I had a special tiny bag I kept that coin inside, I still have this coin today. I keep it in a display, a reminder if the pain I felt every time I rang that disconnected number. About a year later the phone rang, the person who answered did not know my father, obviously the phone company had recycled the number.

My daughter has asked why I keep a normal $2 coin on display in my office. I have never told her, but I guess she knows now, you see I did not know she was on Quora, I had no idea she was following this post. Everytime I look at that coin (everyday) I am reminded of the hurt a parent can inflict on a child. My father never beat us, or did anything like this, but I think I would have preferred this as opposed to the emotional torture he gave us.

I live my daughter, she turns 15 soon (May 22nd) and I would take a bullet for her if that was ever the situation, I can’t image her putting $2 in a pay phone everyday for over a year (yes I know we have mobile phones now). I would feel bad if I slept in on her birthday, let alone didn’t turn up altogether. She has no wish to meet her grandfather and I doubt she will after reading this. She loves her grandmother, she looks up to her as a role model, and what a great role model to have. She’s a really smart person, even when she was 8, I explained to her the reason we live so comfortable is because of the sacrifices her grandmother made, she understood completely.

Who is the rudest celebrity you have met, and who would be the nicest?

With few exceptions, the biggest stars tend to be the nicest people. Why? Probably because they’ve achieved their greatest ambitions and have nothing to prove. Too, most of them had to endure a lot of rejection before finally getting their big break.

In 1990, I worked with Martin Sheen and LeBar Burton producing their voiceovers on an environmentally themed charity album entitled “Put On Your Green Shoes.” Sheen was so nice, he refused to be paid for his contribution, which caused us some problems because AFTRA insisted that he receive scale for the session. As one would expect, Burton was a true gentleman and did take after take because he wanted nothing else but to serve the project.

I wrote a song for Tim McGraw’s “All I Want” album and he proved to be one of the nicest, down-to-earth superstars I’ve ever met.

I’ve written in Quora about my disappointing encounters with certain rock stars… Kevin DuBrow, Mike Love, and Todd Rundgren, in particular, were extremely unpleasant and rude personalities.

A chance meeting with another celeb was also disillusioning. The first movie soundtrack I was involved with was the original Vanishing Point, circa 1971, starring Barry Newman. About 8 years later, I ran into Newman who, by then, had starred in the CBS series Petrocelli.

I was arriving at an LA tennis court as he was leaving. “Barry Newman! Vanishing Point!” I exclaimed, as he approached. He just scowled at me and marched past. Thinking he might be more open to giving a co-creator a hello, I said, “I did some songs in that film.”

“Yeah, sure,” he grumbled, and walked on. I certainly found that extremely rude and disrespectful. Still, I have no idea whether Newman was surly by nature or whether he was just having a bad day.

How do Europeans feel like living in an age which they can no longer colonise non-European countries?

They move from slavery to colonialism and to virtual colonialism ie. Rules Based International Order.

Rules set arbitrarily and unilaterally by white Caucasian. Anglo European stock to ensure that the rest of the world are fully submissive and subservient to them in a set of rules that favours them and it ensure that the world is theirs to take, loot, steal as they please. They enriched themselves and the coloured people toils and slaved for them.

When the rules are not suitable they simply change them. The rules are set by them, change by them, ratified by them, policed by them and judged by them! To ensure they write what is right and what is wrong they monopolised the media that says the white is right, the white is moral, the white is honourable, the white is pure!

Everything black is bad. Black magic, black cat, black out, Black Friday, black Monday black listed…The media and the European stock can demonised anyone that refused to be submissive and subservient to them. They can even kill, murder, slaughter, rape at will! To enrich the west they get the biggest muscle in the room US to be their henchmen.

They can even murder 3 million in Vietnam and Indo China. And the media say it is to prevent communism, 2 million in Korea to stop communism and 2 million in Iraq to install western value like freedom! Then 1 million in Afghanistan to protect women’s right! It is up to what sells best to the fools in the west!

So after 300 years of enslavement and colonialism and another 75 years of virtual Colonialism that is about to end. The west blames China or Russia but frankly if you are anyone of the 175 non beneficiary nations, the 87% if the world or the so called Global South, everyone wants out! And it will be history whether the beneficiary scream, shout or threaten genocide we will stop at nothing!

Europeans and go cheat on each other and steal from each other.

America

https://www.youtube.com/shorts/GQQO2DChU-0?feature=share

Can you stop your neighbors from driving through your yard to park in front of their house?

My buddy had the same problem. He had addressed several times but the teenaged son continued the behavior.

He took matters into his own hands. He did not damage any property. He took come plastic valve caps and superglued a simple BB into the top. He then snugged up the valve caps so it just slightly depressed the Schrader valve, slowly releasing air from the tires. The next day all 4 tires were flat.

The neighbor had the vehicle towed to a repair shop. All 4 tires checked out as good. The vehicle was driven home, with the same caps installed by the repair facility. Next day, all 4 tires were flat. The car was then towed to repair shop again. All 4 tires check out again. That shop reused the caps again.

Finally on the third day of towing, the repair shop found the BB’s and replaced the caps. When they returned home all my buddy did is was grin at them as they drove in. His lawn never was driven over again.

Have you ever accidentally found out that you were about to be fired?

Well, it was my co-worker, and we were both let go due to layoffs. Actually, we were let go after the ‘official’ round of layoffs were completed and we thought we were in the clear. For me, it happened just a few days after it was completed. After our weekly IT meeting, I got called into HR (thinking it was an IT issue) but got ambushed by our manager (cisco VC call from TX) who promptly explained about the firm consolidating and removing redundancies.

Due to NY state law, HR was required to give me a list of employees being let go that day (just their age, department, and title) to show there was no discrimination by age or other factors.

After I left the building, my co-worker came down to say his goodbyes, and asked about the whole procedure. Then I showed him the list that HR gave me. He then noticed the age and title and said that was his, and then the realization that his last day was today too. Sure enough, he saw a missed call on his phone from someone in HR.

He went back inside, and sure enough, about 15 minutes or so, I get a text from him saying he was let go too.

Why do more and more Hong Kong people like to shop in Shenzhen?

Others have mentioned the cost.

But for me the key consideration is the attitude of shops and customers service in Hong Kong is atrocious.

I had to buy a new phone 2 years ago and dread doing it.

You go into shops ask for something and they’ll try sell you something else when you say no thanks you get a tirade of abuse.

A bicycle company that has shut down did this. I wanted a bicycle tyre he tried to sell me 19. I wanted 23. He gave me an earful of abuse about how he knew better than me and how 19 was the way to go.

Here’s Why America is About to be Bankrupt AND Everything You’ve Worked for Means Nothing!

https://youtu.be/shWOdLQXeJo

What’s the most savage way you’ve seen someone get fired?

We hired a young man just out of high school who needed a break. Bright, motivated, smiled and nodded to everyone. We qualified his on forklift in shipping department. He was so happy his life was on track. He got his first apartment and got engaged. I was very proud of him and we chatted now and than about his future.

He was off one day. This was a couple weeks after we were told the plant would shut down in 6 to 8 months.

Our HR lady got a call from corporate telling her to fire him today. He was hired 89 days ago and if he was here 90 days they had to pay unemployment. So they called him in for some BS reason. I tried to find his number, call him and tell him to turn his phone off and don’t come in but I couldn’t get it.

He came in and went up front. Came back to his car and left. I could see him tearing up. Once again his world had been upended. I had told him before all this that qualified forklift operator opened a lot of good paying jobs if he ever left.

I felt so bad for him and contempt at the company for saving a few bucks and not caring about people.

Why is Olive Garden a bad restaurant?

If I lived in a smaller town with a diner or two around and a couple of fast food places and one Olive Garden, it would be heaven on earth. A clean place to sit down and eat with gobs of salad, a friendly waitstaff, and interesting combinations of food that I just couldn’t get anywhere else. If you told me that it wasn’t authentic Italian food I could only say, “So what?” It is a comfortable dining experience in my little town and the food tastes pretty darn decent. That Olive Garden would be a special treat for me and my family.

I live in a much larger community and there are two Olive Gardens near by as well as a plethora restaurants and cafeterias around. Once a month or so my wife and I get a take-out from Olive Garden. She always gets the lasagna (her only go to meal at Olive Garden) and I usually ask for my own concoction of a pasta with Italian Sausage with meat sauce with the gnocchi/chicken soup. She loves the lasagna and I really like what I get. We are not looking for a particular Italian experience, we are looking a particular food we appreciate.

So my suggestion is that Olive Garden is not bad at all. Is it exquisite dining? Not at all. Is it authentic Italian? Nope. But exquisite dining and true Italian are available to me when I want it. The Olive Garden is not a replacement, it is simply an additional option. Others must agree with me because these places around me are invariably crowded.

The Olive Garden is a pleasant option.

What is the biggest life lesson you have ever learnted?

Dad: What are you searching in that drawer?

Mom: I couldn’t find my saved money, I need to pay the deliveryman.

Dad: Don’t worry, you’ll find it. How much for the deliveryman?

Mom: 5 thousand rupees. I ordered some groceries and essentials for the house.

Dad paid the deliveryman and we eventually got busy with our daily work.

The next day, Mom, Dad, and I were cleaning the kitchen, when my mom shouted.

Mom: Look, I got my money, it’s in the cupboard. I was so foolish, I searched the whole house for it.

Mom looked so happy because she saved it for her friend’s birthday gift.

But the situation was something else.

Dad got out of the house to smoke a cigarette and I ran behind him.

I said “Why did you do that?’

Father asked: ‘Do what?’

I replied “I swear I have seen you taking the money out of your wallet and putting it in the cupboard.

Dad smirked and replied: “You know she was everything for me! I can’t see her getting sad over the little money she lost yesterday. Because I think we need to care for the person, we love the most!”

Dad takes out a handkerchief and starts putting off his sweat.

I said “Dad, now why are you using mom’s handkerchief? Is it a sign of your care towards Mom too?”

Dad “Nope, because it still has her fragrance”

This was something that changed my whole point of view not only towards life but also towards love too.

Hope you’ll like my answer,

Yours truly,

Ankita

Is the poor training and corruption in China’s military comparable to Russia?

It’s always interesting so see how few westerners have pattern recognition isn’t it?

What’s that?

If you haven’t noticed EVERY single country that is considered an enemy of western countries is described in exactly the same way:

Corrupt
Poor training
Poor weapons
human wave attacks.

Yet westerners fail to recognise those things.

Actually no, I changed my mind while typing this, it’s recognised but it’s merely another form of racism. So let me change the above to this

Corrupt – Compared to the totally non corrupt western militaries.
Poor training- Compared to the fantastic SUPER SOLDIER training of western countries
Poor weapons – Compared to the SUPER WEAPONS of western countries
human wave attacks. – Compared to the fantastic tactics of western countries.

This is why Ukraine has fucked the western narrative so much. They were exposed, they talk tough but in the end the talk doesn’t match.

Westerners talked how big and powerful they were.

Corruption

Pentagon can’;t account for 2 trillion.
Challenger 1 tank gets produced!
SA80 rifle is produced!

Yet their SUPER SOLDIER TRAINING has failed (western source)

Star Wars by Wes Anderson Trailer | The Galactic Menagerie

https://youtu.be/d-8DT5Q8kzI

I was put on furlough (mandatory unpaid time off) at my job. During this time my boss called me and asked a question. Was I wrong to tell him “I will answer that when I am back in the office and getting paid”?

You weren’t wrong, but depending on circumstances, a better approach might have been to be nice. Especially if your boss had no say in the decision to furlough you.

If the boss was the one who made this decision, and you don’t like him, then what you did was a perfectly reasonable response.

The large company I worked for, was bought out by another company, and they laid off 1200 people in our company, immediately.

I was one of the casualties, but they were nice and gave me severance plus an extra day to clean out my office, which I spent copying files over to the people left behind.

The very first day, my coworker, one of 4 from a group of 13, that survived the culling, called me asking me for help. I gave it to him, no sense making a friends life miserable. Everyday I spent 15 minutes with him. He wasn’t qualified to do my job, and he knew it, but he was just doing his best.

On the sixth work day, our partners complained that they had agreed to let our company manage the project, and paid our company outrageous money to do so, because I was managing the contract and not some unqualified guy.

I was brought back on contract, paying far more than my old salary, to manage the contract. The CEO of the new combined company had to sign off on any laid off employee, being brought back on contract, in less than a year. There was a lot of flack flying in the company over hiring me back after a week.

The deciding vote to bring me back, was the fear of my being bitter and taking revenge on the company by sabotaging the project. Once it was explained that I had copied all the data I could to the relevant people, after being laid off, and spent 15 minutes a day helping the company, it was decided that it was worth the risk, and I was contracted back. I was the only one of 1200 people brought back in the first year.

Some companies are reluctant to bring back people they view as bitter. Even if you have every right to be bitter.

What was ‘the incident’ about which everybody talked in your school/workplace?

A co-worker – he was 21 years old – and another co-worker – she was 19 years old – decided to take their morning 15 minute break in the janitor closet. An employee came with her water can to get water for her plants. She opened the door to the utility closet and dropped her can and screamed OH MY GOD. She ran and got security. The young man was in a standing position, nekked from the waist down. The young woman was kneeling, nekked from the waist up. The young man zipped up, zipped out and fled outside to smoke a badly needed cigarette. The young woman had to do more work to get decent. The guard caught her. He asked her “Where is your partner in crime?” She replied “I am sure he is outside smoking a cigarette. This is his name and this is what he looks like.” So, both criminals got caught and fired right away. The young man went home right away. The woman actually finished out her work day, her head held up high, not embarrassed or uncomfortable or anything. She caught me and two other people talking about her. She actually came up to us and stated “I don’t think you should be talking about my private life in public.” Can you believe it …..

What was the biggest risk you have ever taken that really paid off in the end?

I was making good money in NYC, but I had had enough of it. It was becoming too dangerous a place for me to raise my wonderful kids. I didn’t want them to have the same upbringing as me. I’m your typical, cynical, non-trusting, New Yorker. I wanted them to have a better outlook on life.

I managed to find a job in Vermont that payed half what I was making in NYC, but, allegedly, the cost of living was cheaper. In some ways, that was correct, but in others… well, there are things about VT that are MORE expensive than NYC. We were struggling for those first years.

Four years later and I’m making a little more than I made in my best year in NYC. My daughter thinks I Yoko-Ono’ed her bond with her friends and she’ll probably never forgive me for that, but you know what? One of her best friends (15 years old) was recently found, in broad daylight, passed out drunk in a stall in Panera Bread. So maybe moving her away from that may have been a good thing. She’ll never see it though.

My dad was freaking out when I informed him of my intentions to move. He claimed that I’d never have the opportunity that I had enjoyed in NYC. I have changed jobs 3 times since moving here, and I finally have probably the best chance to enjoy retirement from the job I have now. It’s been a blessing, mixed at times, but a blessing.

Take chances. You never know what you’re missing if you don’t.

Excelsior!

Do you have biases that you are aware of?

Yes.

And this is going to make a lot of Quorans think less of me. But I’m just being honest.

No sarcasm in this answer either.

I’m very much biased against illegal drug users. This is because of my experiences growing up with an older sister who was a drug addict. I saw what it did to her. I saw what it did to her daughter. But mostly, I saw what it did to my parents.

I don’t have any friends anymore anyway… the wife and kids take all of my time, and I’m an introvert… but, when I was younger and did have some friends, I’d cut them from my life the moment I found out they did drugs.

In my early 20s, I had some coworkers who smoked weed on a regular basis. I didn’t think too highly of them. They were mainly middle-aged men who were still doing entry-level and part-time work. Were they happy? Sure. Did I want to be like them at their age? No. I just avoided talking to them unless it was work-related.

I don’t get preachy with drug users. (It’s pointless.) I know some of the people I interact with on a regular basis here on Quora, my “Quora friends,” use drugs. I’ve seen their posts about it. The fact that we only interact via the written word in a virtual world is the only reason I don’t care about it. If this were the real world, and you were sitting in front of me now, discussing how you planned to get high this weekend, I’d politely excuse myself from the table. I don’t need that around me in the real world.

You do you, but respect that I don’t want any part of anyone who does those things.

For me, personally, I suppose it’s like someone who grew up with an alcoholic parent, and made it a point to never be around people who drink a lot. It just brings up bad memories that you don’t need in your life.

Who Is Zelensky? A Puppet—and Here’s Why

One of the reasons why he was killed.

https://youtu.be/j7NTLZDd4tc

How many real friends do you have (friend being defined as someone whom you could call to discuss a personal problem or whom you could ask to borrow a small amount of money from)?

Literally none.

It’s something that my family (well, my wife and oldest daughter) have noticed for years. They used to encourage me to make some friends, but I guess they gave up on that.

I have coworkers with whom I talk about work-related things. I have neighbors I chat with when I happen to be outside at the same time they are. I have Facebook friends who are old real-life friends from high school, none of whom I’ve seen in real life in 20 years, and will likely never see again.

And that’s it. I have my family, and a bunch of acquaintances, but no real friends.

That’s not a complaint. I’m happy this way.

The last real friend I had… someone with whom I’d hang out on the weekends… I haven’t spoken to him since 2007. We were friends and roommates in college, and I worked with him for a little while, but once we both got married, got our careers, got our houses, and had our children, we just kind of grew apart.

I’m not anti-social. I’m asocial. It’s something I don’t even think about, unless someone else points it out to me. Here it is, a Saturday night (St. Patrick’s Day weekend in Chicago, no less), and I’m answering questions on Quora in the gap time between tucking in my children and going to bed myself. I suppose that sounds sad or pathetic to people who value their social lives. Not to me, though. It sounds comfortable. I like comfortable.

RIA-Novosti publishes photo of French “mercenary” in Ukraine

VOLTAIRE NETWORK | 23 JANUARY 2024

RIA-Novosti press agency published photographs taken from the Facebook account of Alexis Drion, one of the casualties of the Russian bombing of Khirkov/Kharkov on January 17.

The Russian Foreign Ministry continues to claim that the building targeted by the Russian strike was hosting “foreign mercenaries”, mainly French. On its side, the French Foreign Ministry denies just as vigorously the presence of French “mercenaries” embroiled in the conflict.

Understandably, Russia is trying to present evidence that French soldiers were in Ukraine carrying out a mission, which would constitute an act of war.

After publishing the names of 13 of the victims of the January 17 bombing, the agency dug deeper and stumbled on an Facebook account <Facebook

> created in December 2011. Though relatively inactive, an image can be spotted of the young man from 2013 in military uniform, at the age of 27. Various photos seem to link him to the Foreign Legion. In the latest pictures, we find him in Ukraine brandishing an insignia of France and the OUN, the militia of “integral nationalists”.

Alexis Drion during a ceremony at the Arc de Triomphe in Paris

Russian press issues list of 13 French “mercenaries” who died in Ukraine

VOLTAIRE NETWORK | 22 JANUARY 2024

While the French authorities have formally declared that there were no French “mercenaries” in Ukraine, the Russian press has published a list of 13 names corresponding to some of the victims of the 17 January bombing on Kharkiv/Kharkov.

• Albert Emeric (d.o.b. 22 December 1999),
• Alexis Drion (13/06/1986),
• Béranger Guillaume Alain Minault (30/12/1978),
• Valentin Dupois Mel (02/01/1994),
• Gilles Bernard Sylvain (10 /27/1980),
• Jacques-Pierre Gabriel Evrard Philippe (29/09/1987),
• Jean-Pierre Bonneau Chris Heray (17/07/1999),
• Maris André Dubois Clément (28/09/1995),
• Marcellin Demont (05 /23/2002),
• Sébastien Claude Rémy Benard (04/04/1974),
• Thomas Jeremy Nathan Gourrier (24/02/1996),
• Charles Bertin Roussel (01/09/1996),
• Emmanuel Tanguy Kenneth Delange Grandal (26/09/1996) /1998).

Russian Duma to address French Parliament

VOLTAIRE NETWORK | 19 JANUARY 2024

The Russian Duma will address the French Parliament regarding the presence of French “mercenaries” in Ukraine.

Officially, France is not engaged in military operations in Ukraine, but supports the latter by providing it with weapons. If French soldiers were involved in the fighting, the French Republic would be at war with the Russian Federation.

It would seem that the Duma is intent on disclosing the presence of French Special Forces, which are in Ukraine without authorization from the French Parliament.

Article 35 of the French Constitution stipulates stipulates as follows:

“The Government informs Parliament of its decision to have the armed forces intervene abroad, at the latest three days after the beginning of said intervention. It specifies the objectives pursued. This information may give rise to a debate which is not followed by any vote. When the duration of the intervention exceeds four months, the Government submits its extension to Parliament for authorization. It may request the National Assembly to make the final decision.”

How do you respond to an inappropriate “accidental touch” by someone at work?

In my opinion…

It was at an office BBQ with our families, it was hot, and there was a wasp.

The bosses eight or nine-year-old daughter started screaming that there was a bee in her shirt. She was wearing a spaghetti top. Everyone panicked.

The thing about me, is that a Bee sting is much like a mosquito bite, it swells up a little bit and itches. No big deal. Some people, a bee sting would kill them. If I did nothing, would she die?

I calmly asked her if I could put my hand in her shirt. She screamed “YES! YES!”

In front of her panicking dad and mom, she pulled her top open and I reached into her shirt and grabbed the Wasp. I pulled my hand out and threw it on the ground and stomped it. I looked at my palm. It had stung me, so I bit the wound and sucked, then spit. I got stung a few times every year, no big deal.

Then I realized that I had just had my hand down the front of a little girls shirt in front of thirty witnesses.

But everyone treated me like a hero, especially my boss. Go figure.

What would you do if you got fired from your job?

Heeeee! I oughta say “don’t ask,” but can’t resist.

I took over a job that had been occupied by my eminently sensible, smart, and long-suffering cousin. That last adjective — long-suffering — is the operative term. She put up with the guy’s sh!t (a euphemism, we might say) until she went off to marry a handsome and rich young rancher and live happily ever after.

Totally naive, I applied for and got her job.

What.

Jerk.

The.

Guy.

Was.

The day I came in and found an incredibly NASTY note in the middle of my office floor — he was unhappy because I’d thrown out some trash — mostly ads — without shredding every sheet of paper and envelope — was the day that I took everything I was supposed to be working on, dropped it smack in the middle of the office floor, went out the door, locked it behind me, jumped in my car, drove away, and never came back.

From there the next move was to go back to graduate school. Get a job teaching freshman comp for peanuts (I was used to the “peanuts” part by then…), complete the Ph.D., get my book published, and land an academic job. A job, we might add, where the bosses more or less treated you like you were human. Well. Almost as human as they were. 😀

What do you do if you get fired from your job? CELEBRATE!!!!!

What was the shortest first date you ever had?

Met a woman in a busy local mall after chatting with her online a few times. Met her through a horrendous online dating app. Made sure lots of people around in case things headed south. Bought her lunch and we sat and ate as she just kept on and on. Saying nothing until she says I have something important to tell you. Ohhhh okay. I just got out of prison. Oh yeah? Umm what for I asked. Bank robbery in Nevada. A casino heist. Oh really? So what brought you to Florida? I met my husband as a penpal in prison and we wrote back and forth for years. Husband? Yeah he recently had a massive heart attack and died. Ummm ok? Yeah he was 25 years older then me and lives in Bonita Springs. He had a vending machine business. Ohhhh. So did you at least stash some of the stolen money away from your heist? She said that her 2 “ friends” left her behind and she got busted and they got away with several hundred thousand dollars. So you never caught up with them? Nooo, she couldn’t find them and never saw them again. Attractive well endowed blonde woman . Spent a good 1/2 hour talking . Nice girl but a bit tooo much baggage for me.

Can an employee be fired by phone, or does that have to be done in person?

An employee can be fired by phone, though I wouldn’t recommend that. California requires that you hand an employee their final check (and a few other documents) on their last day. That would be very difficult to accomplish over the phone, right. You might have an out:

this is an on-the-spot firing because you just learned that the employee did something so bad that you have to term them immediately. California law gives you 72 hours to get the check to them if it truly is an unplanned termination.
the employee agrees to something like having their check delivered to their door by courier, say within the hour. (I agreed to that when I retired. I was recorded, with my permission, waiving my right to come in and pick up my check and other documentation in person.)

My aside brings up a key point: what did you say? What did the employee say in return? An unrecorded phone call leaves you with a he said – she said. That’s not going to be a fun day if the employee decides to challenge your firing.

Some states are single party consent, meaning you can record the call without the employee’s knowledge or consent. But just because you can do something doesn’t mean that you should. You can quickly gain a bad reputation in the labor pool and with recruiters and agencies for having shady, though legal, HR practices. “You don’t want to work there! They call you first thing in the AM, fire you and sneak record everything you say.”

Not fair.

https://www.youtube.com/shorts/iOPUMWCeFvI?feature=share

What is the most amusing conversation that you have ever heard?

My friends and I witnessed a fantastic scene on a public bus last November.

A few stops after we got on, two young boys waddled onto the bus. They were maybe about seven or eight years old, small enough that they were practically dwarfed by their puffy winter coats and colorful backpacks.

As soon as their fathers sat down, the two kids began quietly talking to each other. Based on the things they were saying, it sounded like they were trying to recreate what they’d learned in some kind of anti-bullying assembly at school.

“If you don’t let me play with you,” one boy whispered, “that’s bullying!”

“But if you do let us play with you,” the other boy whispered back, “that’s respect!”

“If you push someone over on the playground, that’s bullying!”

“If you help someone get up after they fall, that’s respect!”

Their secretive whispering gradually evolved into enthusiastic shouting as they applied this newly learned dichotomy to scenario after scenario. After a few minutes, it became clear that they’d started to go off-script.

“If you never ever say sorry again, THAT’S BULLYING!”

“If you say sorry a hundred million billion times forever and forever until you die, THAT’S RESPECT!”

“If you go on the toilet and you forget to flush but then you go back and you see the poop and you flush it, THAT’S BULLYING!”

“No, wait, I think that’s respect.”

“That’s respect?”

“Yeah.”

“No, but I think the poop makes it bullying.”

My friends and I were sitting at the back of the bus throughout their conversation, trying our best to hold back our laughter.

What are some of the funniest “got fired” stories?

I have a friend who worked for a small firm as a graphic designer. He was the youngest and newest, and felt like he was underappreciated and under paid. Also, he thought his boss was a moron. When the business hit hard times, he saw cutbacks coming and decided to just do whatever he wanted until they let him go.

Monday morning, an hour after he was supposed to be in, he called and said he’d be out all week, and would be in Friday, then hung up before he got a response. He watched TV and played video games for four days straight, taking breaks to look for a new job.

On Friday he rolled in two hours late, not at all surprised to discover that his boss wanted to see him in his office.

“The company has needed to do some restructuring and make some tough choices. I need to inform you-”

Here it comes, freedom at last from this awful place!

“- that we’ve let everyone else in the creative department go, and you are now our lead designer. We’re ready to give you an immediate raise of 20% and creative control over all projects. Also, it looks like you’ve needed a break this week, so we’re also ready to offer you more vacation days.”

By the end of the discussion, he not only got more vacation days and the 20% raise, but also got to work from home every Friday. I guess being absent all week made his boss realize how valuable he was to the company.

Edit: There were some questions as to why my friend was the only one kept on, so I’ll elaborate. The company had two web designers, a graphic designer, and my friend, who did video directing and editing. It just so happened he was also a great designer, artist, and could do web design. Everyone in the department could do their job, but he could do everyone’s job.

Submarines Size Comparison

https://youtu.be/347zdq9d2aM

What court tactic backfired on someone?

I was a Probation officer, and I had a probationer back before the court for a probation violation hearing. There were several charges, but one charge was the guy had shown up for an urine screen, and claimed he couldn’t urinate for three hours, even though I saw him go to the restroom twice. (He said he was just testing.) Anyway, I told him to come in the next morning at eight. He showed up at eleven.

At the hearing, the attorney who was a friend of mine got feisty for some reason. After I testified that I told him to report back at eight, the defense attorney asked me, “And did he?”

I replied, “Well..”

“Yes or no answer,” he snapped.

I turned to the judge and said, “It’s not a yes or no question.” (I wanted to say that he showed up at eleven.)

The judge said, “ If the defense attorney wants a yes or no answer he’s entitled to it., Ask your question again.”

“Officer Davis did my client show up at 8:00AM as you told him to?”

“No”

He got an additional charge. I later told the judge in private, and we had a new hearing where he had two months of his eight months in jail reduced. But if I’d been a jerk his attorneys showboating would have cost him two extra months.

What sounds extremely wrong, but is actually correct?

Before freezing to death, people tend to remove their clothes.

Yes.

This is called “paradoxical undressing”, a phenomenon frequently seen in cases of lethal hypothermia. Shortly before death, the person will remove all their clothes, as if they were burning up, when in fact they are freezing.

When people feel cold, the most important thing is to ensure the function of the brain, internal organs and other major organs, so the blood vessels at the ends of the body will automatically contract to ensure adequate blood flow to the major organs.

In this state of stress for a long time, the muscles that contract the blood vessels fall into fatigue and can no longer work, and must take a calm “rest”.

The peripheral blood vessels on the surface of the body will all open, blood will quickly flow to the end of the limbs, and the long-term cold limbs will be immediately filled with warm blood, resulting in the illusion of “very hot”.
When this signal is sent back to the brain, the brain will send the wrong instructions to the body, so that people may think that it is really hot, take off all the clothes.

At this time, people who are on the verge of dying get up and struggle to undress, thinking that undressing is good.

Hard time dating

https://www.youtube.com/shorts/iKpzZedCeec?feature=share

Would the military actually shoot at people trying to storm Area 51 or would they try to arrest them?

I was a reservist in the ’90s. I got put on guard duty a few times.

One night, I had to guard a building. They gave me a rubber duck weapon. (An M-16 made out of rubber. Yes, they exist.) I had to walk the perimeter of the building every hour with the “weapon.” I had to note anything out of the ordinary.

When I guarded the SCIF (Sensitive Compartmented Information Facility), they gave me a real rifle and a full magazine. There was classified information in there that I didn’t have the clearance to see. I didn’t even know what I was guarding.

They briefed me on the use of force. Basically, you halt the person. You get their ID, detain them and call the commander of the relief. If they don’t halt, you shoot center of mass. There are no warning shots.

Yes. They will kill you if you don’t halt and follow their orders. They have orders to do so. They will follow their lawful orders. National security is no joke to them.

I was glad nobody approached me that night.

Have you ever been fired from a job or asked to resign?

I was 19 and working at a major retailer, I’d rather not mention but is definitely a conglomerate. I went on lunch break, had a drink with a coworker, and returned to post. My manager instantly smelled alcohol on my breath, idiot I was didn’t try to hide or cover the pungent odor that is Seagrams gin. Manager notified the higher ups who put me in a room and three higher ups sat at a table opposite of me. They began asking where I got the alcohol, did I drink with anyone, and saying that they saw us on cameras. I was to rat this coworker out with a written statement. I wound up writing that I drank alone like George Thurgood and not one person laughed. They decided to fire me and I happily left. I was mentally ready to leave that place. The only thing I regret is when I have to answer for it at job interviews even thought it’s been nearly 20 years.

What is the greatest way to make unwanted guests leave?

We had an 18th disco-style birthday party for our daughter at our house, with the expectation that it would wind up around 11pm. By 11:30 it was still going strong with music blaring out loud and kids dancing and drinking a little too much (beer and light drinks only allowed).

My Father-in-law was living with us at the time – an ex-Grenadier Guard and Seargent-Major. Seeing our frustration and not dealing with it adequately, to his mind at least, said he would deal with it.

At 11:50pm he walked into our large lounge, cleared to be a dance floor, switched off the music and switched on the main lights and announced.

“In 10 minutes, it will be Sunday and at 12:05 I will start a religious service. I expect anyone still here to attend”.

The place cleared by 12 midnight.

Quantum Leap: Russia-China’s Quantum Communication Test

https://youtu.be/WdQtBa8_T4Q

What was the shortest interview you’ve had that led to a job offer?

Went to a bar in Australia, saw that no-one was tending and joked with the next guy that walked in, that he needed a bartender, else I’d pour my own, he said, ok, come pour your own. I did, with a near perfect head, and he said, can you start here? now? today? sure I said, he left me there for 4 hours to run the bar. I worked there 2 years.

Went to an bar in Shanghai while travelling, the Bartender there was a Kiwi, it was an Aussie bar, after I asked for a drink he asked me, what I was doing in Shanghai, and I said, looking for a job (I was interviewing for English Teaching jobs) and he said, Well, you sound Aussie, you can work here if you can pour a beer. I started that night and worked for a half a year (ESL teaching in the day, bartender at night).

Went to a ESL School for an interview in a new country after that, walked into the wrong dept, and asked for the head of dept (as it was all I had to go on) and started the interview from my end, and half way through she realised I was in the wrong place, but then asked me how I would deal with businessmen instead of kids. I said, ‘under the suit, they’re just kids’ she hired me there instead, I stayed in that country 10 years.

You find a new job, so you give your employer two weeks’ notice. Your boss then gets angry that you are quitting and tells you not to come back in anymore. How should you respond to your boss?

Generally, when this happens, especially in a salaried position, your current employer will pay you for the final two weeks. If the employer doesn’t offer it, ask for it. It never hurts to ask. It’s just easier and safer for your employer to pay you off than to make an issue of it.

Years ago, as a recent college graduate with an accounting degree, I was an employee in good standing, working as an office supervisor, while I searched for an accounting job. When I was hired by a new company as an accountant (at a significant pay increase,) I gave my two weeks’ notice, fully intending to use the next two weeks to make the transition as easy as possible for my current team. My manager didn’t appear to be angry or resentful when I resigned, but two days later she told me that she didn’t think my mind was on my work. She instructed me to pack up my personal belongings and leave immediately. She told me the company would pay me for the remaining portion of my final two weeks.

What did I do? I packed up and left with no cross words or fanfare. Then I enjoyed an unexpected, 10-day, paid vacation on my old company, knowing I would be starting a better-paying job in my chosen field at the end of my break.

My First Time Hearing Zhou Shen – Floating Light REACTION

https://youtu.be/V1ki98LPGlY

What is the best revenge you got on a superior in your workplace?

I don’t think of it as revenge, but just standing up for myself.

I was a sergeant for a large California police department. I was working swing watch for a lieutenant that was worse than an asshole. I can work for an asshole if he is competent regarding the job, and if he is consistently an asshole. This guy was worse than an asshole in the following ways: some days he’d act like your buddy. Some days he’d say ‘Do X,Y, and Z’ and the following day he’d say “No! I said do Q,R, and W’. He would also tell me how he didn’t trust a large number of our officers. He had quite a paranoia about him. Just a miserable human being who I believe was trying to mask some serious insecurities.

One day I came into work five hours early as a favor, due to some gang murders and a trial that ws going on. I had a squad of swing watch officers assigned to me for this detail. Around 2:30pm the lieutenant came into work with his nasty mood on full display. He started complaining to me about some of the swing watch officers being lazy. I countered by saying if they were so lazy, then why did they come to work 5 hours early to work a stressful assignment? The lieutenant’s office door was open and our argument could be heard in the hallway.

I realized there was no salvaging a professional demeanor with this guy during this shift. My solution: I told him (it was the beginning of our ten hour regular shift) that I had a splitting headache and was going home. There was nothing he could do. He knew he’d get stuck doing a lot of my work. I had to train my boss to be better.

Fortunately, we had our biannual sign-up shortly thereafter, so I signed up for day watch, just to get away from this guy. Within a week of the sign-up results being posted, he was banished to an undesirable post. (Management personnel can be moved at the whim of the chief.) Worse for him, his commute went from 45 minutes to 90 minutes. There were rumors floating around the station. How bad must our captain have thought about this lieutenant to get him shipped off to Siberia?

Our captain had only been at our station for about two months when this happened. He knew me when we were both officers and he knew of my work ethic. He confided in me that when he saw that I signed up for a shift I don’t even like, that there was a BIG problem with this lieutenant. It also solidified the old saying that sergeants run the stations. Things got a lot better for the whole station once that jerk was kicked out.

What can you tell me about fighting in Afghanistan that most people don’t know?

This isn’t a very popular opinion, especially in veteran’s circles, but it is a fact and therefore, it should be said:

The casualty numbers sustained by the so-called “Resolute Support”

[1]mission in Afghanistan are so ridiculously low that it cannot even be called an armed conflict or a war.

In 2018, the United States military had the highest number of casualties from all “Resolute Support” contingents. Altogether, they lost seventeen soldiers, sailors, and Marines in Afghanistan. If you compare this to their absolute numbers (1,358,190 active military personnel) you have a casualty rate of Soldiers Killed in Action (KIA) of about 0.0012%. If you count only personnel deployed to a combat zone (around 18,000 in 2018),[2]you get around 0,09%. Not very impressive. Being a US soldier isn’t even in the TOP 25 of the most dangerous professions in the United States.[3][4]To compare this number to other modern conflicts, the German army in WWII lost around 26.6% of their soldiers in the Soviet Union, while during the Vietnam War the US lost 40,000 of their soldiers on the battlefield (KIA rate of 8%).[5]

In 2018, the German Army’s contingent in Afghanistan didn’t lose a single soldier while at the same time eight soldiers died at home in various accidents.

[6]Although it was one of the years which saw the highest number of German military personnel deployed to crisis regions, 2018 was also the year the Bundeswehr lost the smallest number of soldiers in its history: only 8 were killed. In comparison, in 1962, long before any foreign involvement, the Bundeswehr lost 166 soldiers, most of them in accidents.

Of course, every dead soldier is one too many, but the probability for a US or an Allied soldier to get killed in Afghanistan is much lower than, for example, that of a Russian or Israeli soldier dying during military training.

Next time, we hear people calling to “bring our troops home” or thanking them for their sacrifice, we should put that into perspective. This is also the reason why the “war” in Afghanistan takes so long: the price is paid by the Afghan civilian population and not by our soldiers and Marines.

All of his concerns are valid

https://www.youtube.com/shorts/H8Hly7spmUk?feature=share

What is the most badass thing a private has said to a general?

Admiral Hyman G. Rickover was the founder of the US Nuclear Navy and is a man clouded in legend. There are a number of stories about him, some of which most certainly are true. Others may or may not be true, but certainly do fit his rather unique style of command. As an example, and this is 100% true because I’ve seen it, and it still sits in the Naval Reactors office, during their interview, Admiral Rickover had his prospective officers sit in a simple office chair… with four inches cut from the front legs.

One story details one of The Admiral’s tours of Nuclear Power School. He decided to enter a classroom, perhaps during the lesson or during study. He entered the rear of the room where he quickly and silently suppressed the impending calls to attention.

At the front of the room, a junior sailor, maybe a Third Class Petty Officer, was working an assigned problem on the board. The Admiral approached the student and, from a short distance behind him, observed the student’s work over his shoulder.

After some time, the student got frustrated. He turned to The Admiral and stated, “Excuse me, sir. I’m trying to work this problem here,” and resumed his work. The Admiral wordlessly departed the classroom, assuredly to the dumbfounded looks of the sailor’s classmates.

As the story goes, later that day, word reached the sailor that The Admiral offered him a commission as an officer in the US Navy.

Why does everyone in the world think the US is a good nation when it is not?

No one think so!

The U.S. thinks and fooled themselves that the world thinks highly of themselves, they most certainly don’t.

Who thinks highly of America? Some very young starry eye highly naive spoilt brat kids perhaps! Or some totally ignorant bigoted white supremacist mainly older, less travelled, less educated people in America thinks America is good!

Everyone else don’t. In fact they don’t think they know US is not at all a good or honourable or caring nation to its own people and certainly very barbaric to the world!

Even most of US slave nations such as Germany, Japan or Korea don’t think so too. They may be forced to but deep inside the disdain America. British, Aussies, Kiwis, Canadian and fellow despicable former colonialists don’t too, they may suck up to the U.S. or at least they use the U.S. as a shield against others who may want to hurt them but they think little about America!

So in percentage it may be as little as 1% thinks they are good. 99% thinks they are barbaric, inhuman, inconsiderate parasite that they cannot respect but some 15% of the world fear them or at least wants their protection. So they pretend to have nice word for the US.

At what point in WWII did the German military realize the war could not be won anymore, and how did they try to act on it?

According to Rommel’s diaries, Hitler said to Rommel that the war was lost late 1943 when Rommel was appointed Inspector General. That makes sense as it was after Kursk, which in a way the Germans won (losses) but they were routed anyway because unlike USSR, Germany could not make up for their losses and this would have been clear at the highest level.

Hitler said to Rommel that from now on it was a question of creating the best possible position for negotiations.

Rommel expressed disappointment, so at this point it was only seen vy those who wanted to see.

As for reactions they were not the sane across the fronts.

Kesselring (Italy) reacted well before this by building fall-back positions planning an incremental withdrawal already early 1943.

On the Eastern front this was forbidden by Hitler which meant withdrawals were often unplanned and more costly than needed. Stalingrad is a good example, but other units, cities or regiments were ordered to fight till death as well.

Is it bad to tell your boss you’re quitting souly because of them?

Is it bad? Not at all. In fact, it is actually quite liberating.

I was hired to work as a computer support tech at a community college but the man who offered me the job resigned, unexpectedly, just days before I was scheduled to start. His replacement was on the panel that interviewed candidates and he preferred another candidate over me, so he went to his boss to have my job offer revoked. His boss refused to do it and that made him incredibly angry, so he decided to take it out on me by micromanaging my every move.

He had no experience as a manager — he’d been a systems admin at the school before being named interim IT Director — and he didn’t like working with older people. This was unfortunate because I was 58 years old at the time and the ony other support tech was 63 years old, so interim enjoyed trying to embarrass us. He called us both out in front of a room full of people for running a network line incorrectly, and we angered him by telling him to finish the job up while we went to lunch.

My coworker decided he’d had enough at that point and took that afternoon off before sending interim an email stating that he wouldn’t return. Interim tried to write me up for insubordination but his boss wouldn’t let him and that made a bad work relationship even worse. I took to working in empty classrooms and lecture halls to avoid interim, and spoke to him only when directly asked a question.

Two years after my old coworker quit I turned in my resignation — the letter simply stated that I was resigning and that my last day would be in two weeks, on a specific date. When interim — yes, after three years he was still interim IT director — showed up he walked over to my office and stood in the doorway, and asked me why I was quitting. I usually offer up a vague response like, “It’s time to move on” or “ I want to try something new” but this time I told interim that I could no longer stand to work for someone I did not like or respect. The look on his face — shock, dismay, anger — was worth having to sit and twiddle my thumbs for those last two weeks. That’s right — he pulled all the work he’d assigned me to punish me. Needless to say, my new coworker didn’t appreciate that move.

All girls thing…

https://www.youtube.com/shorts/ai5BsKSmAks?feature=share

What is the most insane conversation you have ever had with your parents?

I was a straight A student in high school, and in my sophomore year I was receiving brochures from college. I had some spread out on the kitchen table, and Mom and I were discussing which ones would be worth a visit during my junior year. Dad came home from work, noticed the brochures, and scoffed, “She’s not going to college; I’m not paying for her Mrs. degree like her sister!” I started to explain to him what degree I wanted, and wasn’t going to college to get married, as my sister had done. Mom cut me off, stood up and got in Dad’s face. She sternly pointed out that he HAD paid for my brother’s B.S. and M.S. and if I wanted to go to college I DAMN well was going to go! Dad and I both stared at her, our mouths agape, because Mom never contradicted Dad in front of us. (As it turned out, I earned enough scholarships and had a parttime job on campus, that I was a bargain, costing them very little out of pocket.)

Uh huh?

https://www.youtube.com/shorts/7vseGkTMln0?feature=share

Have you ever been invited to dinner under false pretenses?

Yes! Our neighbor, a pastor, invited us over when his wife was away. They had very old fashioned roles, she did housework, he earned money. When we arrived he asked my husband to help him install a hanging lamp. He asked me to start dinner. All he had was stuff for salad. I went home and got some steak and potatoes, cooked it while they worked. After dinner i did the dishes and he told me to take out the trash. I said “ Excuse me?”. He laughed and told me to take it out its “womens work”. So not wanting to alienate someone we had to share an property line with, i did. When my husband and i left He turned to me and said “ What the heck was that?”. I said, he took advantage of our kindness! He got free labor, a free dinner, and free maid service! We never accepted another invitation for dinner! This is the same guy who adopted an African baby so he could “ Get over being a bigot, like my father”. Cant make this stuff up!

What would you do if the school bully pulled off your shirt at school in front of everybody?

Hardly as bad as pulling a shirt off, but an episode in my Catholic high school has passed into legend.

One student I’ll call Henry was an easy target for one particular bully. He spoke strangely as a consequence of a congenital hearing defect, wore a bulky hearing aid, carried an extra forty pounds, had a bad complexion and was 100% nerd right down to the pocket protector and slide rule.

His bus arrived early. Early students had to wait in the cafeteria until home room opened. Henry would turn down his hearing aid, open a book, and write computer programs or do math problems. He would place his lunch – a sandwich in a small paper bag – on the table next to him.

His nemesis would yell in his ear “how are you this morning, Henry” while he smashed the sandwich flat. Henry had had enough. One morning he put in the bag a piece of cardboard with thumbtacks pushed through the cardboard pointing up. The bully, as usual, smashed the bag flat. He let out a howl as he pulled his hand away with a dozen punctures streaming blood.

One of the nuns heard the howl, figured out what had happened, and dragged Henry by his earlobe to the Director of Discipline, Fr. Huller. Huller was a regular guy. He had landed in the second wave at Normandy and seen a few things.

Huller listened to the nun’s version and then to Henry’s version. He asked the nun to leave so that he could speak to Henry privately. Huller could barely keep from laughing. He tried to say something several times but couldn’t get the words out. Finally, he told Henry “just don’t do that again.”

Huller then asked to see the bully who had been patched up by the school nurse. He told the bully that his impalement was punishment enough but if he smashed any more sandwiches he’d be expelled.

Granting permission

https://www.youtube.com/shorts/k9ZKRNf6tJw?feature=share

Have you ever quit a job in an unplanned manner where one day you just snapped and said “I’ve had enough of this, I’m done”?

I sure did. I was working for a company helped them open their location. They had me doing supervisor duties with the promise of soon getting that position. I was young and dumb not realizing that was a mistake. I did it for about 6 months working my tail off and never missing work and always coming in early and or staying late. When it came down to it, they said they were giving the position to a new person that was new coming in and just gave me a $.10 raise. It was a slap in the face. Thinking about all those extra duties I put in. The times they would keep calling me on the ear piece even when I was just going to go pee they called me. Then one day on my day off when I went to pick up my check, the boss said a bunch of people called off and they only had 1 station open, 1 employee there out of 6 15 minutes to open, and 2 bus loads of kids coming in. He then told me he needed me to start right away. I told him I didn’t have my uniform. He told me to grab one from the back, but those were dirty. I said ok sure. I went to the back and said good bye to everyone. They asked where I was going and I said I quit. Never done that in my life. Felt awful but it was a turning point for me to never let anyone take advantage of me again.

What bad experience had you saying “I will never buy from that company or use their service ever again”?

Bosch.

This happened about 20 years ago. We had a cheap and cheerful washing machine. It was 15 years old and had required a few repairs in the recent years; new door seal, new belt, new motor brushes etc. Problem was the the motor commutator had become scored and the brushes didn’t last too long and really the motor needed replacing. We also wanted a machine with a higher load capacity so we went shopping. We chose a high spec Bosch washing machine with a 9kg load capacity and a 3 year extended warranty i.e. to 4 years. It cost about £450 which was a fair amount at the time.

Just over 4 years later the machine was on its spin cycle. There was an enormous series of bangs, the machine threw itself around the floor and ground to a halt. A repair technician was called but found that the machine was completely destroyed. We commissioned an engineers report. This stated that the tub counterbalance had become detached. It should have had say6 studs and nuts holding it in place. A couple were missing completely and the rest had sheared off. The tub spinning at high speed had been thrown around the inside of the machine, slicing through wiring and pipes, smashing the control circuit board and even causing large dents in the steel panel at the rear.

Bosch’s attitude was unbelievable. Essentially they said that “it could not be a manufacturing fault as it would have shown up during the warranty period” and “what did you expect as it was now outside warranty”. Apparently although a cheap and cheerful machine would last 15 years with a few cheap repairs but a quality one was expected to self destruct as soon as the warranty period expired. Eventually they did consent to a small amount of compensation but left us massively out of pocket.

I’ve never bought another Bosch power tool, fridge, freezer or anything else since then

This is me

https://www.youtube.com/shorts/CeywEkTZ4wM?feature=share

How do you successfully contest a traffic ticket?

I went to court, fought the ticket, exposed the lying cop, and got my charges dismissed. The judge offered his “congratulations, on an excellent defense”. I went into court prepared, righteous, and loaded for bear. I fought a handful of tickets, over the years, and won every time. They were all bogus. For a couple that I got, which were legit, I was able to get reduced fines, or even deferred adjudication.

Know the laws on the offense you’re charged with, AND the fine schedule and other possible punishments. I prepped a friend, for his seatbelt ticket defense. He was told he would be fined $250, and then he brought a printout of the state law, which called for a $66 (or thereabouts) fine. He then said he wanted to know just whose pocket the rest of that $250 was going into. The charge was dropped, and he was sent out the door. The city prosecutor, and whoever wrote the fines, hadn’t bothered to see if the numbers matched the legal amount set by the state.

At what point of time did you realize that you were working in the wrong field?

I was hired with the promise of being the #2 in the company as CIO. One hour into the first day, the CEO comes into my office and asks me to call somebody at our other office to help him with a problem. He told me that I worked for him as well since he was in charge of the department over there that ran a document scanning operation I had not been told of.

So much for only having to worry about one unqualified person telling me how to be a CIO, I now had two. I knew then I was dealing with somebody who tells someone exactly what they want to hear. It was too late, as I’d already moved the family, etc… Had to try to make it work. Developed clinical depression as a result.

I did have the honor of watching the CEO get deposed from a company he owned a majority of stock in (only way that happens is extortion or blackmail by the other shareholders), and having the new CEO grovel at my feet when I left him after a year of his abuse. Then I watched the company implode, first by closing down the scanning center (the only profit generator for the company – brilliant people), then having everybody else bail because they no longer got paid.

Great Times!

Who is your favorite actor who you have met in person?

I waited on Nicholas Cage one Sunday morning in Vegas. He, the lady he was with, and his young son were the only guests at the time. I greeted him as Mr. Cage and at the outset he seemed very nice. I informed the manager (goof) and he immediately said to ask him for a photo as “corporate”loves that. I have waited on other celebrities and I would take a bullet before doing something so gauche. Mr. Cage did take some photos with other guests as the restaurant filled. He was very polite the entire time. At the end I said “Mr. Cage I am great admirer of your work”. I mean c’mon after Moonstruck? It was totally the truth! He said, “John it was a pleasure meeting YOU”! I had to go out to the parking area as he left his credit card on the table. Did he give me a nice tip? Yes. Was it outrageous? No. All class.

The Chinese Navy Of 2024 Is Unlike Any Other Major Navies

https://youtu.be/gFkoC8Sol1A

What doesn’t impress you?

Just an hour ago, My girlfriend offered to buy me Lemon soda in one of those small roadside shops. We were regulars there.

I was thirsty so I finished my drink fast. She was halfway through her glass when a Traffic policeman approached the shop.

Him: One lemon juice please.

Shopkeeper: Sure sir, please wait for a minute.

He makes the juice and hands it over to him.

My Girlfriend starts drinking the juice very slowly. I asked her what happened.

“I’m just waiting to see what he’ll do” *points at the traffic policeman*

After he was done with the drink.

Him: Thanks. *Leaves without paying*

The shopkeeper just continues with his work.

Her: Yeah, that’s what I thought.

Pretty common sight in India. Cops get freebies in a lot of roadside stalls and they don’t even think for a second that the small amount of 10–15 rupees is the shopkeeper’s hard earned money.

What doesn’t impress me?

People who abuse their power don’t impress me.

How much over the speed limit do most officers let you go before pulling you over?

In the city I used to live in photo radar was set for 13 kmph over the speed limit, about 8 mph. There are no demerits for photo radar, just the fine. Its a great cash cow, because it catches all of those who are momentarily not paying attention, as well as those who are purposely speeding. The province refuses to allow photo radar on its highways. Because they say its just a cash cow.

In the little town that I retired to, they thought they were going to get rich off of speeding tourists. They moved the speed limit signs so that it dropped from 100 to 80 to 50 kmph farther outside of town, and they bought a $125,000 photo radar, and said it would pay for itself in two months. The main tourist drag through town was a provincial highway. They sat the only town police officer at the edge of town, and ticketed away. In the very first month a guy fought his ticket, and the judge ruled that it was illegal to use photo radar on the highway. Rather than move it to other streets, where most of the offenders would be locals, they sold the photo radar for about half of what they paid for it. When it was working, they had looked into hiring a second officer to bring in more money, but once it was scrapped, all talk of a second officer was cancelled.

The fact that they wouldn’t use it on non tourist streets, moved the speed limit signs out of town, and talked about hiring a second officer, but only when they were using the radar trap, and dropped the plan as soon as they dropped the radar, pretty much tells you the intent of the radar trap.

The photo radar was still perfectly useable, except that you had to actually stop the car and write up the ticket, check licence and registration, sobriety, etc , exactly as the province required.

But, because of the time required, the town said it wasn’t economical to give tickets to people doing less than about 25 kmph ,15.5 mph, and there weren’t enough of them to make it worthwhile.

So there you have it, if its automatically sent out in the mail, the limit is 13 kmph over the speed limit, if they have to check to make sure you aren’t a mass murderer, driving a hijacked car, its almost double at 25 kmph.

Humans vs Superhumans | When Monsters Were Real and We Almost Went Extinct

https://youtu.be/juyvnVL6V7g

What is the fastest you wiped that smirk off your manager’s face?

I had a manager who was putting me on a last and final write-up (next step suspension / terminated) for something I didn’t do. I refused to sign the write-up until I talked to the director (his boss) about the situation as I hadn’t made an error. The manager replied, “It would’ve been easier if you would’ve just signed it!” He goes through the steps of bringing on another manager to witness me refusing to sign the paperwork, as was protocol for this type of situation, and I went about the rest of my shift.

What my manager didn’t know was my wife, who happened to be an auditor in the company, had made me aware of the situation before I went into work so I was able to research things before my write-up was going to be given to me. I was able to see that my manager had changed some of the data I used to complete my daily reports, which caused my paperwork error. I printed the evidence showing he caused the error and held onto it until the meeting with the director.

So I’m meeting with the director and the manager is going, “… does sub par work, careless with his reports, yada yada”. My director then asks me for my side of the story and I tell him, “The manager changed the data I use to run my daily reports”. The manager was offended and says something along the lines that I was wrong. I then show the screenshots of when the information I used was changed and who doctored it. The information was changed 30 minutes after I left work for the day by my manager making him responsible for the error. The meeting ended about two minutes later with a half-hearted apology.

Edit: So there have been a few comments on why the manager wasn’t fired for his actions of doctoring a record. The overall reason was we had just started using a new computer system a few months prior and there was still a lot of growing pains with everybody figuring it out. I don’t think the manager’s actions were malicious with the error, it was part of the learning process. I even learned better procedures to follow to prevent the error from happening again. At first it was for CYA, then it became the procedure I taught to others to guarantee accuracy of the reports.

Who did you experience that is so cheap they are disgusting?

I had this friend in college who would always eat my lunches. I didn’t really mind and it’s not because she didn’t have any money or anything it’s just that she never made lunch for herself and when she did she still thought mine were more appetizing.

I shared my meal everyday with her and I would often make more for the two of us.

One day I didn’t have time to make lunch and she didn’t bring one so I suggested that we go eat at a small bistro near the school. She ordered a big meal and everything and paid. When it was my turn I didn’t have any money because I left my wallet at home. I asked her to lend me some money and told her I would pay her back. She refused saying that it’s my fault that I was poorly organized and I should always have my wallet with me. She then told me I purposely forgot my wallet and that it was a plan for her to pay me back for all of the meals that i shared with her.

I didn’t eat lunch with her. I just left and blocked her. Never thought people could take so much but never give when needed.

WTF?

https://www.youtube.com/shorts/KZ_rQ3Lt8jY?feature=share

What are Americans offended about?

JFK’S Secretary of State, Dean Rusk, was in France in the early 60’s when DeGaulle decided to pull out of NATO. DeGaulle said he wanted all US military out of France as soon as possible. Rusk responded, “Does that include those who are buried here?”

DeGaulle did not respond. You could have heard a pin drop.

When in England, at a fairly large conference, Colin Powell was asked by the Archbishop of Canterbury if our plans for Iraq were just an example of ’empire building’ by George Bush.

He answered by saying, “Over the years, the United States has sent many of Its fine young men and women into great peril to fight for freedom beyond our borders. The only amount of land we have ever asked for in return is enough to bury those that did not return.”

You could have heard a pin drop.

There was a conference in France where a number of international engineers were taking part, including French and American. During a break, One of the French engineers came back into the room saying, “Have you heard the latest dumb stunt Bush has done? He has sent an aircraft carrier to Indonesia to help the tsunami victims. What does he intend to do, bomb them?” A Boeing engineer stood up and replied quietly: “Our carriers have three hospitals on board that can treat several hundred people; they are nuclear powered and can supply emergency electrical power to shore facilities; they have three cafeterias with the capacity to feed 3,000 people three meals a day, they can produce several thousand gallons of fresh water from sea water each day, and they carry half a dozen helicopters for use in transporting victims and injured to and from their flight deck. We have eleven such ships. How many does France have?”

You could have heard a pin drop.

A U.S. Navy admiral was attending a naval conference that included admirals from the U.S., English, Canadian, Australian and French navies at a cocktail reception. He found himself standing with a large group of officers that included personnel from most of those countries. Everyone was chatting away in English as they sipped their drinks when a French admiral suddenly complained that, whereas Europeans learn many languages, Americans learn only English. He then asked, “Why is it that we always have to speak English in these conferences rather than speaking French?” Without hesitating, the American admiral replied, “Maybe it’s because the Brits, Canadians, Aussies and Americans arranged it so you wouldn’t have to speak German.”

You could have heard a pin drop.

AND THIS STORY FITS RIGHT IN WITH THE ABOVE…

Robert Whiting, an elderly gentleman of 83, arrived in Paris by plane. At French customs, he took a few minutes to locate his passport in his carry on. “You have been to France before, monsieur?” the customs officer asked sarcastically. Mr. Whiting admitted that he had been to France previously. “Then you should know enough to have your passport ready.” The American said, “The last time I was here, I didn’t have to show it.” “Impossible. Americans always have to show their passports on arrival in France !” The American senior gave the Frenchman a long hard look. Then he quietly explained, ”Well, when I came ashore at Omaha Beach on D-Day in 1944 to help liberate this country, I couldn’t find a single Frenchman to show a passport to.”

You could have heard a pin drop.

Is it fair that if a girl punches you, you can punch her back?

My friend punched a girl back. In fact 3 girls. He asked me to take him to court when he was prosecuted for it. The evidence was on CCTV.

When I saw the video I was shocked how they attacked him in the street first by punching him then using their stilletos. You could see the injuries just below his eye and on the top of his head.

The prosecutor said he’d used too much force when he punched them after their THIRD wave of attacks. They’d pursued him through the streets, stolen and hidden his jacket and car and house keys as well.

The reason given was that they didn’t like it when he was passing one of them in a club and said how nice she looked, and when she swore at him he’d said how unpleasant she was. They’d followed him out of the club and attacked him from behind in the street.

The prosecutor admitted that the worst of the attackers should have been in the court for assaulting him with a dangerous weapon – a stilleto in the eye causes blindness. Instead she accepted a caution and no further action was taken.

It was evident he’d been trying to escape the area and to find his jacket. He was acquitted. The case was thrown out with less than 2 minutes consideration by the magistrates.

So, yeah, if a male or female attacks you to that degree then striking back as a last resort is what you might need to do, even though it is heavily looked down upon.

What is the worse fight you have ever been in?

Do you mean the worst loss or the most aggressive win. The bloodiest fight I was ever in took place in a bar. I’m going to give them short version of this night because I don’t want to type it all out. Because of a little scuffle at a party I was at all my friends got turned around. We all went different ways. I ended up ina bar laying low wondering if cops maybe looking for me. So already pumped up from the fun at the party I wasn’t going to say away from nothing. In the bar got a beer and walk towards the pool tables. Now I’m not a big guy about average five nine and 170 poundsat 21 years of age hanging drywall for a living and trying m.m.a. 5 nights a week. I was in better shape than most men. But I my leather riding jacket no one could see i wasn’t in great shape looked like a skin nerd. My whole life people challenged me. I can’t remember the exact words that where said to me but my response was I fuck bitchs bader than you. Witch led to him thinking he needed to prove me wrong. Mind you’ve all ready been in a fight that had a lot more involved than just 2 men and ran I don’t know how far. I knew I had to win fast as I got pounding on this guy I didn’t notice his two friends jumping not knowing exactly what was happening I pulled my knife just a small lock blade. As used it on one of the guys the other ones wanted nothing to do with it. This small hole in the wall tavern didn’t have door men. But cops had been called they showed up took me to jail at first charged with assault 2 weapons enhancement. I ended up plea bargaining to a displaying a weapon with intent to harm and or intimidate. Did get a strike but got 60 months in a maximum security penitentiary. That was the worst fight I’ve ever been in.

Have you ever received a confidential email that wasn’t intended for you?

I was being given a severance package. While it was something I had negotiated and was okay with (finally), the setting was a bit strange.

I had walked into the meeting with my coat and bag and was ready to leave. The HR rep (with whom I was on good terms) and my boss were waiting for me. The rep was laughing. I asked why and he said that he’d bet my boss 20 bucks that I’d be all ready to go.

My boss objected saying “Yeah but I added that he’d have all the cards and cell phone and company stuff in an envelope too.”

I smiled and took an envelope out of my bag and slid it over to the HR rep.

At that my boss started in on his spiel but was flustered. He stopped and said “I guess you know all this. Here’s the pertinent papers. Good luck!” He handed me a few papers and envelopes and beat a hasty retreat.

Later when I got home I found a printed email that he’d sent to the president of the company explaining why they’d had to give me the package. One line stood out. “I’ve been trying to get him to quit for a year and it hasn’t worked.” In his fluster he had passed me stuff that he shouldn’t have.

Yeah. It cost ‘em.

Zhou Shen’s (周深新) new song “Floating Light” | Singer Reaction!

https://youtu.be/zKjrRNGpiYM

Do you wish you can be young again, or are you content with your age?

I just turned 43.

I had a lot more sex in my late 20’s, which was fun. My endless pursuit of it also derailed a lot of golden opportunities life handed me in a golden basket. It was like:

“Here’s a free basket of incredible things for you, Stephen!”

“Wait. What? What’s that stuff?”

“An amazing cornucopia of gifts, just for you!”

“NO!”

Why did I do this? Because I couldn’t think about anything else besides sex. Ironically, I had all that fun when I was an incredible jerk to people. (If anybody on Quora thinks I’m a jerk now, you’re not totally wrong, but be grateful you didn’t know me back when I was 27. Whew. What an asshole.)

In my early 30’s, I was consumed by weepy nostalgia and crippling loneliness. This also caused me to pass on a lot of great opportunities. Life, but especially North Carolina, handed me a lot of amazing options… and I threw those back in its face, because I was obsessed with running into the past. At 33, I was still such a baby. An egocentric little whiner.

I finally hit a pretty good stride in my late 30s. And my 40’s have been amazingly calm overall. Don’t think too much about the past, don’t have to battle hormones so much, not rich but not broke either. Haven’t been in a relationship in several years, which is dumb, but also haven’t had to deal with all that madness, which is refreshing. Things are alright, really.

Done more travel globally in the last five years than I did at any point in my late 20’s or early 30’s, because I couldn’t afford it back then. And the quality of that travel has improved. Hard to say why. (I still stay at hostels sometimes, it’s not like I travel in swanky luxury today.) But the experience just seems richer and more interesting. A more mature appreciation of things, I guess. Art seems more profound, because I know more about humanity. Humanity created art. Food tastes better. Don’t know why, it just does. I’m definitely a better cook.

At 43, I’ve obviously read more books than at any other time in my life. The cumulative effect of a lifetime of reading has an impact on you. You can sit down and read William Wordsworth or Alexander Pope and think “This guy gets it.” At 21, I would have no idea what the hell they were talking about.

YouTube and the internet seem incredibly boring. Facebook: mindnumbing. Except for maybe Google Maps, you really feel like you’ve reached the end of what the internet has to offer.

Chronic indigestion is slowly killing me, even though I don’t have any sins anymore besides a few beers a week and a cigar. I can’t even really do that anymore. Every time I eat, I have to drink some baking soda dissolved in water just to control the indigestion. It’s awful. Eat a cookie: burp. Eat a banana: burp. I’m seeing a doctor in March. This is the only thing (so far) about getting old that just absolutely sucks.

Speaking personally here, because honestly I’m at a stage of life when a lot of people go through mid-life crises and resort to hookers and vodka to make themselves feel “young” again, but I feel less angst-ridden now than I ever did at any time in the past. My early 30’s were a disaster.

The only real question I have is why more women don’t find guys who’ve dumped most of their chronic bullshit appealing, and why women keep gravitating toward dumb suckers in their 20’s and 30’s. (Oh shit, eureka, I’ve found the answer: because women do exactly the same thing men do!). I’m not as “exciting” as I used to be. Yeah, and I’m not as stupid and rude.

But do I want to jeopardize what I have just to a have a woman in it? I mean, I like women a lot. But right now, no, I’m not jeopardizing my piece of mind just for anybody. I’m holding out for someone who is sheer gold.

Greek Salad

Ingredients

Salad

1 bunch Romaine lettuce
1 small red onion
1 cucumber
4 Roma tomatoes
Kalamata olives
Feta cheese, crumbled

Dressing

1/4 cup good olive oil
3 to 4 tablespoons fresh lemon juice
1 or 2 cloves crushed garlic
1 teaspoon dried oregano

Instructions

Whisk together dressing and let it sit while you prepare the vegetables.
Wash and spin dry lettuce, tear into pieces. Slice onion, tomato and cucumber. Add olives and feta to taste.
Whisk dressing before pouring on salad and toss.

Serves 4.

This goes well with focaccia bread or pita and hummus.

What’s the most brutal and intense hand-to-hand fight you’ve ever had?

In college a guy accused me of stealing his bike (yeah I know) came to my dorm room drunk and tried fighting me in front of the whole floor. I tried getting away by closing my door but he forced his way in. He grabbed me and dragged me outside into the hall. He pushed me into one of those fire extinguisher cabinets with the break away glass. It shattered immediately. I grabbed the extinguisher and hit him in the face knocking out his front teeth. The return swing dislocated his shoulder. The third crushed the orbital of his left eye. Everything happened in about five seconds. I needed forty stitches in my back and arm from the glass. He was over 18 but thinking like he was in high school. He got arrested for breaking and entering, assault, and battery. He was found guilty of assault and battery and witness tampering. I hadn’t stolen his bike, I’d never seen his bike, and I let the police search my dorm room all they wanted. They never found his bike.

Mercury in tubs

Here’s a nice little story for today.

When I lived in Southern Indiana, there was a small scandal.

In the town was an old factory. Closed for nearly one hundred years. They manufactured medical thermometers and closed sometime in the 1920’s – 30’s during the “Great Depression”. As it lay off the end of town, it wasn’t visited by anyone. Just got over grown and forgotten.

After all, the kids aren’t willing to ride their bicycles ten miles to an industrial district, and the only people who would drive near the factory were workers going to and from their nearby factory jobs. All oblivious to the old factory.

But one day.

One day, a group of six graders went to the factory and broke in. And there, nearly undisturbed lay the tools of the trade. All left just they were last used. The work benches and assembly lines. The roof above leaked, and birds lived in the office complex. Certainly it was a long lost ruin, and there was nothing of value there.

But then…

One of the boys opened up a tub and in it was a strange silvery liquid. One that clung to their hands. They all dipped their arms and legs in the substance, and rubbed it all over their bodies.

Then they went home, and during the night all got very sick, and all had to be rushed to the local hospital.

Yes, they all got mercury poisoning. Their situation was critical. No one died.

As I recall.

But two of the boys would face years of rehab afterwards, and the mercury really messed them up.

That was my scandal for today.

Boys and girls, do not play with heavy metals. It’s not good for you.

Today…

Could China acquire Taiwan by force and succeed?

Yes it could and it did already!

90% of Taiwanese recognised that China is their motherland. 99% certainly don’t want war as they don’t want to kill their colleagues, friends, neighbours, relatives, spouse and associates.

99.99% certainly wants an economic union with China but with some autonomy no different from Taxan’s and Californian’s.

In the recent election there is one party that calls for outright independence and he gets ZERO seats! Taiwanese reject him outright. China don’t need to do a thing. US need to do a ton of shit costing billions China just do good!

Why Are WOMEN Not Signing PRENUPS!! | Women Hitting The Wall | I’m Not Singing a prenup

https://youtu.be/_EJrC7sWHs4

16 THINGS MEN LEARN TOO LATE

1. The less you say, the more your words will matter.

2. Don’t take everything personally. Not everyone thinks about you, as much as yourself does.

3. When you focus on problems, you’ll have more problems.

When you focus on possibilities, you’ll have more opportunities.

4. No matter how much it hurts now, someday you will look back and realize your struggle changed your life for the better.

5. There will always be a reason why you meet people.

Either you need them to change your life or you’re the one that will change theirs.

6. Never be afraid to try something new because life gets boring when you stay within the limits of what you already know.

7. When you are ignored by a person whose attention means the most to you, the reaction in your brain will be similar to physical pain.

8. Sometimes you will never know the value of a moment until it becomes a memory.

9. Once you begin to take note of the things you are grateful for, you begin to lose sight of the things that you lack.

10. If you do not have control over your mouth, you will not have control over your future.

11. Life is a mirror and will reflect to the thinker what he thinks into it.

12. Life is ten percent what happens to you and ninety percent how you respond to it.

13. The only person you have to face in the morning is yourself.

14. Nothing feels as good as something you do from the heart.

15. You are a reflection of the 5 people you spend the most time with.

16. Your potential is directly correlated to how well you know yourself.

I Asked ChatGPT To Make Me As Much Money As Possible

DAMN!

https://youtu.be/nY234RoQeHw

What are some psychology tricks to impress your friends?

When walking in a crowded area look where you’re going and not at the other people. They will naturally move out of your line of sight making it quicker to move around.
If someone is bothering you at your desk too often, continue the conversation but get up and walk them back to their desk.
My boss likes having meetings after 5pm and even though I technically can be there for it, I don’t want to. So I tell him I have an important class I’m going to at exactly 5:45. I show up for about 5-10 minutes of the meeting then leave. He thinks I’m an amazing team player for going out of my way to hop on for just a few minutes. When in reality, I have no class to attend and I hate those meetings.
If you want to be an effective liar, build a reputation of being honest. The more you are known as being reliable, the easier it is to deceive and manipulate. Not terribly complex, I know.
Staring at peoples forehead irritates them quite a lot.
Having a heated argument… Ask the other person if they are okay because they’re breathing really hard. They will stop arguing and try to pay attention to their breathing. Resulting in the end of that discussion.
Next time you get in an elevator face towards the rear the whole ride. It freaks the other people out and makes me laugh. It’s the same principle behind stopping on the sidewalk and staring up. Sooner or later somebody else is going to stop and look to see what you’re gawking at.

How does our career impact our relationship with family?

You may have followed a similar trajectory to mine. You go to college, get your degree, start your career — and pursue that career to whichever city it takes you to. Inevitably, this landed me in Tampa, Florida, residing several states removed from my parents. This pattern is quite common with career oriented people, especially in the United States. But it comes with its own set of consequences.

My partner’s family lives in Albany. She had to leave for her niche academic job (bronze age archaeology). All of my closest friends live hundreds, and sometimes, thousands, of miles from their parents and extended family.

Whether someone stays near their family is often driven by socioeconomic factors. If you are from a more impoverished background, you’re much more likely to live near family — as it is common for to pool resources. For example, if your car breaks down, being able to get a ride or borrow a car can help immensely, especially if you can’t afford to repair the car or rent another. The same is true if you lose your job. It becomes much easier to survive the period of unemployment with immediate relatives in the vicinity.

Race plays a role in familial distance as well. A study found that the median distance between white adults and their mother is 15 miles, but is only three miles for black adults. This is also affected by the above socioeconomic factors, which come into play with racial disparities in income.

We are less likely to live further away from family in the US than in the UK, due to their increased support for single mothers and for the poor.

But as you move up the education (and income) brackets, your odds of living near family fall of quite quickly. A high school diploma means you have a 63% chance of living near extended family. A bachelors degree correlates to a 48% chance, and a post graduate degree translates to 42%.

Is it ideal for Americans to live so far from their families?

There is certainly a feeling of having missed out for me. I am in a group text with my parents and sister (who lives just a few miles away from my parents). Quite often, I see them sending pictures back and forth from the area. Sometimes, there’s a message about having forgotten something at their house or meeting up for a wine tasting (my parents run a vineyard).

Part of me does ache and know that I’m missing being part of their storyline. But for me, it was important to forge my own story and carve out into the world and be independent.

I’m also fortunate in that my family and I don’t have a toxic relationship as so many people do. There’s no need for me to have a difficult conversation about boundaries, and a parent stopping over unannounced during the day, or fighting over the constant pressure to visit. The separation between us is only career reasoned.

But in our case, it puts more pressure (in a good way) to make the most of our time together. Trips to other places, such as New York City, become opportune moments to celebrate and get pictures.

I write this as someone who mostly gets along with their family, and these dynamics can become infinitely complicated — especially in close proximity. In his novel, Anna Karenina, Leo Tolstoy wrote, “Happy families are all alike; every unhappy family is unhappy in its own way.”

It led to the Anna Karenina principle, and points out that in order for a family to be happy, a few things must be in order: financial security, mutual affection, and good health to all members. Yet for a family to be unhappy, any of a long list of factors can be the cause. And with close proximity, those problems are put under a spotlight. Which can then drive more people to move further away.

There is no one right answer for any person on living near family. But know the forces at work and how they affect you. Because the consequences can be real and substantive.

In my research for my book publisher, I discovered that many of you (Medium readers), are quite educated and have advanced degrees and incomes. That makes it quite likely that many of you live far from family. I would encourage you to find ways to reconnect with them when you have time, be it a phone call, or other means.

Your odds of loneliness increase when you lack interaction with people, and with family especially. Healthy familial relationships are like a supercharged antidote to loneliness. When you become too lonely, your risk of disease and depression go up markedly.

A final caution on the divide of family

In nearly every case I know of someone who lives far from family, there has been heartburn and problems that need squashing. My partner is constantly feeling pressured to visit her family. The pressure is, of course, always out of love and never devolves into a screaming match. But it does cause the common tension, which emerges from a child being ambitious and being flung to a distance city.

My best friend’s mother is constantly upset with him for not bringing their grandchildren up to visit every month — but it isn’t feasible. It’s a 6 hour drive and both he and his wife a neck deep with work and school. Even further, he lives further away because his mother keeps trying to indoctrinate their children into Christianity, and he wants his children to be 18 before they make religious decisions.

The point isn’t that we should spend time with and live closer to family regardless of circumstances. Because those circumstances can be infinitely varied and I’m sympathetic to them.

Just be aware of the economic forces that are pulling at us. They define where and how far we live from family. It takes extra steps these days to keep families well-bonded.

My parents also lived far from their parents for my dad’s military career, and so perhaps I am continuing that tradition. We combatted this by making an effort to drive and see grandparents at every opportunity. There weren’t many ski vacations in my childhood, but every Christmas and summer was with grandparents, and that helped keep the family together. The other way to do Zoom calls on a recurring basis. My partner does one every two weeks — and they came to this system because they weren’t interacting enough with each other before that.

Because I work remotely as a writer, and not for any one employer, I can do my job anywhere. So I do at least six different week long trips to see my family each year. And it has been a blessing and helped me feel more connected with family.

No matter how far your career pulls you, don’t forget where you come from, and that there are usually people who wouldn’t mind hearing from you. Upward mobility has a natural gravitational pull away from family.

It’s easier than ever to be lonely these days, but that doesn’t mean you have to be.

Her Husband Was The PERFECT Man So She CHEATED On Him

https://youtu.be/0AifYRUa9Mo

What do you think of Apple Daily founder Jimmy Lai being charged with collusion with foreign forces under the Beijing-imposed national security law?

Well, he isn’t being held without trial under the mainland system.

He is being tried in Hong Kong, under the Common Law system, with the same rights available to suspects in the Commonwealth.

That means right to counsel, right to bail, right to open trial, and right to appeal.

What makes his circumstance different from any other suspect?

Because he is/was a rich man?

He has the best counsel money can buy in Hong Kong. His case is being tried on evidence, and he has not been held on suspicion via executive order.

Evidence is traces from history. Events must have happened for evidence to be admitted. He will be judged for what he DID.

The National Security Law is NOT retroactive, so this has to do with crimes that he persisted with AFTER the passage of the law in June 2020.

He has no one to blame but himself, and this isn’t his first rodeo. He is already serving time for other offenses.

Has a stranger ever walked up to you and asked you to sell something to them?

Yes, my 1999, BMW Z3 roadster convertible. This was about 14 years ago. I drove that baby to work every day. Then I retired. No job, no reason to leave the house 5 days a week. So it sat in the driveway a lot. Twice I had two young men, 20’s probably, knock on my door and ask if my car was for sale. The first was a it 8 ll the after I retired c the next 3–4 months later. I told them both the no, I loved my car, couldn’t think of any reason why I should give it up. I was really stunned when the first guy said” well you never drive it”. I told him I did drive it, he then proceeded tot me that every time he came by it was in the driveway. Told him I was retired so I didn’t take it out every day and what did he care anyway. If I remember correctly I did offer to sell him the car for $15,000. It was 12 years old by them, very low miles and we’d done about $5000 worth of work on it. He didn’t like that. So I told him goodbye. The next guy, much to my astonishment told me the same thing. The car never moved so he’d take it off my hands for $500. I told him no thanks I loved and wasn’t coming it up since my hubby and I drove when we went to dinner or visited friends, church. And he’s never see the inside of that car for less than $20,000 he told me a was a crazy old lady. I told him I still owned the car, didn’t I?

Gonzalo Lira has died in Ukrainian Prison. His family announced that he was TORTURED. What happened?

https://youtu.be/n65cKlvy9-0

What happened during the process of getting your rental car at the airport that made you say, “You gotta be kidding me?”

So I flew with my family to Phoenix (PHX) to visit my niece. I reserved a car from Budget

We arrived around 5:00 pm. The flight in was great.

After getting our bags, we ended up standing in line for the shuttle to the car rental center for over an hour. That’s not Budget’s problem; that’s a problem with airport operations.

The real problems started when we got to the rental center. The line was ridiculously long, they had only four staff members to check people out. I stood in line for three hours. Three horrible hours. By the time I got to the counter, the line was three times as long as when I arrived. On top of that, despite me entering ALL MY INFORMATION when I placed the reservation online, the poor agent had to reenter everything manually.

I don’t have anything bad to say about the customer service agent; they were just the victim of terrible management. My problem is that Budget has systemic customer service problems:

If a customer has a reservation, all the agent should need to do is confirm the renter’s identification and hand over the keys. This should take two minutes, tops. Not 15 minutes per renter.
Budget knows exactly how many people have reserved cars at each location, and when. They should be able to staff appropriately. There were eight or ten stations at this location, with only four staffed.

By the time I got into the car, it was 9:30 pm. We hadn’t had anything to eat since lunchtime, assuming that we’d get our car within a few minutes of arriving and we’d eat after.

I’ll never rent from Budget again, even if it costs twice as much. That’s an experience I am not willing to go through again.

Why NASA can’t send humans to the Moon? Russia refuses to keep mouth shut, or it’s the Aliens?

Yeah. People are noticing…!

https://youtu.be/mckVJhg6aks

Boeing CEO: We are losing billions and may have to shut down the company. We have to restructure and layoff employees in order to survive. Has this to do with China not ordering a single plane from Boeing since 2019?

US ban Huawei for perhaps, may be Huawei could be a Chinese government agency using its technology in China’s military!

China do tit for tat! It stop buying from Boeing since Boeing used the profit from China’s purchases to participated in lethal weapons development that may be used on China one day!

So that is why everything you do, China will reciprocate likewise.

What is the most heartbreaking thing your child has told you?

My wife related the following story to me.

My son was nearly 4 years old. One day he and my wife went to a restaurant to get a pizza for lunch. There was an elderly man who came in with his shopping cart. He was obviously homeless. He ordered a cup of coffee which the waitress grudgingly served him. (It was obvious she didn’t want him there.) He fished on his pocket and pulled out a hot dog. He ate it slowly, dunking it in his coffee between bites.

My son asked why he was doing this and my wife explained that he was homeless and had no money. My son became upset and asked my wife if they could help him. As they were ready to leave, my wife brought him the untouched half of the pizza they had been eating. At first, he refused to take it as he was concerned that my son would not have enough to eat. My wife explained that they bought too much and the waitress would only throw it away if they left it. He took the pieces, carefully wrapped them up and stored them in his basket (most likely those slices would become his dinner that evening.). He thanked them with tears in his eyes when they left.

When they got into the car, my wife heard my son crying. When she asked him what was wrong. He looked at her through his tears and answered “Nothing Mommy…I just have feelings inside myself.”

Update: This same son is now an adult with children of his own, ages 4 and 6. I was injured in a fall and am now a paraplegic, confined to a wheelchair. The other day, he was walking his young daughters to school. He noticed the older one occasionally running ahead, picking up sticks and throwing them to the side of the road. After she did this several times, he asked her why she was doing it. She replied “If Papa ever walks us to school, his wheelchair tire would hit them and he would get thrown out of the chair. I want to make sure he is safe.” I cried when I heard that one.

Does it really matter what caliber firearm I carry? Won’t any round deter a possible attacker/mugger?

My Dad was “On the job” NYPD from 1929–1949. He was a detective at the time this incident occured. He was coming out of a store in a bad neighborhood and heard a woman screaming out the window He’s “cutn” me he’s “cutn” me. It was a 2–3 story walk-up and my Dad ran up the stairs with his .38 revolved in his hand and when he heard which apartment she was screaming from he kicked open the door and there in front of him was a very large man, at least 6′5″ and probably 250+ pounds holding a butcher knife.

Dad told him he was NYPD and ordered him to put the knife down and the guy said “I am going to put it down in you.” He started coming at Dad and he started shooting center mass but the guy kept coming. He got down to one bullet left (always try and count the # of rounds you expend), which he put between the guys eyes and said to himself that if this one doesn’t stop him “I’m going to throw the gun at him and run down the stairs. It stopped him!

My Dad, after that, always said to get the biggest caliber pistol or rifle it will take and you can carry comfortably to stop whatever you are trying to put down on the first shot. A .22 caliber pistol is really good if you are a Mafia hitman and put it at the back of someone’s head and pull the trigger but for everyone else take my Dad’s advice.

What is the Chinese perspective on anti-Russian sentiment in the West?

The Chinese, especially those in the northeast, have fond memories of the Soviets, who supplied arms for the Korean war, and helped seed China’s first phase of industrialization through the transfer of over 100 heavy industries. China’s nuclear and space technology was also driven initially by Soviet experts, before relationships cooled.

The Chinese have had trouble with the USSR along the border, but it never escalated beyond small unit fire contact. A border has been ratified with the Russians and today, with Putin’s head turned east, the Russians are doing roaring business with China. I won’t be surprised if Russia-China trade grows another 2–3x from 2023 levels, already a historic high.

The Chinese certainly don’t think the Russian as the evil protagonist in James Bond movies, or the sanctions (that were executive- rather than court-directed) fair, particularly the seizure of assets from individuals with Russian ancestry. That scared the bejesus out of rich folk with money parked out west, and Singapore was a beneficiary of the capital flight.

If it can happen to Russia, a P5 member with one of the most powerful nuclear triad MAD deterrents globally, it can happen to anyone.

The Chinese will give their Russian brothers a pat on the back, and go “we share a long border and history. We understand and empathize. Welcome to the club. We are being spanked everyday too. They still talk rubbish about Tiananmen more than 30 years later. Let’s build our own vision of a shared humanity.”

And that’s that.

He Marries a Girl who hides her Melons’ size because they are TOO Big

Watch it. Feminine energy!

https://youtu.be/6pUnuE2vQ6o

As a female doctor or nurse have you seen a man’s privates that shocked you for some reason? I don’t mean just because of the size.

Yes. And for those of you who have a visual mind or are faint of heart do not read my reply.

At the Regional Burn Center I worked at in my city, we would see one or two times a year a very specific assault and injury to the male genitals that we discovered was specific to our city. For some reason there were some women in our city, who if they caught their man cheating on them, would find an opportunity to throw lye on their private parts as a punishment or revenge. The severe burns that this caused to that area were unbelievable to see. The skin would de-glove and we would have to remove it and then these men would have to go through multiple grafting procedures which were very painful. These were second and three degree burns to the genitals. Needless to say these men were never the same again.

What is the best revenge you got on a superior in your workplace?

I was a government employee for 28 years and worked overtime whenever she asked me. I also took no sick leave and cut my vacation time when there was an overload of work. An opening for a promotion came up and I passed the tests with flying colors. However, my supervisor wanted a woman in the position and called in favors to have a female employee from another department transferred to her section. I then went to HR and asked when I could take early retirement with the best employee pension possible given my number of years as an employee. I bided my time and when the time came, I gave exactly 2 weeks notice. How did it hurt her? I had accumulated 2 years and six weeks of vacation, sick leave, and overtime, so for that time, I was paid full salary on early retirement. The best part, she could not have another employee fill my position because I was officially still occupying that position.

Why would someone quit their job because of working too many overtime hours while being paid for it?

In the early 2000s I had an employee that I thought was excellent, so I gave them a 10% raise for everything they were doing. They worked around 40 hours a week, I paid overtime whenever they needed to work it, and paid them 4 hours of OT for just showing up if I needed them for an emergency. The following year they found a job that was paying four dollars an hour more, they were “on the clock” the moment they got into the company provided vehicle, and the company was able to provide them with training that I wasn’t able to provide. As they shared this information with me I asked, “So what is the trade off?” Meaning, why when I was paying above the market average was this company paying more than I was for essentially the same work. They told me couldn’t think of any, so I encouraged them to go back and ask the future employer a few more questions. They didn’t do that but called me back two months later. During the majority of the two month time frame they had worked at least 12 hours a day for six to seven days a week. Yes, they were tired but they also wanted to see their family. They discovered that while the money was great, but it was getting in the way of their true priorities.

A major Change

https://www.youtube.com/shorts/bNDQn1dGdJA?feature=share

What was the most scariest experience you’ve had at work?

I worked in many mills and factories in my early life – there were still mills making stuff, even paper, up till about 1985 or so. Now all that stuff is gone.

In high school, as soon as I turned 16 I got a job as a general laborer at an electroplating and finishing mill in Readville called “Precision Metal Coating”. The name was a joke because everything in the mill was bottom of the barrel shit, worst quality, and the workers were treated like dirt. My boss was a total dick named Jack McBride, a foreman who treated everyone in that building as if they were something to be scraped off. I was getting minimum wage, which in those days was $2.15 an hour but for someone who never worked, 80 dollars a week was a fortune.

In this mill was a giant oven room with 10 huge ovens. We would push carts filled with thousands of recently painted parts into the oven where the temps would soar to over 2000 degrees and bake on the coatings. We did all kinds of things like gun receivers and heart defribrillators and carbereutor parts and so on. In the winter everyone tried to visit the over room as much as possible since the factory was barely heated and most of the windows were broken. It was almost as cold inside as outside the factory. But the oven room was toasty.

As an unskilled laborer my job was to push carts in and out of the ovens and then a skilled worker would set the temperature and fire up the ovens. There was a massive door covered with sheet steel that we would use to block off the oven room from the rest of the mill, not just for fire safety but because the baking parts often gave off poison gas. The worst was Teflon. We made many Teflon-coated things but when Teflon is baked it gives off a poison gas. When we were baking Teflon, the oven room had to be cleared and the massive door sealed and locked.

One day I was tasked with resetting some parts in one of the ovens. Now, you couldn’t get trapped in the ovens – the giant doors had a big escape handle to prevent anyone from getting locked inside – but you were working in them when temps were 200 degrees. Sometimes you could run in and do something quick when they were even hotter. We had all kinds of furry asbestos gloves and gear if we had to do stuff in the ovens. I was in this steaming oven one day – and they were always loud with the roaring of the gas blowers – you couldn’t talk to anyone. So I set up this tray of equipment and it was getting hotter and stinkier. I was glad to finish. But when I got out of the oven I found the massive door to the oven room sealed. Now, it wasn’t as if I was going to fry but I didn’t want the boss to think I was goofing off. There were timers attached to doorbells and when the timer clicked off, it raised an arm that hit the doorbell and rang a loud bell on the shop floor. We used it to tell when the products were done baking. There was a timer for every oven. I went over and hit one of the doorbells two or three times, sounding a loud bell in the factory. In a couple of seconds the big door slid open and an arm grabbed me and pulled me out. There were two men there and they were white as sheets.

“What the hell were you doing in there?” the Asst Foreman asked.

“Jack asked me to reset the Prolastimer parts,” I said defensively.

“Do you know what’s baking in there?” the other guy asked. He was literally shaking.

“It’s Teflon,” the Assistant Foreman said.

I had no idea what this meant. He could see this meant nothing to me. The other guy turned to him.

“He’s gonna be sick, Roy,” he said. “Real sick. Teflon fever.”

“Listen,” the Asst Foreman said, “Clock out and go home. Don’t tell anyone anything. I will square it with Jack. Don’t come back tomorrow or the next day…”

“But I feel fine,” I protested.

“You won’t. Now get out of here. Get going. You have to get home before you start getting sick. When you get home, take a shower and some aspirin and get into bed.”

I wanted to protest.

“Just fuckin’ do it,” the other guy said. “Don’t say a word. Just get the fuck out of here.”

And so I did. I walked home from the mill. And as a I walked I started to see lines in my sight, wavy lines. And then the headache started to come. By the time I made it home I was gasping with pain. I tore off my clothes and got in the shower and immediately vomited. When I got out of the shower I vomited again. Black stuff was coming out of my nose and my tears were stained black. I crawled into bed. I had never been in so much pain in my life. Every joint, every muscle ached. When I opened my eyes, the light exploded in my brain and I would vomit all over again. No migraine I had ever had was this bad. I cried. Eventually my exhausted body collapsed and I fell asleep. The next morning I felt a lot better but I was so weak I could barely walk. The third day I went back to work. There was my boss, Jack.

“I’m sorry about what happened,” I said.

“Nothing happened,” he said tersely. “Nothing. And no one will back you up if you ever say it did.”

And then he put me on the sandblaster. I got a small raise and I would never have to go into the oven room again. But it was no promotion. Being a sandblaster was one of the worst, most miserable jobs I ever had. It was so bad one of the other sandlblasters killed himself in the sandblasting studio. Jack shrugged and went out and hired another drunk desperate for a job.

That was just one of the many adventures I had there. It was a horrible, horrible place and if that’s what factories are like then it’s no surprise why so many of them folded.

CHINA’s Scientists INVENTED Energy Shield To Defend Against US Attack

https://youtu.be/2WRbtcFu9MA

What did someone do that made you think they were really smart?

My father wasn’t thrilled with the idea of me dating a white guy. So having them meet for the first time in my house was a bit nerve wracking.

Before visiting my home to Japan, my boyfriend asked me what my father is like. I told him that my dad wanted to be an academic like his father (my grandfather) but had to pursue a career in business instead because of financial reasons.

On the day of the “meeting”, my boyfriend shows up with a huge ass textbook on statistics and starts leisurely reading on the couch in our living room, all spread out. Half an hour later, my dad comes home.

Dad: “Why hello! Nice to meet you in person…. What is that book you’ve got there?”

Boyfriend: “Oh this? It’s some reading I have to do for my graduate school next year…”

Dad: (Flips through the pages) “…Wow! This looks very difficult. Do you understand it all?”

Boyfriend: “Well some of it is difficult, but the concepts like….. and….. are rather easy.”

Dad: (super impressed)

It was smooth sailing from there. Now, my dad adores then-bf-now-husband.

Needless to say, I never saw him open that book ever again.

I’m a 10: Status Games

https://youtu.be/PQtdOuD4cLc

Is GDP a good measure of economic growth? Why or why not?

No, not at all.

it’s just a quick guide at best. It measures output based on value. That means if your provide services freely, it is perceived as not value! Hence the U.S. charged its citizens for healthcare at an exorbitant price and that gets counted up to 6 trillion dollars GDP while China provides the same for less than one trillion dollars to 4 times more people and actually keep its people alive 2 years longer!

So the U.S. GDP is overvalued or Chinese GDP is highly undervalued hence it is wrong even to compare the U.S. versus China for example, through this faulty measurement.

When the U.S. threw helicopter money to the tune of 10 trillion dollars as subsidies and bail outs, that amount is counted as income! Hence once again it over values the US GDP. The same goes to stock valuation or real estate valuation. To me it measures greed or bubble.

Whatever it is one measuring economic health of a nation based only GDP is no different from judging your physical health based only on your temperature or just your blood pressure! You need a host of measurements including life expectancy!

The U.S. is a very unhealthy economy wrongly perceived by its citizens due to its media as a huge economy. It is far from that! It is a lot of hot air at best.

Tucker Carlson’s Message to Men

https://youtu.be/EZpbpuDPiPU

As a police officer what is the most interesting thing you heard a suspect say?

I brought a guy into the station and sat him down in an interrogation room, and walked out to get a cup of coffee for both him and myself. I hadn’t indicated to him why he was there, except he was in possession of a nominal amount of marijuana. I was going to give him the, “Who’s your dealer?” bit when I got back.

I walked in, sat the coffees down and took a seat across from him.

“I suppose you figured out why I brought you in?” I asked.

“Yeah. But it wasn’t me. It was XXX X. XXX. He shot the guy. I was there but had no idea it was going to happen.” He offered. “I don’t do nothing like that!”

“I didn’t think so.” I answered, nearly choking on his admission. “So let’s get this on paper so we can see what the DA can do for you. OK?” Then I read him his rights again.

He wrote it all down, and what was going to be a simple misdemeanor bust for weed turned into a murder being solved. When the Captain asked me how I got him to confess, I just smiled. “Some people got it, others don’t Cap!” I laughed. Sometimes a blind squirrel can find a nut.

Ask Me On A Date, Men! Modern Women Has FREAKS OUT Because Men Are Walking Away

https://youtu.be/YPfnMin0mdE

What is the weirdest question you were ever asked on a job interview, and how did you handle it?

I called for a position being advertised at a pig sanctuary in upstate NY called Arthur’s Acres. The guy who founded it and runs it is a vegan, but fanatical about it.

I was extremely qualified for a position there (about which he wasn’t clear, btw), as I had worked with pigs for six months when I was an Animal Science major 15 years ago. I have also worked with dogs for 22 years, and volunteered at Raptor Trust in N.J. for a time. As well, I spent a few years riding and working with horses. That is to say, I have lots of multi-species experience and, specifically, also pigs.

He then asked me if I was vegan. I said I wasn’t, he was very upset, and tried to argue with me about being vegan. He let me know that my not being vegan was a dealbreaker for him. Food Nazi!!!

Anyway, I told him I hadn’t eaten pork for over 20 years (totally true), and that I had IBD/Crohn’s, so that ruled out my eating a lot of vegetables, beans and salads, most of the things which comprise a vegan diet. I let him know that a diet that full of fiber could send me to the hospital. I also let him know that while I was at his sanctuary, I would respect his wishes and eat PBandJ on sourdough bread if I had to eat that every day for lunch, but once I left his property what I ate was really my business. He didn’t care about any of this. He was a guy that seemed unable to see anyone else’s point of view or have empathy for anyone’s condition or limitations. He only cared about having everyone be vegan.

I had donated several times to his sanctuary, but after this, I stopped.

I decided it wasn’t worth it, and that I’d never want to work with a person like this. He does a lot for the pigs he rescues, no doubt; but, he doesn’t like people at all, that was clear to me.

FLORIDA OVERTURNS LIFETIME ALIMONY LAW | Women Are Losing Their Minds!

https://youtu.be/uIATO8g8vKc

What is a story that you always wanted to tell but you never could fit it in any conversations?

I’ve wanted to share this because I thought it was amazing and it made me smile, but I dont know how you would bring this up randomly.

I’m 34 years old. When I was a child my mom moved my brother and I to a new house, getting us out of our old apartment where we had grown up. I was in the fifth grade and my younger brother was in the third I believe. We rode the bus and lucky for us, our bus stop was RIGHT down the street from our house, not even a 3 minute walk. Back then all the neighborhood kids near us who also used this stop would FIGHT to secure their spot in line because who ever got there first would get the best seats in the back of the bus because we were the first stop. The problem was, we neighborhood kids were cut throat about our spots in line, some of us woke up early JUST to get a good spot, but that also meant if you were in line waiting for the bus, you couldn’t get out or you would lose your spot and have to move to the back. We all hated this because we were forced to stand in one spot waiting instead of being able to play and run around with each other and some days the bus took a while to get there. Now, I don’t know how many weeks this went on for before I said to myself, “this isn’t going to work for me.” So I decided instead of us all lining up and being forced to stand there, we would instead use our backpacks to keep our spot. We’d line them up in order of first come first serve, then be free to go play. I asked all the kids of various ages if they agreed and they did. At that bus stop everyday after that and even the next year (my last year riding that bus), we all still lined our backpacks up. My mom still lives in that house all these years later and sometimes she needs me to house sit. Well, I was on my way to work one morning a few months ago and I passed my old elementary school bus stop, they never changed the route. And do you know what I saw? It made me go, Wow. As I turned the corner in my car I saw a bunch of grade school kids at my old bus stop,they were out playing with eachother, and right where we use to line up our backpacks, they still lined theirs. I started that as a child, and because the older kids did it, the younger ones did too, and then those young kids would become the older kids and new kids would replace them, and they all learned of the backpack trick because they watched the kids who came before them. I started a thing that has carried on for over 24 years and counting. It really made me smile to see the neighborhood kids still doing it after all this time. I knew at the time it was a great idea but I didn’t know how everlasting it would be to where it became tradition. It made me smile and think, wow, all these years later these kids were still using their backpacks to hold their place in line, if you would of told me the day I came up with it that in 24 years kids would still be doing it, I would of called you a liar but unbelievable as it is, here we are.

Now, how do I randomly fit that into a conversation?

Fenikia

Ingredients

Cookies

1 cup peanut oil
1 cup butter
1/2 cup water
1 jigger brandy
2 eggs, beaten
3 cups flour
2 1/2 teaspoons baking powder
1 tablespoon cinnamon
1 tablespoon ground cloves
1 cup chopped walnuts
1/2 cup sugar
Dash cinnamon
Dash ground cloves
Chopped walnuts for garnish

Syrup

2 cups granulated sugar
1 cup water
1 pound honey
1 lemon, sliced or 1 orange, sliced

Instructions

Cookies: Heat oil and butter over low heat until butter is melted and mixture is hot. Remove from heat and stir in water and brandy. Cool.
Stir in beaten eggs.
Sift together flour and baking powder with the tablespoon each of cinnamon and cloves. Add to liquid mixture to make a dough that is not too soft. Add a little more flour if necessary. With floured hands shape dough into ovals and indent lengthwise with thumbs.
Combine chopped walnuts with sugar and dash each cinnamon and cloves. Put 1 teaspoon of this filling into the indentation in the dough and close dough over filling. Place on cookie sheets and bake in a 400 degree F oven for about 25 minutes or until golden brown. Cool.
Dip cooled cookies into hot syrup and place on racks to drain. Decorate with chopped walnuts.
Syrup: Combine above ingredients and boil for 5 minutes.

Makes about 6 dozen small cookies.

How did you deal with a co-worker eating your food?

My ex father in law was the thief. He was also a bully and all around shitty human being. He was the big boss of a construction company and basically drove around all day to different jobs making sure the guys had what they needed and making sure the work was completed to standards. This also allowed him the opportunity to help himself to the guys lunches. I still remember the panic in my exs voice that his Dad was in the ER because he thought he was having a heart attack. He had stolen the wrong guys lunch. The guy had put a pot brownie in his lunch box and dummy took it, ate the whole thing and when it hit, he was completely sick and high as a kite. I giggled a lot that day because the bully and thief finally had to pay for his actions.

What is the strangest complaint you have received at your job?

As a risk manager and health plan administrator, I had lots of complaints. But the Gold Star goes to this one: This woman had built an illegal extension to her house that went out into the public right of way. Over the years, it undermined the power pole which tilted and was resting on the eaves of her extension. She called to say that the exterminator told her that her roof had terminates. I asked how I could help her (we always had to try to be helpful). She said she wanted us to replace her roof. When I asked why, she explained about the pole leaning on the eaves and said our utility pole had given her roof termites. I explained that the poles were made soaked in creosote to prevent termites. She then told me the termites walked up the pole and jumped onto her roof. She was quite serious. The only thing that could be said to that would have been snorting laughter. (I was imagining termites, in uniform, marching up the pole, with a brass band.) I told her we would look into it. We did our due diligence then wrote her a polite denial letter.

I dealt with a lot of people who believed their problems could not possibly be their fault.

China dismantled a MI6 espionage network. BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH

https://youtu.be/hu9mPb8tgCE?si=JH3M2ZtfZ7_DHW_L

Laughing at the big blob

I was living in Florida back after I left the Navy. I was living with a girl, who moved out, and abandoned, I ended up with some extra tickets to a Aerosmith / Journey rock fest. Yeah. She wasn’t there at the time.

She went back home to visit a guy. She thought that he was boyfriend material (I found out later). He wasn’t. Not even friend material. And she regretted turning down Florida to go sit waiting on this boy who didn’t know how to treat a hot chick.

Anyways…

So I went to the concert alone.

I spent the entire day there in Miami and enjoyed the concert as much as I could. Though, it wasn’t the same being alone.

Being alone pretty much sucks.

I found a hitchhiker. Took him to the concert. He made some friends there. And all four of us enjoyed the concert. They were younger than myself. But it was cool. I was the stable older guy. LOL.

Anyways, I ate a a sandwich on the way to the concert, and wouldn’t you know it… a big blob or mayonnaise plopped down right on my white tee shirt.

What a mess. It was about the size of a quarter.

But I noticed, and then got caught up in the traffic. I forgot about the glob.

…

I arrive at the concert. Got inside, and am jamming to the music, when I notice a few girls pointing at me, looking at me and laughing at me.

This happened again. Different girls.

Then a few minutes later… another group of different girls.

Hummm. What’s going on?

…

Anyways I had to pee, and went into the mens-room, and looked in the mirror. Sure as shit, it looked like I had a big blob of cum right above my groin. The sun had baked it into the exact appearance of days old cum. Oh Lordy!

Oh. My. God.

How embarrassing.

I cleaned myself up as best I could, but the glob made a heavy stain that REALLY looked like I ejaculated right then and there. Yellow-white on a bright blue-white tee shirt. Ugh!

I mean it.

It was the splittin’ image!

Sigh.

…

Anyways… Yeah… I met a couple of chicks from Cuba. Met some younger guys that I hung out with for a spell, and then went home late at night alone. Ah, my tale for the day.

…

The one persistent memory of the event was that glob of fake cum that all the chicks were joking about.

And… Sammy Hagar the “red rocker”.

And… getting hosed with water in the heat of the day…

And… the Journey songs at the end of the concert.

…

Now you know.

Today…

What was the most you’ve ever eaten in one sitting?

You wouldn’t know it to look at me now, but when I was a teenager, I used to ride my bicycle several hundred miles per week.

Somewhere along the line, I read an article that said you could burn more fat by eating after you exercise than eating before. (Never mind that I was already at something like 12% body fat at the time.) I thought this sounded like a great idea, so I had a tiny breakfast, and set out for a 100-mile ride in the mountains.

All you experienced cyclists and marathoners know where this is headed. The bonk. The wall. I used up all the readily available fuel in my system, and started burning anything my body could find—fat, muscle, heck, brain cells for all I know. And I was still 40 miles from home.

10 miles from home, I couldn’t even stand up, let alone ride a bicycle. I called my sister from a pay phone to come get me. She was a long-distance cyclist herself, and knew what I was up against. There were two huge bagels with cream cheese waiting for me on the passenger seat when she arrived.

I walked into the house still eating, and headed for the kitchen, where I ate an entire bag of granola. Not a little one, either—one of those 3-pounders from Trader Joe’s. I was still starving, so I started in on a box of cereal. (Honeycombs, I think it was? The ones that hurt your mouth if you don’t soak them in milk for 10 minutes? I wasn’t bothering with the milk.)

While I was still shoving handfuls of painful cereal in my mouth, my parents arrived, and said they wanted to go out to eat at Souplantation. I scrambled for the car, box of cereal still in hand.

For those of you not familiar with Souplantation, picture the biggest soup and salad bar you’ve ever seen in your life, and double it. Now double it again, and add a baked potato bar, a bakery, and a dessert area with a dozen kinds of cake, pie, and frozen yogurt.

One price . . . all you can eat.

I ate. I think I lost track of how much I was eating about the seventh time I went back to get more food. I ate as much as all of the rest of my family put together, and then some. And then I went back for dessert.

By that point, I finally started feeling normal again. Not stuffed . . . normal.

Holiday Glazed Pork Roast

Ingredients

1 (4 pound) boneless pork loin roast
2 teaspoons cornstarch
1/4 teaspoon cinnamon
1/8 teaspoon salt
1/2 teaspoon grated orange peel
2 tablespoons orange juice
2 tablespoons dry sherry
1 (14 ounce) can Ocean Spray® Whole Berry Cranberry Sauce
1 large red onion, cut into 6 to 8 wedges or 12 small whole onions, peeled

Instructions

Combine cornstarch, cinnamon, salt and orange peel in small saucepan. Stir in orange juice, sherry and cranberry sauce. Cook and stir over medium heat until thickened. Set aside.
Place roast in shallow roasting pan. Insert meat thermometer. Roast at 325 degrees F for 1 hour.
Place onion wedges around pork. Spoon about 1/2 cup cranberry mixture over roast and onions. Continue to roast for 30 to 60 minutes or until meat thermometer registers 155 to 160 degrees F.
Let stand for 5 to 10 minutes before slicing.
Serve with remaining cranberry mixture.

Attribution

Recipe and photo used with permission from: Ocean Spray
Recipe from the National Pork Producers Council.

What is your most memorable cultural shock?

I had written this elsewhere but it was unfortunately collapsed due to an image policy violation. So, here it is again with the offending image removed.

It’s been 15 years now, but here’s what I remember finding shocking about moving to the United States:

The pervasive waste of food. I grew up in a culture where even in rich families, the memory of poverty isn’t that far off: either your parents grew up poor or their parents grew up poor. There’s a strong taboo against putting more on your plate than you can finish and throwing away the food you don’t want instead of saving it for the next meal. But this is what greeted me in high school… every single day.

Acceptance of gays: people being openly gay… and it not being a thing, like not at all. Now, I know we have a long way to go on gay rights but the concept of gay rights doesn’t even exist where I grew up. Homosexuality isn’t viewed as a matter of sexual orientation so much as a matter of sexual deviancy. But here were people being gay and the sky wasn’t dropping. What a concept!

How ignorant so many people were of life outside the US. Here, 2 things specifically come to mind:
- I grew up in Africa. You wouldn’t believe how many times I was asked versions of:
  - “Hey Kunta, ever been hunting a lion?”
  - “Hey, Motumbo, do you guys sleep in trees?”
  - “Are you married? Cuz, in your culture, people get married at, like, 15, right?”
  - “You guys have TVs/cars/zoos/cell phones in Africa?”
- People also didn’t seem to understand just how freaking huge Africa is.
  - Random guy: Oh, you’re from West Africa? This guy over there is from Tanzania.
  - Me: O….kay.
  - Random guy: Do you know him?
  - Me: …ummm
How intensive parenting is! Holy cow, people! How the hell do you guys do this? People have full time jobs and then another full-time job attending the litany of things they enroll their kids in: recitals, soccer games, hockey, baseball, summer camp, etc. The last thing any kid in my country wants is their parents showing up at a soccer game, loudly yelling words of encouragement. Oh no, the horror! Your friends will laugh at you for being a baby forever. The loss of prestige would be so immense, you’d never recover any shred of dignity. Parents might show up to big events like if you’re a national finalist in some competition. That’s about it. But here I saw parents everywhere, hovering like so many helicopters. It was mind-boggling!
Nerds. Where I grew up, the most respected kids in the school were those with the highest grades. Everybody’s GPA was public information and there was a high premium placed on being seen as one of the smart ones. That annoying kid sitting in front and answering all the questions? All the smart kids wanted to be that kid. The first few times someone poked fun at me for being a nerd, I answered something like “wait, you’re making fun of me because I’m smarter than you?” and proceeded to laugh in their face. Needless to say, I wasn’t very popular in high school.
Hugs. Mine was not a touchy-feely kind of culture. No “I love you” among family members. Hugs were reserved for when someone was going on or coming from a trip. Once, when I was 9, my mom was coming from a 3-month long trip and came to pick me up from school. I ran to give her a hug… friends made fun of me for months afterwards. Like, look at the little baby running to hug his mom when she picks him up from school. I tried to explain that I hadn’t seen her in 3 months, but they were having none of it. Here, it seemed like everybody wanted a hug. At first it was “what is wrong with this girl?” But after it kept happening, I realized that I was the odd one for not liking hugs. (I’m really cuddly now, having lived half my life here, but it was definitely an acquired taste).

How forthcoming people were with personal matters. You’d meet strangers in the bus and have a conversation with them where they’d proceed to tell you their dad was dying from cancer, or that their parents were getting divorced. I still can’t get my mom to tell me exactly how my grandma died. People are really, really, really protective of that kind of info where I grew up.
How readily available information was! No need to go borrow the ONE family encyclopedia from 15 years ago. Get online and research any topic you want. I just about had a mental orgasm when I first discovered Wikipedia.
Puns are not funny to most people!!! Puns were, like, the epitome of cleverness. Sigh. Never going to win this one. Never going to stop thinking that I’m hilarious for telling people that:
- Coffee is not my cup of tea.
- Sometimes, I’m meaner than average.
Abortion rights!!! Again, a very strong taboo in my country. Not something most women there want to openly be associated with. Hell, people are still shy about talking about oral contraceptives!
Female equality. Women are equal people! What a concept! Again, things are not perfect here but it would come as a shock to most of the men I grew up with that their wives should enjoy the same rights/decision-making powers as themselves.

Anyway, I could go on, but that will have to do for now.

I Lived 2 Weeks In A Parallel Universe | 4 TRUE GLITCH IN THE MATRIX STORIES

Explore four more true and extraordinary accounts where ordinary lives intersect with alternate realities, offering us glimpses into parallel universes. These tales challenge our understanding of reality, inviting us to question what lies beyond the realm of the known.

What do you think about Russia?

Meet Kirill Cherkalin. He’s an ordinary Federal Security Service (ex-KGB) colonel.

Police officers had found 12 billions rubles ($165 million) in cash in three apartments owned by Mr. Cherkalin.

Mr. Cherkalin calmly announced that he agrees to return to the Russian state 6 billion rubles, or about half, in return for keeping the other half for himself. He claims he has every right to take the rest, because it was acquired through honest work.

He said he “did not mind” if the investigators confiscate 6.5 million euros, 4,000 pounds, 793 million rubles, a Porsche Cayenne and, “all my Swiss watches and cufflinks too”.

But this is where Mr. Cherkalin wants to draw the line.

“$85 million in cash, the apartments, the private residences, the non-residential property, the land, and the jewelry belong to my ex-wife, my parents and other relatives.”

The investigators calculated the colonel and his whole family had earned 55 million rubles (less than $1 million) in the past fifteen years.

Mr. Cherkalin had a special talent that distinguished him from the rest of his colleagues. He is soft spoken and intelligent. That’s what made him perfect for the job.

A group of Federal Security Service officers had insider information about banks with bad debts that were on the radar of the Central Bank. They sent Mr. Cherkalin in to explain to the bankers in the most polite terms that they would provide protection in exchange for a certain compensation. They received compensation, but the bank licenses were still revoked by the Central Bank.

In other instances, they “created problems” for the banks and then offered their protection services. If the bank didn’t pay up, they organized for their licenses to be revoked.

Have you actually ever heard someone say ‘Do you know who I am?’ indignantly?

It wasn’t the person themself..

Years ago, I worked as a receptionist in the showroom of a prestigious car dealership. I would greet customers, settle them comfortably in the seating area, then ask a member if the sales staff to attend to them.

One morning, a gentleman came in, and after exchanging pleasantries, he gave me his name, and explained that he had an appointment with a particular member of the sales staff. I invited him to take a seat, offered tea or coffee, then called the salesperson to advise them that he was waiting for them in reception.

Minutes later,vthe staff member all but ran over to my desk to ask where he was (I think he’d excused himself to use the facilities) and hissed at me “Don’t you know who he is?!!” I told her that he’d said his name was XYZ, and she stared at me like I’d lost my mind.

“YES! DOESN’T THAT MEAN ANYTHING TO YOU?” she sounded outraged when I told her that no; I understood he was an important customer (they all were) but his name wasn’t familiar to me

As he walked up behind her, she told me furiously that I SHOULD recognise his name: he was the star player for one of our city’s football teams. Looking her right in the eye, I told her “Oh… that explains it. I support the OTHER guys…” salesperson was mortified into silence!

The customer just about died laughing; told the salesperson that I’d been nothing but courteous and professional, and off they went to arrange delivery of his shiny new car. When they were done, he made a point of coming to thank me for the coffee, and say goodbye, shaking my hand, and wishing me well.

Nice guy: awful taste in football teams, though

What is the most ridiculous thing you had to deal with regarding an HOA?

A few days after I moved into a townhome in Flagstaff, I received a visit from my local HOA representative, who was an old and very severe looking woman. She provided me with a pamphlet detailing the rules I had to follow, and explained the trash and recycle pick up days/times.

For the most part, they were pretty simple, and easy to follow.

Except for the garden gnomes.

Every townhome needed to have a garden gnome somewhere near the entrance. The purpose of this was to keep up the whimsical spirit that the neighborhood wanted to convey to outsiders.

Unfortunately, I hate garden gnomes. I find them cheesy and annoying.

While the HOA representative offered to provide one to me, I declined her offer and decided to find one of my own that I could tolerate.

A few days later, I happened to be walking around Downtown Flagstaff, when I spotted this whole set of garden gnomes on a table. There were garden gnomes on motorcycles, garden gnomes staging a rock concert, garden gnomes going to the bathroom, among other weird garden gnome offerings.

Finally, I spotted a lawn ornament that perfectly conveyed my feelings for them.

Upon seeing this, I just knew I had to have it, and bought it without a care for the price.

When I returned home, I immediately placed it in the little garden area by the entrance of the townhome. I was certain that the head of the HOA would hate it and ask me to remove it.

A few days later, I heard a knock on the door. It was the head of the HOA.

After exchanging a few pleasantries, she mentioned that she had seen the lawn ornament, and absolutely loved it! She thought it was a quirky and unique twist on the lawn gnomes, and gave me a batch of homemade butter cookies for my cheekiness.

This kickstarted a friendship that remains to this day.

MINDBLOWING NDE! Woman POISONED, Shown the Layers of REALITY!

The West is wrong about China’s economy says Irish Economist Philip Pilkington

Open a Western business newspaper and one would probably come away thinking that the Chinese economy is doing poorly, or perhaps even on the verge of collapse. While it is true that the country’s economy continues to suffer from structural problems, this perception is not just wrong but risks undermining the credibility of Anglophone publications and the capacity for our policymakers to make rational decisions.

Last week Chinese price data showed mild deflation, a data point out of which the Western financial press made hay. “China’s deflation worsens as economic pressures mount”, read the Financial Times headline. Bloombergran

with “China’s consumer price drop worsens, fuelling deflation fears”. The mild deflation that is taking place in China does indeed stem from structural problems in the economy — especially the fact that it is overly reliant on investment spending and insufficiently reliant on consumer spending. But, at a certain point, the negative press becomes outright misleading.

Two other data points were released last week which show the Chinese economy growing robustly. The first came

from the private sector Caixin Services Purchasing Managers Index survey, which showed stronger than expected growth in the very sector about which bearish commentators have raised concerns.

Interestingly, the private sector surveys of the Chinese services sector show it expanding quicker than the official

Chinese government studies which showed a mild contraction in November. Those who accuse the Chinese of inventing economic statistics would do well to explain why government surveys are more conservative than their private sector equivalents. Whatever way one looks at it, the Chinese services sector is now expanding.

Then there is Chinese export data, which showed exports expanding for the first time in seven months. Combined with the service sector data, this shows a broad-based expansion of the Chinese economy. Not a veritable economic boom, it must be stressed, but continuous growth that is consistent with the IMF’s own projections

. These show that Beijing will comfortably meet its 5% growth target this year — a projection China bears seem to ignore when they pass judgement on the economy.

There are rumours that China may have advanced in its capacity to produce semiconductors. A specialist hardware website notes how a recent Huawei laptop listing suggests that the Chinese have broken the 5 nanometer chip barrier. If the listing is correct, it suggests that China has advanced even further than the 7 nanometer processor found

in the new Huawei Mate 60 smartphone. The phone shocked Western analysts who thought that such technology was beyond the production capacity of the Chinese. It increasingly looks like the American-led chip sanctions are just pressuring China to produce the needed technology domestically, and thereby undermining the competitiveness of incumbent Western players.

The Chinese economy will not grow at the runaway rates it did in the 2000s and 2010s. No one expects this now that the average Chinese person has become wealthier. Indeed, the Chinese government’s own growth targets reflect this new reality. But at a certain point, the obsessive bearishness about China is discrediting. Last year at a conference, Fang Xinghai, vice-chair of the China Securities Regulatory Commission, stated: “I would advise international investors to find out what’s really going on in China and what’s the real intention of our government by themselves. Don’t read too much of the international media.” In response to this, UBS Chairman Colm Kelleher said

that he and his colleagues were not reading Western media on the issue.

How long can the financial papers continue to push their bearish China narrative without discrediting themselves? More importantly, who exactly do they think they are helping? Policymakers benefit from being well-informed, and businesspeople who actually engage with China will quickly turn to other news sources, as Kelleher alluded to last year. Critical stories on China may make Westerners who have recently soured on the country feel good. Yet they are nothing but a soporific, and the effects cannot last forever.

As Sun Is Killing Humans , Plane Must Avoid Daylight By Travelling Around The World

In World War II, there was an SS group so evil that even the Nazis and Hitler questioned what they did. What happened to them after the war?

You’re likely thinking of the notorious Dirlewanger Brigade, led by infamously sadistic necrophile, alcoholic and rapist Doktor Oskar Dirlewanger, which unit was filled with convicted criminals and other undesirables recruited from prisons and concentration camps.

Dirlewanger himself had been in trouble for various odious crimes, including raping a 14 year old girl, prior to the war, but his disgrace was short-lived, and he was rehabilitated (and his doctorate, in political science, reinstated) for pragmatic reasons, it seems; his willingness to do things that most normal people would consider unthinkable a useful asset in the amoral environment of the SS.

His disgusting sexual proclivities and intense cruelty and sadism meant that the unit he led was given more or less free rein, to murder, torture, rape and burn. They started life guarding a concentration camp, and the cruelties inflicted on the prisoners by Dirlewanger and his criminal cronies were so evil as to almost defy belief.

Thereafter, they were moved on to Belarus where they took action against “gangs”, basically a euphemism for terrorising the population, with rape, torture and extortion aplenty. Dirlewanger and his brigade, a division at this point, was eventually shot to pieces by the Red Army during Operation Bagration, and then reformed to suppress the Warsaw Uprising, with more of the cruelty and sadism that had come to characterise the unit, and for which Dirlewanger was promoted and received the Knight’s Cross.

Oskar Dirlewanger himself survived the war, but not for long. He died in a prison camp in 1945; most likely he was beaten to death by the guards.

You may also be thinking of the Kaminski Brigade, led by Bronislav Kominski, pictured below, which was a unit of the Waffen SS formed from Soviet nationals who for whatever reason chose to collaborate with the Nazis.

Similar to the antics of the Dirlewanger Brigade, the Kaminski Brigade was noteworthy for their evil practises behind the lines, and during Operation Bagration and the Warsaw Uprising. Rape and torture, as well as large scale murder of the civilian population, characterised these men, much to the disgust of the Army and even the SS, which recognised the unruly and ungovernable nature of the unit, dissolving it in 1944.

What is a problem that people who smoke weed every day face?

I can’t smoke on my balcony anymore, even though I live in a country where cannabis became legal from shore-to-shore on October 17, 2018. And the tobacco smokers in my apartment building in Peace River, Alberta, Canada, can’t smoke on their balconies either.

For a while, the landlady of my building turned a blind eye to tobacco and cannabis smokers in the building. From 2021 to the spring of 2023, we all smoked on our balconies until someone complained.

All the smokers received notices as summer began in 2023. We were warned not to smoke in common places including the balconies, or we faced immediate evictions. We all were expected to smoke or vaporize at least five metres away from the building.

At first I was angry, but I have since adapted. I also smoke less a bit less now, because that puff is a little harder to get at.

During the summers, when the skies never get dark, I smoke up in the hills behind the Catholic school near my apartment.

A little girl warned me not to up into the hills once because of the bears. The neighbourhood up in the hills behind the school is active with nature, as I discovered in the summer of 2023. I heard a bear several metres above me on an August day. He might’ve become irritated or attracted to the fruit-scented smoke of my flavoured pre-roll. Another time, a marten ran along the path in front of me. A creepy deer often followed me around the schoolyard after I had walked down the hill. The animals were cool, but the dirt biker in July was annoying. Still, he was easy enough to miss or evade.

In the winters when it starts getting dark after 4 p.m. in December, I have been going out for puffs on the pipe in the parking lot, taking care not to smoke less than five metres away from the building. The winters often freeze our patio doors shut anways, so the balconies aren’t easy to open up from January to March.

Below is a photo of the hilly area where I often smoke above Peace River in the north part of town taken in September 2022.

4 Unexplained TIMESLIP AND TIME TRAVEL STORIES From The US & UK

Explore five more true and intriguing timeslip tales that challenge the boundaries of time. From Jacob Ward’s historical encounter with a centuries gone indigenous village, to Amanda Clark’s pastoral encounter with an ancestral homestead, Karen Sinclair’s eerie descent into a 17th-century stable, and Jeff Morgan’s nostalgic glimpse into his own childhood. Such extraordinary time slip accounts defy reality and invite us to ponder the mysteries of existence.

For those of you who keep a clean home, how do you do it? What tricks or techniques do you use?

My mother was a nurse. You know how busy a nurse could get? Really, really busy. But I had a clean home growing up and I maintain a clean and tidy home now, thanks to my mom’s rules:

You take something out to use, put it back where it belongs after you’re done using it. Right away. For example: get the scissors out of the drawer to use? Put them back in the drawer RIGHT AWAY after.
If something take under two minutes to do, do it RIGHT AWAY. Right away, not “in a bit”, not “later”. For example: after taking a shower, it takes just 1 minute to wipe down the shower glass door and walls, do it right away.
Always spend an extra minute looking back at what you just did. – This may sound silly, but it’s so true for me. For example, after doing the dishes and thinking I’m done, when I look back, I might notice a wet spot on the floor that need to wipe up; a bowl left out on the countertop that should be put away;…
If you spend 5 minutes cleaning up every day, you won’t have to spend 3 hours cleaning up at the end of the week.
Train your kids (and your husband/boyfriend) these rules.

I hope these rules could help you a little bit!

Will a warning shot scare a bear?

Not always. When I was a younger man, I used to guide on the rivers in Northern BC and the company required us to carry large-frame revolvers to protect our guests and ourselves. Predatory grizzlies in remote areas have one of three reactions when you fire a warning shot – they either run away, they stop in their tracks or they continue to come at you. Literally, it’s “Oh. Oh sh*t. Sh*t sh*tsh*tsh*t no no nononono….”

It’s the last scenario that usually ends by shooting the bear and having to take photos to accompany a report. These revolvers are ridiculously loud, but some bears simply don’t give a rat’s ass and continue to come at you. I’ve personally seen it happen more than once, and it’s absolutely terrifying – it’s like they’re on a death wish and they come at you with a locked-on stare, as if their heads were mounted on a gyroscopic frame. Not sure why it happens, but it does – if they’re deaf, how does one tell, right? 😉 . And you would not believe how fast these monsters can run, it’s mind-blowing that something that big can move that quick over rough terrain. No one can outrun a grizzly at full pace.

Other bears like black bears are more timid, but if they’re sick or starving, one can’t predict their behavior. Kodiaks are even bigger than grizzlies, but I’ve never been to the Kodiak Archipelago – I’ve never seen one in person. Can’t imagine they like head-pats from smelly fishermen.

What is it like to have a beautiful wife?

My wife is an insecure woman’s nightmare: IQ in the 130s, talented musician, funny, head-turningly beautiful.

We’re both in our 40s, at her work this year she’s had a guy literally fall down the stairs after seeing her. Multiple guys from the IT department come along if she needs something. It’s hysterical.

I get it easy. Comments from men about her being better looking than me, is about it really. I’ve had a guy come on to her whilst we’re at the bar together ordering a drink. Found it funny. I can pretend when we’re both dressed up and we walk into a restaurant and several people turn and look at us that I’m remotely anything to do with that. She doesn’t notice.

I was shocked when we first met (mid to late 30s) how women reacted around her. Passing her on the street she would be looked up and down with the most hateful, evil faces. She’s told me when she was younger on nights out women would put cigarettes out on her clothes or lie about her to start arguments in group situations.

She deals with a load of envious rubbish, which is a shame because she’s a naturally shy person. I just have to deal with people wondering if she’s married to me because I’m rich, hilarious or very well endowed. Let them wonder.

GHOST ARMY* Summoned to Fight- Lord of the Rings

What did someone do on an airplane that made you say “You’ve gotta be kidding me”?

I was on an airplane flying home from a work trip. I noticed a young lady sitting across the isle from me. I don’t remember exactly what it was that clued me into the fact that she was military but, I noticed it and commented, being a military brat, I am always happy to chat with our military personnel. Turned out she had just graduated from advanced schooling (or something like that, its been many years ago) and was heading home to visit her family before heading out to whatever was next. She mentioned that she had her dress blues in the bin above her because she was worried about checking the uniform. As the last of the plane was loading this fellow sees her clothing bag and goes to shove his carryon bag in on top of her uniform, crushing it. I quickly told the fellow to stop, that the bag he was crushing was her military dress blues, and that he needed to find another place for his bag. (To be clear, her bag was neatly folded up and only taking up the space of a single suitcase, the fellow just decided that it would be acceptable to crush someone else’s clothing rather than finding another place for his bag). He started to argue with me when the flight attendant (who must have overheard) approached and asked to see his ticket. His seat was in the back of the plane and we were up in the expanded economy section. The flight attendant calmly told the man he would need to take his luggage to the back of the plane and find a spot for it there since the bin was obviously full. (which it was). He grumbled but, carried on his way. The flight attendant carefully pulled the girls uniform bag out, refolded it correctly and neatly, put it back in the bin and closed the bin lid. The young lady told me, “Thank you for stopping him”. I simply replied I was happy to be of help for our military personnel.

When the flight landed and I was at baggage claim, a couple came up to me. It was her parents. Apparently the young lady had told them the story and they wanted to thank me. Again, I told them I was happy I had seen it and been able to stop it. Wished them all the best, grabbed my bag and headed on my way.

What is the number of tanks in China compared to other countries such as the USA, UK, and France? How many tanks does China produce annually?

Do you know the basic difference between China versus US, UK and France?

These group of nations regularly attack and invade nations at their will and certainly get drawn in on conflicts at any moment in time. So these despicable nation can and will need tanks in abundance apart from its own defence need.

China don’t. China only need it for defence and it has more than necessary. China have not been at war since 1979. Or 44 years ago! You ought to know this as it showed clearly China is not an aggressive or a war mongering nation like these despicable barbaric nations.

But since you ask, China can and will build anything including tanks on immediate notice and it can build more numbers than what these 2 nations put together. Hopefully it never have to as China prefers peace not war. Making tanks don’t make China rich, making cars do!

What’s the funniest court case you’ve seen?

I didn’t think it was all that funny, but my courtroom was in tears over this, they were so amused.

I found myself sitting as a judge pro tem in Los Angeles County’s night court, which is held once a month at various courthouses in LA County. I had a Spanish language interpreter for this one case, and the lady before me was crying and doing her best to control her tears. I could tell she was very, very upset. I gently asked her what was wrong. Through the interpreter, she said she was so scared and so nervous about what was going to happen in court. I told her not to worry, no one is going to jail tonight, so let me see what was going on.

I read through the county’s paperwork, but my copy was terrible and I could only see that it looked like she was cited for an expired dog license, it had turned into an arrest warrant, and the bail was enormous. Then there were penalties on top of the bail.

I said, “Ms. Doe, are you really here for an expired dog license?” The audiences laughed aloud, and she said, “Yes,” with tears streaming down her face. I was confused because I had never seen anything like this before. I must have really looked confused, because the people in the courtroom laughed harder when I tried to read my terrible copy of the paperwork, then looked up at her which led to more laughter.

I told the woman that I am confused by why the fine was so high. Then she said she didn’t know what the fine was, and I told her it appears to be $7,000, give or take. She began to cry again, and the audience laughed again. I reminded the audience that they were in a courtroom.

I told the woman that it looks like the citation was given in 2012, and she said she got the ticket in 2002. I asked, “You got this citation 15 years ago, and only now you decide to come to court?” The woman nodded tearfully, and said, “yes.” Again, laughter.

I asked her what happened to cause this citation, and she said she was out jogging and had Goofy with her. I said, “Who’s Goofy?” She said, “My little dog.” I asked what kind of dog is Goofy, and she said, “a chihuahua.”

I asked her to go on, and she stated, “I crossed the street, and there was a police car that I didn’t see, and the cop motioned for me to come back across the street back to him. So I ran back across the street to him, and the police officer said I jay walked and he was going to give me a ticket. I told him that that was crazy, because he is the one who called me to come back across the street. Then he said he wasn’t going to give me a ticket, and he was playing with Goofy. Then he said that Goofy’s tag was expired, so he wrote on a paper to get Goofy’s tag renewed. I didn’t think it was a real ticket, because I didn’t have to sign anything, and it didn’t look like any ticket I’ve seen before….” The audience again started chuckling.

“I see,” I said with a sigh. “And where is Goofy today?” Her eyes welled up with tears, and she said he just died. And I asked if I was correct in believing that she got a note to update Goofy’s license it didn’t look like a real ticket to her, so now, 15 years later she decided to come to court. She said, “Yes, because I got a letter saying there was a warrant out for my arrest and I had to come to court. I thought I was going to go to jail today for Goofy’s license.” This amused the audience to no end.

I kept thinking that this is the craziest thing I’ve ever seen in court. I said softly to myself, “What to do? What to do?” which brought laughter to the room again. I asked if she has other dogs at home, and asked if they have licenses. She said yes, and yes, of course.

I looked at this lady with tear-stained cheeks and said, “OK, here’s what I’m going to do.” Her eyes were welled up with tears, she sucked in her breath and looked like she was going to faint. The courtroom for once became very silent. “This ticket is over 15 years old, you were never properly noticed, as you never signed a promise to appear, and the legal file has nothing indicating you signed any such promise, but you did appear when you received notice by mail, 15 years later. In the interest of justice, I am recalling your arrest warrant, and dismissing this citation in its entirety and waiving all fines, fees and assessments. I need you to go to the cashier and get a document saying this is all cleared up. Do not leave without this. I don’t want to see you back here on this matter. The cashier may ask for a $25.00 administration fee, and I am ordering that fee waived. If the cashier disagrees, have them call me, and I’ll walk over there and straighten this out myself.”

The audience applauded, and this lady, for once actually smiled, and said, “Oh my God, thank you, thank you.”

Then of course I said, “This concludes this matter. Next, I have matter number…”

What is the most misunderstood foreign policy issue of our day?

North Korea.

The usual way of covering them in Western Media is as utterly irrational. This is in the long tradition of viewing East Asians as “inscrutable orientals.” But generally speaking, if you think a country’s foreign policy is entirely devoid of reason, it’s safe to assume that you’re not getting the full picture.

The picture we get is of Kim Jong Un as an overgrown baby.

Look! Doesn’t he look like a pudgy toddler? Look, he’s a fat and mean dictator who murders his own family members! Look, his people are starving!! Look, he’s testing yet another ballistic missile! Oh, no, that one was a flop! Hahahaha, isn’t that funny? He tried to flip this missile into the sea, near the Japanese coast, but instead, it was a flop!!!

This, to put it mildly, is not designed to inform; it’s designed to entertain and scare. And it’s succeeding. Very few people take the time to understand what kind of grand strategy lies behind their actions.

This is not to say that I myself can explain everything they do, but I’d like to submit to you a radical thought: the North Korean leadership is entirely rational. Here’s what you need to understand:

North Korea is scared. Of what? Of the US. Why? Because we’ve repeatedly threatened them with regime change. Here we are, doing it again, less than a month ago

.
But, surely, they must know that we’re not REALLY going to invade them? They know no such thing. Dictatorships have this advantage over democracies: they have very long institutional memories. The Korean War is something most Americans don’t ever think about. Things are very different in North Korea. We tried to wipe them off the map, within living memory. We routinely invade countries we don’t like. Why wouldn’t they take us seriously when we threaten them?
They want nuclear weapons because it would prevent us from invading them. That’s it. They’re not going to nuke anyone first; that would mean nuclear annihilation for them. They want one thing: to survive. They know they can’t win a war against us; they’re not stupid. But they can make the cost of a potential invasion very, very costly by acquiring the capacity to nuke one of our cities.
There is nothing we can do about this. We have three bad options: diplomacy, sanctions, and war.
- Diplomacy won’t work because there is nothing we can offer that will make them be willing to give up their nukes. They have seen what happens to people who make deals with the West in which they give up their quest for nuclear weapons. They know that both Saddam Hussein and Muammar Gaddafi would still be in power if they’d had nuclear weapons. It doesn’t matter what we offer; they’re not going to trust us. They will never willingly give up their nuclear weapons. It’s their biggest guarantee that we won’t topple their regime.
- Sanctions won’t work because we’ve basically done everything we can do on our own. Their main economic lifeline is China, so China would have to agree to sanctions that bite. But China will only go so far in sanctioning them, because at the end of the day China prefers a nuclear North Korea to a collapsed one. We don’t care if they collapse. What is it to us? They’re far away and won’t affect us. But China very sensibly doesn’t want millions of refugees pouring into its borders. It also doesn’t want regime change, because that would mean replacing the Kim regime with something more friendly to the US. Why the hell would we expect China to help us replace a regime that is friendly to them with one that is friendly to us? That makes no sense whatsoever.
- War won’t work because we don’t have the stomach for it. This is not a bad thing. We would win, but at what cost? Seoul is very close to the demilitarized border between North and South. North Korea has enough artillery to annihilate the city. They can also easily hit Japan. Potentially hundreds of thousands of civilians would die. We’re not going to invade them. If we show that much disregard for the lives of the civilian population of our allies, everyone will conclude that mutual defense agreements with us are meaningless. South Korea, Japan, and all our major allies would have renewed incentives to produce their own nukes. China would feel threatened by a nuclear Japan and South Korea and would have renewed incentive to ramp up its aggression in the region before these countries got nukes… it would not be pretty.

The reality is that North Korea has found the one thing that will allow their regime to survive: nuclear weapons. They’re very sensibly not going to give them up. And there’s not a damn thing we can do about it.

I Woke Up In A Parallel Universe Without Covid-19 | 3 TRUE GLITCH IN THE MATRIX STORIES

Venture into the perplexing realm of parallel universes with three more true and gripping accounts. Meet Seth Boyle, who after a brief nap finds himself in a world where a global pandemic is unheard of; Phoebe Donovan, whose lucid dreams offer glimpses into similar yet distinct alternate lives; and Clarissa Stone, whose deep sleep propels her into a version of her home where she’s unrecognizably out of place. Such experiences challenge our notions of human existence, and leave us wondering if we are more than what we perceive ourselves to be.

What things do Americans do that people from other countries find extremely weird or strange?

There are so many things, I don’t know where to begin. I will briefly mention a few things that friends in East and Southeast Asia have said seem strange to them:

They think Americans are odd for constantly speaking words of love, as well as hugging and kissing family and friends so freely.
They do not understand why comments (that we Americans consider rude) about my appearance or weight are not appreciated or welcomed by me. Literally I have lost friends because I’ve tried explaining the differences in our cultures when some do this.
They are flummoxed as to why we tolerate an ineffectual government that switches parties every four to eight years. We don’t understand either. I assure you.
They don’t see why Americans are so arrogant or that they are unable to be promoted in their career path because they are humble and unassuming. Many don’t realize that the arrogance and self-promotion of one’s best qualities is why those people are given a raise or a more prestigious position.
More than one or two romantic dates for them is to be heading to the marriage altar. They don’t understand why I want to know a man very well before marriage. They think marriage should come first and then we can spend the rest of our lives getting to know one another. My anxiety could never!
They can’t comprehend why we don’t take off our shoes before entering our homes. They think it’s unsanitary to bring in germs from the outside world. They definitely have a good point.
Some think it strange that as a society we tend to place elderly family members in nursing facilities. Though this attitude is changing as large amounts of people are entering retirement years with not enough young family members to provide adequate care.
Depending on the country, they sometimes think it is odd for us to be driving cars so much. It’s a necessity for us unless living in huge cities like New York or Chicago.
They don’t understand why our desserts are so sweet. Or why we don’t season our food!
They do not understand why people in America own so many guns!

I could go on and on. Differences don’t have to divide us though. I think instead we should share each others cultural background so that we gain understanding. I certainly need it.

What was the moment you realized your significant other didn’t care about you at all anymore?

There were many signs that my husband didn’t care about me anymore—like after 15 years of making a big deal of Valentine’s Day, he didn’t even acknowledge it. Despite the fact that the whole family came out of their rooms to find cards, gifts and candy from me, and I had hand-sewn little red lacy heart ornaments to decorate our ficus tree. Even after that, he did nothing to honor me.

I discovered that he had been spending all our disposable income taking his co-workers to lunch while I was home clipping coupons for food, buying dented and expired cans and sewing all the kids’ clothes to save money.

He had nothing to say to me anymore despite our long history of lively debates and philosophical discussions and sharing of stories from our earlier lives.

But the moment I knew beyond doubt that he didn’t care about me anymore was the day we were both in the kitchen and I aspirated a mouthful of water. My airway was completely blocked. I frantically signaled to him that I was choking, that I needed help. He just stood there completely calm with his arms folded, watching me. I signaled the Heimlich maneuver but he didn’t lift a finger to help me. I was starting to get tunnel vision. So I doubled my fist, placed it over my diaphragm and fell against the edge of the counter, launching the water out of my throat and gasping for air.

I looked at him incredulously. “Why didn’t you help me?”

“What was I supposed to do?” This, from a guy who did Search and Rescue for the Navy.

“Couldn’t you see I was signaling the Heimlich?”

“Well, yeah, but I didn’t think that would work for water.”

“So you just chose to do NOTHING?” I admit I’m a bit slow on the uptake but I finally realized that he was hoping I’d die to save him the trouble and expense of a divorce and custody battle, not to mention alimony.

And then I remembered that his previous wife, who’d been an alcoholic, had died suddenly.

He found Giants then the Government Found Him | What really happened to Andrew Dawson?

What is the most “how could that even happen” thing you’ve heard of?

Meet Frane Selak, the world’s (un)luckiest man.

In January 1965, Frane was aboard a train travelling through a cold, rainy canyon.

At one point of the journey the train was somehow flipped off of its tracks, and tumbled into a river.

A bystander rushed to the train’s aid, and pulled Frane out of the river. Unfortunately, 17 people drowned, trapped inside the train as it sank to the river’s bottom.

A narrow brush with death.

The next year, Frane was aboard the only plane ride he would ever take.

During the flight, the plane malfunctioned, and Frane was blown out of the aircraft.

He tumbled through the air— and landed safely in a haystack.

The plane crashed in a field, killing all 19 of its passengers.

Yet another close call.

It seemed that Frane had experienced his fair share of near-death experiences, but life still had quite a lot in store for Mr. Selak.

1966- A bus Frane was aboard crashed into a river, killing four. Frane was able to swim to safety with only minor injuries.
1970- While he was driving, Frane’s car suddenly caught on fire. He managed to escape just before the fuel tank exploded.
1973- In yet another driving incident, the engine of Frane’s car was doused in scalding oil from a malfunctioning fuel pump, causing flames to shoot through the air vents. Other than singed hair, Frane was unharmed.
1995- While on a trip in Zagreb, Croatia, Frane was struck by a bus. Luckily enough, he only sustained minor injuries.
1996- As Frane was driving, he was forced to swerve into a guardrail to avoid an oncoming truck. The rail collapsed under the car’s weight, sending it plummeting into a gorge. However, Frane wasn’t wearing a seat belt, so he was flung out of his car—right onto a tree. He held on, and safely watched as his car tumbled down into the gorge.

While he’s lucky to have survived more than seven brushes with death, Frane Selak seemed plagued by misfortune.

That is, until 2003 rolled around.

Two days after his 73rd birthday, Frane purchased a lottery ticket—- and won. It wasn’t a small amount, either: Roughly $1.1 million USD.

Perhaps even better than his lottery win?

He’s gone over twenty years without being placed in a life-threatening situation.

Frane Selak truly has beaten all odds.

Every time I try to ask out a girl, they tell me I’m too ugly and lower my smile off my face. Why?

You don’t realize how lucky you are. Any woman who would tell a guy that he’s too ugly to date, is a horrible person, shallow and unkind. You are SO lucky not to be dating her.

Here’s the real problem: Dating is a horrible system for meeting people of the opposite sex. If you walk up to a stranger and ask her out, you don’t know her and she doesn’t know you. Therefore the transaction is based entirely on physical appearance. She judges you, not on whether she might like you, but rather on whether she will look good with you. She’s too dumb to know that when a pretty girl is with a less attractive guy, people assume he’s got amazing money, a real provider, and SHE got him.

You’re not interested in dating for show. So don’t walk up and ask out strangers.

Instead, get involved in ongoing community projects — cleanup, building, feeding the homeless, hospice service — things that really help people who really need it. You work hard at it, do it well, and are polite and kind to everyone. If a woman of merit working on the same project sees your merit, she will be drawn to you for genuine values that you share.

Even if she’s married or not into guys or is too much older than you, she still values you enough to talk about you to her friends or kin who value the same things. And you’ll allow yourself to be set up on dates by a woman who likes and admires you for your character.

Public service is far better for meeting women who aren’t looking for arm candy. than cold-call asking them out. I’ve never seen a good marriage that resulted from attractiveness dating, but I’ve seen several happy marriages arise from working together on various projects of worth. None of these people devoted much attention to looking or acting cool. But they did put in a lot of effort on being kind to others — even to less-attractive guys. And after many years together, they both had the beauty that comes from caring about other people.

What are some unwritten social rules everyone should know?

Sometimes the best time to call others is text them.
If someone says “wow, that’s crazy” 3 times, it’s probably time to wrap up your story.
Don’t abandon your friend at a party where they hardly know anyone.
Don’t fake that you’re interested in someone. Faux interest is worse than none.
If you’re borrowing something for a third time, you need one of your own.
Don’t mess up an apology with an excuse. “I’m sorry but…” only taints the sincerity of the apology you were attempting to give.
Sending the right rejection texts is a much better option than ghosting when online dating.
Don’t make plans in front of people you are not inviting.
When someone tells you a secret, take it with you to your grave, even if you wake up as enemies the next morning.
Respect different shades of opinions. Remember what’s 6 to you will appear 9 to someone facing you.

How do you bounce back when life gets hard after you lose everything in your life?

Jackson Hinkle, an American political commentator, was banned on YouTube on 12 October, he believes, for saying certain things about the Ukraine-Russia conflict.

I looked him up. He’s just 21, spent 3 years of his life building his 300,000 YouTube follower base and a livelihood instead of doing a degree, wow, but it all just went, boom, because of some decision by some committee or algorithm at Google.

YouTube didn’t give him a reason.

So he pivoted his focus to X.

Within SIX DAYS his number of followers there rocketed from 500,000 to 1,000,000, a rate of almost 80,000 per day, and he’s probably far from done yet!

Whether Hinkle should have been banned or not is not the point. The point is this, if you ever lose your job, don’t get that job offer, don’t win that contract, or any door just closes on you IF YOU STAY POSITIVE AND KEEP AT IT you’ll more often than not end up getting something way better, and this is just one of many examples I’ve seen.

How do you bounce back? By reminding yourself that there are far more doors than the one you’re trying get through.

Voyager Receives a Message from Pre-Warp Society

Star Trek Voyager Season 6 Episode 12 Blink of an Eye.

What’s a rule your employer implemented that backfired terribly?

Field Service Engineering.

Small outfit. Manager hired an accountant.

Accountant treated the 5 or 6 of us engineers like we were all theiving fucks and she was going bust us. (best group of guys I’ve ever had the pleasure to work with. I’d trust any of them with my life. Never met a better group of dudes).

Fine. The corporate credit card and accompanying expense and travel software we used at the time underwent a change of ownership and became super jank. Never worked. Like EVER. She cranked up the strictness on policies and whatnot, and made my boss the approver for ANY purchases made. Now, the thing is, at this company our per diem for food and drinks was handled with that card, and it being a small team and close knit group of guys we had an understanding that there was a dollar limit that we should try to keep it under. It was a generous amount, and let’s say you were frugal for the week and on Friday you and the boys went out for a nice dinner, nobody cares if you went over that amount. Just you know, be cool.

With the new accountant taking the reigns we suddenly had to have EVERY transaction approved, with receipts uploaded, on an app that literally wouldn’t work on the weekends, and most days of the week, and would almost never save a receipt the first time. With 6 guys on the road trying to buy breakfast, lunch, dinner, snacks, hygiene, laundry, plus any parts tools supplies etc for work, plus fuel and airline tickets and hotels and on and on and on.

Within days we were effectively shutdown. Unactionable while my boss sifts through hundreds and hundreds of transactions that he wasn’t even aware would be oiling up in his junk folder, and the kicker was- there hundreds that just couldn’t be approved because the engineer had expensed it, uploaded the receipt, and the app promptly deleted the photo and called it a day. When I left I still had like 300 plus transactions sitting in “upload receipt limbo.”

All the sudden it was back to the honor system again.

What do poor people in the United States of America eat?

10 years ago, I was living on a meager $600/month.

I lived in a rooming house where my rent was $250. That left me $350 for living expenses.

What did I eat?

Not much fast food, interestingly enough.
Lots of ramen noodles. Very filling, very cheap.

Rice-a-Roni. Easy to make. Quick. Relatively filling.

Chicken leg quarters bought from Save-A-Lot. I would cut those in half and have either 1 thigh or 1 drumstick per meal.
Lots of canned tuna.
Hard-boiled eggs.
Peanut butter.
Beans. Black beans, red beans, pinto beans, all beans. I ate so many beans I’m surprised there are any left on the planet.
white rice.
Yogurt.
Frozen mixed vegetables. Fresh vegetables? Forget it! Too expensive.
I lived next to a Domino’s Pizza. So, there would be some of that.
Raisin bran cereal and whatever cheapest yogurt I could find.

My most standard meals would be:

ramen noodles plus one chicken drumstick plus one hard-boiled egg.
hard-boiled egg, mayo, and tuna sandwich.
Occasionally, I would cook my chicken in an African peanut sauce and eat it with white rice (another of my staples).
Fried plantains. This is still one of my favorite things to eat.

yogurt with raisin bran and red grapes.
Rice-a-Roni pasta with one chicken thigh. Aah, good times.
When I felt like splurging, I would buy a chicken shawarma sandwich. But I would agonize over the decision: a whole $5 spent on only 1 meal… at this rate, I’d spent a whole $300 on food for the month, an unimaginably large sum.

My dream in life used to be to earn enough to go buy a chicken shawarma sandwich whenever I felt like it without having to worry about whether I could afford it or not.

Now I’m literally living the dream.

I’ve come a long, long way.

Have you ever tried to get what you want by threatening to quit your job and then have it backfire on you?

My boss did. She was a little El Salvadoran spitfire who’d had servants before moving to America, and apparently thought her employees should fill that role as well. She made everyone’s life miserable, but especially mine. I was the IT manager, and since she had no idea what our remote system could do, she kept asking for things it couldn’t and would raise holy hell when informed of that fact. She also seemed to dislike men in general and was much harder on us penis-bearers than her employees of the female persuasion.

Nobody in administration could stand her, but she was cagey enough not to commit any fireable offenses. This went on to the point that I was actively looking for another job, but IT jobs were scarce in the remote area where I lived. Her office was across the hall from mine, and one morning my data entry person and I were talking when we heard a loud commotion coming from her office, with screaming and loud invective hurled in Spanish. We waited for things to calm down, and then went across the hall to see what was going on.

Turns out she had thrown one of her patented fits in the Administrator’s office. I never learned exactly what it was, but she was denied something she wanted and blurted out that she quit. The administrator quickly seized on that statement (there were witnesses) and asked her to give him her resignation ASAP. She tried to backpedal, but no dice. Hence the screaming, etc. I don’t usually wish people ill, but that night my assistant and I celebrated at a local bar. And life immediately got much better.

5 Unexplained TIME SLIP AND TIME TRAVEL STORIES From The US & UK

Dive into a collection of five more true and fascinating time slip accounts, each offering a glimpse into the past within the present. Experience Michael’s mysterious encounter with the revival of an old school, Sarah’s disorienting drive through Christchurch, Debbie and her uncle’s encounter with a Victorian era Preston, Callum’s discovery of a remote Scottish festival, and Stephanie’s brief journey to an earlier era on a Hillside Road. These narratives blend history and reality, challenging our understanding of time, while inviting us to contemplate its mysteries.

China slams U.S. statement for attempting to endorse Philippines’ infringement of Chinese sovereignty

A Chinese foreign ministry spokesperson on Wednesday said China firmly rejects the statement issued by the U.S. State Department to groundlessly attack China’s fully justified law enforcement activities at Ren’ai Jiao and Huangyan Dao, calling it an attempt to endorse the Philippines’ infringement of Chinese sovereignty and provocation.

Spokesperson Mao Ning made the remarks when asked to comment on the statement released by the U.S. State Department on Dec. 10, in which the U.S. side threatened once again that the U.S. Philippines Mutual Defense Treaty extended to the South China Sea.

Huangyan Dao has always been part of China’s territory and China has indisputable sovereignty over Huangyan Dao and its adjacent waters, Mao said at a daily news briefing.

Mao said on Dec. 9, three official vessels of the Philippines, without permission from the Chinese side, intruded into adjacent waters of Huangyan Dao. China Coast Guard took necessary measures in accordance with the law, which were professional, restrained, lawful and legitimate.

The U.S. State Department, in disregard of the facts, issued a statement to groundlessly attack China’s fully justified law enforcement activities to safeguard our rights at Ren’ai Jiao and Huangyan Dao, she said.

“The statement is an attempt to endorse the Philippines’ infringement of Chinese sovereignty and provocation. We firmly reject it,” Mao added.

Mao said for some time, out of selfish geopolitical interests, the United States has incited, supported and assisted in the Philippines’ infringement and provocation at sea, and repeatedly made threats by citing the U.S. Philippines Mutual Defense Treaty.

Such moves blatantly embolden the Philippines’ violation of China’s sovereignty, seriously violate the purposes and principles of the UN Charter and gravely jeopardize regional peace and stability. China has made clear that the so-called arbitral award on the South China Sea is illegal, null and void, and has no binding effect whatsoever, Mao said.

“The United States itself would not implement the judgement of the International Court of Justice and international arbitral awards. In what position is the United States to tell China that it should implement an illegal arbitral award?” said Mao.

The United States needs to know that no threat, coercion or unfounded attack and accusation will lead anywhere or shake China’s firm resolve and will in safeguarding its territorial sovereignty and maritime rights and interests, Mao said.

“China will continue to resolutely uphold its legitimate sovereignty and rights and interests in accordance with domestic and international law. The U.S.’s attempts will not succeed,” she added.

Caramel Walnut Glazed Spiral Ham

A delicious twist to a traditional holiday dish, this succulent caramel-glazed ham is sure to become a family favorite. Hints of ginger, crunchy walnuts and aromatic apple make this recipe a magnificent centerpiece for Christmas or Easter dinner.

Cook: 2 hr 40 min | Total: 3 hr 25 min | Servings: 30

Ingredients

3/4 cup toasted California walnut pieces
10 pound spiral ham
1 1/2 cups brown sugar
3/4 cup mulled apple cider
1/3 cup crushed ginger snaps

Instructions

Toasting Walnuts: In large, dry skillet over medium-high heat, toast walnuts, stirring occasionally, until lightly brown, about 1 to 2 minutes.
Cook spiral ham as per instructions found on the label (or for 13 to 15 minutes per pound in a 375 degrees F).
Ten minutes prior to serving ham, place a sauce pan over high heat and combine brown sugar and apple cider. Bring to a boil, then reduce to a simmer until it forms into a thick syrup, about 6 to 8 minutes.
Remove from heat and add ginger snaps and walnuts to syrup.
Remove ham from oven and place on platter; pour syrup over ham, slice and serve.

What is the best case of “You just picked a fight with the wrong person” that you’ve witnessed?

I had a break in at my apartment. Someone was knocking on my door. I had one of those chain link locks and when I cracked my door open to see who was there. The person on the other end kicked the door open breaking the lock.

I then had my face beat to a pulp by the intruder. Both my eye orbits were fractured, my nose broken, my teeth were bleeding. He started choking me and I lost consciousness. When I regained consciousness I was holding the shattered remains of a desk lamp in my hands. Edit: I should mention that durring the time I blacked out I managed to move from my kitchen, where my front door was, into a roomates room and I was backed against the wall in his room. This means I traversed about 30 feet of my apartment and managed to get ahold of a lamp, ripping the cord from the wall.

My attacker was standing in the middle of the room holding the skin of what had once been the left side of his face and his left ear against his head trying not to bleed out. His skull was clearly visible, blood was spurting out of a crack in it, it was spraying over my celing. I didnt realize it but the crack that was spurting blood was his brain, which was now exposed to the air. I told him I would kill him if he didnt leave. He left.

It was winter and it had been snowing. The police followed the blood trail and footsteps. I shit you not he was found in a cemetary, passed out from blood loss. He was put in a medically induced coma and had multiple blood transfusions over the course of two days before he was able to be charged. Edit 2: After being treated by EMS I had to go to the police station to give statements. I also had to get blood work which included an STD test. I had gotten his blood in my eyes and mouth and this was to make sure I didnt contract any blood born diseases.

I dont know what he was convicted of but he was sentenced to two years. Fortunately my testimony wasn’t necessary in court. I guess the evidence was beyond debate. He may have beaten the shit out of me, but I almost killed him. I was told that if it weren’t for modern medicine he would have died. And It turns out having your brain exposed to air from blunt force trauma basically guarantees permament brain damage.

Edit 3: As of my making these edits this answer has gotten 4,200 views. I was not expecting that. There is alot of information I am leaving out of this story for my own privacy, the privacy of others involved, my personal safety and also because its just way to much to tell.

What are your most controversial or unpopular opinions?

I judge the book by its cover
Not the whole book, but not a small part of it.
Literally speaking, the book cover plays a very important part in my decision if I want to buy it or not. Of course, I don’t judge the whole quality of the book without reading it, but a good cover weighs heavily in.

I find one of the most important skills that needs to be trained early in life and to have is the skill to judge things/ situations quickly and accurately.

For example, in this situation: my daughter was home alone, and a homeless person showed up at my door and asked her to come inside my house and asked her for something to eat. What would I want my daughter to do? I would want her to judge immediately. It’s not about the person in front of her, it’s about the situation. She was home alone, therefore, no strangers could get into the house. Simple as that.

Another example: How to pick friends. I tell my daughter to look at that person’s grade. You are a student, your main job is to study, grade is the result of that. I’m not telling her that just pick straight-A students to be friends with, but look at how they try to improve their grades and their attitude toward studying. If the student with bad grades just shows up at school and doesn’t do anything to improve it, you might want to consider before making friends. Not everyone can be a top students, but everyone can be a hard-working one.

Or like when you are on your first date, look at how they dress up to see you. They don’t have to wear fancy clothes or expensive accessories. But if they wear wrinkled, dirty clothes with bad hygiene, show no interest in trying to look good to see you, I think you should consider seriously before getting into a serious relationship.

So, yeah, I find it’s very important to judge the book by its cover – but remember to judge it with the accurate aspects.

What’s something a flight attendant did to you that you will never forget?

After years of flying there are many memorable stories. These are two.

I was traveling on then Continental Airlines. The flight attendants were coming through the cabin to hand out drinks. I asked a very attractive flight attendant for an extra bottle of water. She said she would, but only if I told her she was pretty. I said she was pretty and she handed me two bottles of water.

After a moment, she told the flight attendant on the other end of the cart that I said she was pretty. I interrupted and said, “No, I didn’t. I said you were gorgeous”. The very beautiful woman responded by lipping back, “I love you”.

Years later, also on a Continental branded flight, but really another airline operating under the name. It was a commuter jet. I was seated next to a gentleman and both of us had broad shoulders. I am shoulder to shoulder with me, meaning my left shoulder is blocking a good portion of this little plane. It as a 1–2 seat configuration, if I recall correctly.

The flight attendant was a younger lady, still having fun in her job. We had started bantering around with her. And giving her a little grief. Nothing horrible, just friendly teasing. At one point, she decided she was going to turn the tables on us.

She grabs the PA mic and tells the plane that “Little Tommy and Jimmy would be by to collect the items from the plane”. At which point, I and the guy next to me got up and started collecting trash from the other passengers. It was completely funny.

That fight attendant should have flown for Southwest Airlines.

What is something that people were better at 100 years ago?

Because I am 71, I knew people who were in their prime of life a hundred years ago (1918) and there were definitely things that they did easily and routinely that are rarely done today:

Baking bread and caramel rolls. My grandmother learned it from her mother but did not pass it on to her daughters, probably because sliced store bread had essentially taken over.
Writing cursive and writing letters. I have saved some of my grandfather’s letters. For a person with an eighth grade education, he wrote simply but beautifully.
Sewing and mending. My grandmother was not wealthy, but she was capable of producing wonderful pajamas for all of her grandchildren on her trusty Singer. My generation has lost the ability to create heirlooms.
Gardening and canning the things they grew. In an era when you were not going to see fresh fruit or vegetables in stores after growing season, people developed great preservation skills. Things like pickles, berries, tomatoes were canned as were peaches and plums when in season. I do not remember kale or zucchini, however, and that was also a blessing.
Memory work. I grew up with great uncles and aunts (all born about 1900) who had memorized massive amounts of poetry and famous speeches as well as scripture. Rote learning was fairly normal in their education, so they did group memorization. We loved to hear their recitations.

I miss those folks. They just slipped away one at a time between the seventies and today.

What would happen if someone ever robbed a drug dealer?

Working a refinery job in the 80s in Washington state a couple of guy’s from the job went into a bar one night and started asking around about where to buy some weed. A guy was there and they came to terms and went to the guy’s house. His wife was a dispathcer for the sherriffs office, she was at work at the time. The two guy’s ended up tying the guy to a chair planning on ripping they guy off, one was a real party animal and somewhere found a double barrel and blew the guy’s brains out. I went in to work and the superintendent asks me if I know where such and such is, I told him no I didn’t know he was on the job haven’t seen him. He said aren’t you roomin with him. I said no, Mad Max and I are bunked at the motel. He said the cops were looking for him and the other guy. I asked if they said why and he said they did. Homicide. The one guy lived on the other side of the cascade mountain range in a small town outside of Hanford nuclear reservation. They found him hiding underneath his trailer three days later. The other guy they found after a week. So for a couple of pounds of weed and a few hundred bucks, the one guy who they found after a few days got nine years, the other trigger dude got 40 years to life.

Have you ever kicked a customer out of a restaurant?

Yes, and I didn’t even work there.

Dennys, late night. Two drunk guys getting loud and rude with the waitress. One smacks her on the backside. Manager asks them to leave and they refuse, asking what’s he going to do? Start intentionally spilling water, making a mess.

My 3 friends and I get up and block them into their booth. “Pay your bill. You’re leaving.”

Before “Or what?” Was even out of one guy’s mouth, my buddy slapped him hard on his ear. Sobered him up pretty quick.

“Pay. Your. Bill.”

Grumbles as they start pooling cash. Once the money was on the table, “Get out.”

We followed them to the door where one turned to square off, but realized his buddy took off running. The panic in his eyes was a delicious dessert.

As an employee, if I find my manager is going to terminate me tomorrow, how should I handle or behave in the meeting?

A recruiter called for my boss. He was out so I asked if I could help. The recruiter told me he had some great candidates, and since the incumbent’s (me) last day would be that Friday, he wanted to get some people in front of him. When my boss returned to the office I relayed the message exactly as it was told to me, and asked him if they were planning on letting me go. He said no, they were looking for a counterpart for me since they had expansion plans. He was obviously not being truthful and just like that, I knew when my last day would be.

That evening I took home the few personal things I had at work, and made sure I didn’t have any company property in my possession. At the end of the day Friday, I was asked to see the owner’s son in his office. I knew I was being fired. It was a very short conversation. He said they were letting me go. I asked if they would contest my unemployment and he said yes. I said okay, got up, got my car and drove home.

The timing was horrible…if there’s ever a good time. It was February and every day was grey and below freezing. I couldn’t afford the $1200 a month for cobra, so I went without health insurance. I came down with shingles on my face and scalp. It looked like someone threw hot grease in my face. As promised they contested my unemployment.

While I was employed there I faced harassment (I’m unable to talk about the circumstances or the settlement) including very specific verbal comments, jokes, and various notes. I kept their notes to me. I believe that because of the hand written notes we were able to settle without a jury trial in 1 day. In retrospect I wasn’t hurt that I was fired. I was hurt that they knew what I was when they hired me and still did everything in their power to make it a negative and diminish me as a human being.

I eventually started collecting unemployment, put my settlement money in the bank, and found a job with a sincere, no surprises group of people.

To finally answer your question, don’t sign anything. Don’t say anything. Leave quietly. Go home and regroup and think about what you would like to happen, and what you like for yourself in the future. They’ll be a time and a place and possibly even an attorney’s office that you can square up in down the road.

Have you ever bought something at a garage sale that turned out to be unexpectedly awesome?

Once. Years ago my new husband and I wanted to buy an old trunk to use as a coffee table. So, we went to a local auction and bid on an old trunk. The auctioneer said they had pulled it from the attic of a deceased, old woman’s house. The auctioneer said they hadn’t opened it and had no idea what was inside. We didn’t really care what was inside, we wanted the trunk. We bought it for $20.00.

When we got home we opened it and found a lot of old newspaper shreds and some ribbons. But, included in there was an Irish linen tablecloth and 12 matching huge napkins. On our way home from work one day, I made my husband stop at the local fabric store. I went in and asked what Irish linen was selling for. They told me it was selling for about $15.00 a yard. lI thanked them and went home, pulled out the table cloth and measured it. It turned out the tablecloth alone was worth over $100.00. The 12 napkins combined added to the value.

I kept the table cloth and used it whenever I had a formal/fancy dinner – usually only Thanksgiving and Christmas dinner. I am now 75 yeas old and have used this “find” every year since I was 35. It still is beautiful and I still have all 12 napkins.

Noir Thriller Mystery Movie – Shock – Vincent Price

Full movie. Enjoy.

Fido bolts

I’ll bet you all never knew this…

In China, if you hit a dog or a cat, or any pet for that matter, and the owner comes out and makes a claim against you for killing or wounding their pet, the insurance company will pay no questions asked.

It is automatic.

Most insurance is no-contest up to 3000 RMB, and many (but not all) go up to 5000 RMB for the death of a beloved pet involved in a car accident.

You would NEVER see this anywhere else.

…

So, consider this scenario…

In China, Fido bolts across a busy road. He gets hit, the car and driver slows for a minute but then continues to drive on.

A day later, the owner finds the crushed bones of Fido.

He files a police report, which NORMALLY causes the AI cameras in the region to identify what actually happened.

And just like the Tom Curse movie “Minority Report” the car is identified, the driver is identified, and the time of death is established.

The driver is contacted. He apologies, and his insurance is notified.

There is a insurance pay out to the aggrieved pet owner.

…

This would NEVER happen in the USA. But it’s pretty common in China. It’s an accident and there are no civil or criminal penalties for the driver, but the aggrieved pet owner needs to be compensated, and this is the way China does it.

The USA needs to “up its game”, don’t you know.

Today…

What is one remarkable thing you’ve witnessed at a funeral?

I’ve been to some interesting funerals.

At one, the funeral of an elderly woman, her only child used the eulogy to mock and insult her to the startled crowd. Also, there was no body and no mention of one. We showed up to a bare room where her child stood at the podium and went on about her shortcomings for about forty-five minutes, until we were dismissed. No gravesite was ever disclosed. To this day we have no idea what happened to her.

At another, a relative leaned over a coffin and contemplated the deceased as he took a long, loud slurp from a Super Big Gulp.

via The Blaze

And, although strictly speaking this took place after the funeral, I should mention my spirited aunt who tormented my uncle from Beyond. She informed everyone as she was dying that she’d reincarnate as a bird and peck out the eyes of those who’d done her wrong. After the funeral, which was in early spring, her husband came home and a bird was nesting in the back porch overhang. It chose to dive bomb him at the worst (best?) possible time, and for the rest of his life he swore the bird was his dead wife returning to haunt him.

Worst deal ever

What is the greatest display of accuracy with a gun you’ve ever seen from someone at the firing range?

It wasn’t at the firing range, but here’s mine…

My grandfather was a WWII sniper. It was always funny to me…he had the worst eyesight you could imagine, and I remember seeing pictures of him as a little boy with glasses thick as milk bottles. But by a very wide margin, he was the best shot I’ve ever seen.

One example is something that happened when I was a little girl. We used to go to an annual state fair, and one of the attractions was a turkey shoot. Basically, it was a wooden maze that a live turkey would run through…the body was hidden, but as the turkey ran, he’d bob up and down and his head would be visible for a fraction of a second every now and then. Contestants would pay to take a shot – you stood maybe ten yards behind the maze and you had one shot…if you hit it, you won the (dead) turkey and some sort of cash prize.

We watched other shooters…apparently it was a big test of manhood among the locals, and all the heavy-duty serious shooters were out there, many in camo with various military or law enforcement patches. Definitely some seriously mean looking dudes. The tool of choice seemed to be an expensive looking shotgun, and while some of the shooters seemed to come close, the turkey always eluded them. Many shooters tried, but the turkey was still alive – I started to think maybe the whole thing was rigged somehow, and that there really was no way to win.

Thing is, the crowd was loud enough that you couldn’t really tell where the turkey was at any moment. It might make a beeline for the exit, or it might linger in the maze. It might hear something and keep its head up, or it might not…very unpredictable, and shooters would have to spot the turkey, swing their weapon and get a shot off in almost zero time.

Many of the shooters seemed to use a technique where they’d just pick a small area of the maze and keep their guns focused there. Didn’t seem to make a difference…the movement was just too fast to acquire the target and get a shot off.

My grandfather watched the event too, shaking his head at each of the shooters and telling us what they were doing wrong. At one point, my father suggests that grandpa should show them how it’s done…only issue is that he doesn’t have a shotgun.

Out of pure coincidence, grandpa had taken my older brother to the range a few days prior, and my brother remembered that his .22 was still locked in the trunk of the car. Grandpa starts considering it, and he asks the folks running the event if he can shoot a .22 instead of a shotgun. There was discussion whether this was allowable, but before you know it, my father and older brother head off to fetch the .22.

Grandpa takes out the .22 and the crowd sort of laughs…here’s this feeble 70-something with thick dark glasses and a pretty well worn .22 that might just as well have been a slingshot. People try to explain to him that he needs a shotgun, and one or two of the shooters even offers to lend him one…I remember him laughing them off with, “well, what kind of contest would that be? I have to at least give the poor bird a fighting chance.”

Of course, by now, grandpa’s pride was at stake, and there was no way he was putting down that .22.

Grandpa pays his fee and lines up. He draws a crowd, and with the help of my dad, he gets down into a kneeling stance, and suddenly he looks a little more like he knows what he’s doing.

I was maybe ten, and grandpa looks at me and tells me to stand close, but not too close, and to put my fingers in my ears. I remember him telling me he wanted to make sure I had a good view, and someday I’d either tell my kids about grandpa’s amazing shot, or I’d be telling them what a silly old man he was…either way, he wanted me to witness it.

The buzzer goes off, the crowd starts yelling and the turkey starts its run through the maze. I remember seeing its head bob up and down a few times, and then as it got about halfway through the maze, I hear grandpa’s shot ring out.

We didn’t see the turkey after that…it wasn’t clear if it had been hit or it just ran to the end of the maze with its head down.

Then I heard someone in the crowd: “the old man hit it!”

And sure enough, grandpa hit the turkey with one shot from his lowly .22.

The crowd was going crazy, and I asked grandpa how he did it: “easy – I just watched for the gleam of the sunlight in its eyes.”

I thought he was kidding, but when the bird was fetched, we found out that grandpa managed to put a bullet exactly through the eyes of the turkey…in fact, the bullet went in one eye, and out the other. If I hadn’t seen grandpa shoot before, I would have thought it was pure luck, but I knew better.

We didn’t know it at the time, but grandpa had pancreatic cancer – he died within the next six months…this event, grandma complaining about having to go home and roast a turkey even as she beamed with pride, and the twenty dollars grandpa gave each of us as thanks for believing in him, were some of my fondest memories of my grandfather.

I’m sure there are others that could make that shot, but when you consider his age, physical condition, primitive equipment, and the stress of the situation, it was one in a million in my book.

Preach it dude!

What is the best case of “You just picked a fight with the wrong person” that you’ve witnessed?

I was just a girl, probably about 10. My Dad was driving the family to my Grandmother’s place for Sunday dinner. Dad stopped behind a car at a red light when it happened…

Now to know my Dad was to love him. He was all of 5 feet tall, had polio as a child so was bent over with a hump back and had an undeveloped leg in a brace. He was a talker, could converse with anyone. He sang and played the guitar, he boxed with my little brother and built a mean fire when we went camping. He couldn’t chop wood or put up a tent or anything that required muscle, but he could and did, entertain his friends and family as they did it for him. Not one person ever resented helping my Dad. He had a way of making everyone feel comfortable, like he’d known them forever. So… he was a gem.

This day was just like every other Sunday. Except for what happened at that light. I don’t really remember what caused the problem but my Dad did something that pissed off the guy driving ahead of him. This guy slams his vehicle into park and gets out of the vehicle then starts stalking over to Dad’s door. My Mom is worried but not him. He got out of his door, walked all 5 feet of himself up to this brute, stuck out his hand and said something like “I seemed to have annoyed you somehow.” I don’t remember the conversation but I do remember the guy shaking my Dad’s hand and apologizing for getting mad over nothing. Yup, took the wind right out of his sails in a few seconds. Quite the guy.

What is a personal story of a moment that made you truly appreciate the quality of life? What happened?

I became friends with Gordon in Grad School. Gordon suffered from Acromegaly. Acromegaly is a hormonal disorder that develops when your pituitary gland produces too much growth hormone during adulthood. When this happens, your bones increase in size, including those of your hands, feet and face.

He never had friends and had been shunned his whole life. I heard a voice (as I do when it is very important) that said to befriend him. I did, going out for chicken drive-thru, having long talks and visiting each other’s houses. His mom was very curious of me.

I wanted to have a graduate party, about 100 students, at my Dad’s house. Guess whose name was at the top of the flyer? Three hosts, including Gordon. Supertramp was on the record player and it was a great time.

Wonders of wonders, Gordon announced he was going to throw a party. It was word of mouth since there was no internet. Gordon had timed it so his parents were out of town. I arrived early to help. He was busy setting out nuts and such. Unfortunately, it was pouring down raining, hard. Gordon lived in an outer suburb of the city, so it was a drive.

7:30 came and went. Nobody showed. Nobody.

I started to talk to Gordon that it was raining hard, and people do not like to drive in the rain, etc. He listened but was still busy.

At 8:00, there was a ring on the doorbell. Then another, then another.

EVERYBODY was there. He was so happy and I was happy for him.

The next day I went to help clean up. All good.

Later he told me his parents wanted to know why there were shoe prints in the bathtub.

I have had success in school, business, and my marriage, but one of the proudest moments was seeing Gordon’s face that night.

Quantity vs. Quality

What is the strangest reaction of someone who has just been fired?

I was working at the corporate headquarters of a major Consumer product goods company in the late 80s. They were undergoing the threat of being purchased by a tobacco company, which was going on at the time (late 80s and early 90s). As such, they were having a significant 14% layoff to improve their position in a potential hostile takeover. (and it did work!), Well, there was a lot of hurt and pain the morning people came in to discover they were pink-slipped. One guy and there was some concern from a PR perspective, was a guy who had worked at this company for over 40, yes, 40 years! He was a year out from retirement(meaning he planned to retire the following year) , and the company was giving generous severance packages. Well, the guy under the terms of severance was getting the maximum full year of 100% pay for 52 weeks. Basically, he was retiring with full pay and retirement benefits but was able to do so a full year early. He and his wife had planned a world cruise to the year after his retirement. Evidently, the first call he made was to his wife to book the ship and pack because we are going this week! He was so gleeful that he had to be escorted out of the building because his utter joy was inappropriate for so many in that office who were now unemployed and hurting. They were also concerned that at his age, he might have a heart attack from his ecstasy and how the press would report it!

What is your best badass firearm story?

I was at an outdoor shooting range and had been talking to the guy next to me during cease-fire breaks. He had his granddaughter with him and he was shooting an old .22 revolver at a 25 yard target. Two men came in and went down to the 10 yard range and were blasting away at their targets, often hitting the ground in their haste. At the next cease-fire, they packed up and walked down the shooting line to leave. The guy next to me said something to them about maybe slowing down their shots and focusing on accuracy. They informed him that they were rookie cops and that they knew what they were doing because of their extensive weeks (days?) of training. He replied that he was a retired Louisiana cop and held up 2 of his targets that he had pulled from the range. He had been shooting heart shapes into the target with that old revolver. As they left, I heard one of the rookies tell the other, “We just got schooled, didn’t we.”

The best badass story I ever heard was in the news here maybe 20 years ago. A guy was running the register at his little convenience store when a punk came in and pulled a pistol demanding money. The store owner started complaining about being robbed several times and that he needed to get a gun. Then he asked the robber how much he would take to sell him the pistol. The robber gave him a price, the owner paid him, took the gun, and turned it on the robber and told him to put his hands up. The story made the news because the police thought it was such a great “dumb criminal story” that they pulled the robber out of his cell at each shift change and made him tell the cops coming on duty what had happened. His lawyer threatened to sue the police department for embarrassing the guy.

It is so messed up.

What was your most glorious moment in a classroom ever?

I never got amazing grades in my science class. Or any classes really. I was a very distracted student. Class was boring. I enjoyed daydreaming in the back.

But I won the school science fair in 9th grade.

Almost as fun as winning the science fair?

Enjoying death stares from all the smart kids.

I was told that the smartest girl in our class, Liz, who went on to study at MIT, was pissssed. Both of her parents were doctors. She fancied herself a descendant of Science.

The quote that got back to me was, “I can’t believe I lost to Sean.”

But alas. Lose she did. Yours truly, Captain Dumbass, topped a future MIT Grad.

What was my experiment, you ask?

Well, for context, this was back in 1998 after a bunch of major oil spills had occurred and the news had lots of terrible stories about wildlife dying, covered in the tar-like oil.

My experiment measured the use of different types of animal hair in oil spill cleanups. I used hair from barber shops, llama farms, horse farms, and beyond in the experiment, which was done in the backyard in a kiddy pool.

Several types of fibers ended up testing with better results than the synthetic buoys used during actual oil spill cleanups.

After winning regionals at a local university, we traveled to states a month later, where about 50 science experiments were featured.

I think I was the dumbest guy at this science fair, but I placed 3rd somehow.

The guy who placed 1st, a 15-year-old, designed a roof that doesn’t blow off during hurricanes. He brought his own wind tunnel and everything.

Yeah, he kinda deserved the gold.

But I was happy with 3rd. And for having trolled the smart kids at my school back home.

Who’s the real one that is oppressed…

What was the worst day of your life and why?

May 6, 2008. My husband of 28 years came home early from work one day, sat down at the table and told me he was just fired for having an affair with a 25 year old girl at work. In that moment, with that one sentence, everything inside me shut down and I was in shock, numb. Until then, I had truly believed he was my best friend and I was a lucky woman.

We ended up losing our dream home, went bankrupt, sold everything of value and cashed out our retirement to survive (I have a good job but his salary was 4x’s mine). We now live in a small apartment like we did when we first got married. Those are just “things” though. What hurts most is how it affected the future of our (then) teen children. We couldn’t help them through college or keep them on health, dentist, and car insurance. All for a few quick fucks.

He is extremely remorseful and worked long and hard to win my heart back. Our marriage counselor considers us a huge success story. I have forgiven him and all seems happy now. But secretly, whatever it was that went numb inside me on May 6th at that breakfast table, has never come back to me. I’m afraid it never will.

I hope if you are married, or even happily employed, that this post will make you think twice should you need to.

Which was the most important airplane of WW2?

This guy:

The PBY.

And his British brother

The Sunderland Flying Boat

The only crucial battle of WW2 that the Axis almost won was the Battle for the Atlantic. This plane and the others that performed anti-submarine patrols enable the flow of men and materials from America to Britain.

Some people prefer to go to an office every day rather than staying at home all day. Do you think this is because they like what they do?

When I was growing up, I saw my father going to office every day. He would eat his breakfast at 9 and leave for office by 9.30. It was a six days week during that period. Since he was a civil servant, he had to many times go for work even on Sundays and holidays.
When I was in school and then in college, I seldom missed my classes. It was fun going to school and college and meet with friends and participate in all activities.
When I joined my job, everyone in office used to come in time without fail. There were many who wouldn’t even avail their full quota of casual leaves (15 in a year). There were a few instances when due to Deewali or some other vacations, there were continuous holidays for 4–5 days. People used to wait for offices to open.
Even today, in most government offices, there is no concept of working from home. All government employees go to office every day.
During the covid pandemic, most of the private sector companies introduced the concept of work from home. It was the need of the hour and was very convenient for the employees. Lots of people shifted to their home towns and worked from there. It became a new normal.
Now that the things have gotten back to normal, a number of people are still preferring to work from home. I know a few youngsters who resigned their jobs when the companies asked them to report to office for work. They became too comfortable perhaps working from home.
Maybe I am old school, but for me staying home all day is not done. I want to go to my office and work.

You need to get out

In what moment did you realize your life would never be the same?

I was 14. No friends. Each day I dragged myself home to where I lived with my schizophrenic Mother, just the two of us. I would be in trouble for something: I lived in a perpetual state of confusion as I often couldn’t remember what she told me I had done. She told me I was stupid and needed to go to a special school because I didn’t know what I had done wrong. In the past she had often slapped me until my nose bled and beat me with the metal pole of a fly swatter, but that stopped the summer before high school. She told me she didn’t love me repeatedly for months. According to her I was a horrible daughter. Her friends from church had stopped coming weekly to yell at me and slap me senseless as well. I knew when she sent me away with my Aunt and Uncle the summer that had passed she had read my diary, where I detailed all the abuse and talked about wanting to die. She denied reading it, but it stopped the physical abuse so now it was just verbal and believe it or not that hurt just as bad. I was unloveable and alone.

She didn’t work and depended on government assistance. She just sat at home chain smoking and playing cards. During the week I woke myself up, made breakfast, went to school. She complained about the smell of eggs in the morning and of course I was useless. I had a hard time socializing, and she decided she didn’t like the friends I’d managed to make the previous year, so put me in a very small private Christian high school the church paid for. As a low income, single parent house I was a freak among higher income two parent families. So I spent my days an outsider and bullied at school and then came home to be bullied some more. I got in trouble once because someone told her I walked around with my head down and never smiled! I remember trying out and making the school play that year. I was so proud. My Mother decided to use that as leverage for her every whim: if I did anything wrong (sang doing dishes) she threatened to not allow me to be in the play. It got so bad I just quit the play rather than have it continually be held over my head as a threat.

A school councillor regularily made me talk to him. I refused to give anything up. He persisted. He asked me if I was abused: as she was no longer hitting me I said no. I had no words to explain the verbal abuse. Being stupid and unloveable didn’t seem to qualify. Then one magical day a girl at school approached me and we became friends. A few weeks later she asked me if I could spend the weekend at her house. Her house was beautiful and she lived with her parents and siblings and it was loud, noisy and chaotic. On the Saturday of this weekend sleep over, my new friend had to take piano lessons so I was to hang out in her room until she got back. I was surprised when both her parents wanted to speak with me while she was gone. They informed me that the school had asked them to be my foster parents and presented me with a ‘contract’. They gave me 30 minutes to decide if I wanted to live with them.

I was 14 years old. I had no friends. My Mother was the only family I had ever known. I knew I was stupid. I knew that I was worthless and unloveable. 30 minutes was a ridiculous amount of time for a decision that would change the course of my life that I was too young to make. I didn’t know these people at all. But a voice in my head screamed at me to do it, with everything it had. So I took that leap of faith. I jumped off the cliff away from everything I’d ever known.

My roller coaster ride wasn’t over my any means, but to this day I am so grateful I left. My life 30 years later is wonderful and I often wonder where I would be if I had stayed growing up in that house.

What did prisoners of war eat?

I spent several weeks in a Prisoner of War camp in Central Bosnia. Conditions were bad and so was the food. We basically ate the same things every day:

Breakfast.

A small slice of bacon with bread. The bacon was as tough as leather and full of bones. If you were lucky, one of your roommates was working outside and brought you some Turkish coffee.

This slice of bacon looks much better than the ones we ate. (Photo: Rainer Zenz, wiki:de)

Lunch.

Most of the time, there was no electrical power and our food had to be heated over a small fire in the backyard. Our captors just threw a bunch of tinned food into a big pot of boiling water. There were two different meals: peas with beef and beans with beef. You always had to be careful when you opened the tins because they were under pressure. Once, I opened a tin and the content just sprayed over my T-Shirt.

Dinner.

We either had another slice of sh*tty bacon or tinned sardines with an onion. Both, the bacon and the sardines, were extremely salty which caused you to drink a lot of water during the night. This was a big problem because there were no toilets in the rooms. If you needed to pee, you had to knock on the door (waking everyone up), shout the number of your room to a guard, and wait. There was only one toilet for all of the seventy prisoners and it could take an hour before someone came to open the door.

Partner, not a job

Was the Soviet Tupolev Tu-22 bomber a failure or success?

Massive success.

The aircraft itself was pretty crappy but that didn’t matter as kinks would be worked out later.

It’s main job was to attack targets in Western Europe and its speed could not be matched by NATO interceptors stationed in Europe except the British Lightning and the F-104 Starfighter … BUT …

The Lightning had a short range and was only operated from British soil, it couldn’t go after the Tu-22. And the F-104 was a very good interceptor but the Europeans used it in the low-level fighter-bomber role, so again not a real threat to the Tu-22.

On top of that, the Tu-22 was a versatile aircraft that could carry a wide range of weapons.

But the most important aspect was psychological.

The fucking commies have a bomber we can’t intercept !!! and NATO collectively shit its pants.

Think about all those billions wasted on modern NATO Air Defences while Khrushchev had already decided to go with ballistic missiles instead of bombers.

With a large arsenal of relatively cheap missiles, the Soviets could have taken out expensive NATO Air Defences and then mop up the rest with cheap (and often crappy) bombers.

The Soviets couldn’t keep up with the West financially so they came up with a wide range of ploys to force the West to spend money on expensive systems that could be easily circumvented … and usually NATO fell for it (they still went broke in the end, but that is another story).

What is your biggest regret in life?

I don’t like to share my personal life with anyone, so writing this anonymously. Though I have made some mistakes in life, this one really tops the chart.

So me any my father were never really close, although he cared for me but never really showed it (like most indian dads) and I was the same as well. It was my final year engineering exams when I received a call from home, it was my sister who said that dad just fainted and we are taking him to the hospital. I reached as soon as I could, he suffered from brain haemorrhage. Though the doctore saved him, he was not able to walk or speak properly after that. He was 57 at the time.

After 3 years went by, we had accepted this fate and were living peacefully. My dad was now able to take care of himself(doing his day to day activities that is) and he used to exercise as well, since the doctors mentioned it was very important for him to keep his body moving.

One fine day he complained to us that he is having some chest pain so he’ll skip exercise, we all thought it was due to gas so didn’t pay much thoguht to it. This continued for 3–4 days after which I had an argument with him and I shouted these exact words to him “You are just finding excuses to not exercise, there’s nothing wrong with you. You are just being lazy.”

Guess what! Next morning he started sweating really bad and fainted. We took him to the hospita and found that he was suffering from a heart attack and doctor said that it must be going on for about 4–5 days now. He asked us how come we didn’t notice any symptoms and we were all blank and cried like anything.

He was not so lucky this time, after being in the ICU for 15 days, he didn’t make it. Life has never really been the same since, beacise all I can think of now is our last coversation in which I shouted at him. That’s my last interaction with him, the amount of pain and guilt I feel now, if I could give everything I have just to change that one moment where I shouted at him, I would not even think twice.

But I can’t, after that day I’ve realised the importance of words and parents as well. Although they may not always show but we(their children) are the best thing that ever happened to them.

Please guys, treat your parents with the love and respect they deserve, because you don’t know which conversation is going to be the last one.

What facts about Japan do foreigners not believe until they come to Japan?

1. They are extremely punctual. For eg: I had a dinner planned with my labmates at sharp 6.00 PM. I was in my room till 6.00 PM and I wondered where everybody has gone as no one was to be seen. Suddenly, I remembered that there was a dinner at 6.00 PM and immediately I rushed downstairs. I reached at there around 6.02 PM and saw everybody there in their seats waiting just for me and they had set a plate with the food for me. When I sat down, then they sang their prayer and started eating.

2. People politely line-up in front of the metro unlike in Delhi metro where people cover the whole door just to get inside (at least that was my experience when I traveled in Delhi metro during my visit there) and it is considered rude to speak in the metro.

3. Even if train is delayed by 15-20 seconds, a message is displayed “Sorry for the inconvenience”

4. Technology is used even in toilets to keep the seats warm and bidets are there. There is also an audio track to mask the unappealing sounds you emit 😛

5. Has excellent garbage management: For eg. Mon, Thu – Burnable, Wed- Non-burnable, Fri- Bottles and plastics to be kept in street corner

6. You can find almost everything of daily use in the 100 yen shop. Not to mention the cheap electronic goods in Japan.

7. There is a 10,000 yen note. And the travel is very expensive. For eg: a ride of 2 km by taxi costs 710 yen in Tokyo.

Manipulated…

Some say China-U.S. tech competition has forced U.S. tech companies to abandon a dynamic market, putting them at the forefront of the confrontation. So how do you see tech competition between China and US?

Thanks for the request.

U.S, tech companies are unfortunately being squeezed by our own government. The Chinese market is existential to these companies. . . . and its the U.S. government banning them from this market.

Biden is continuing trump’s sanctions of China’s tech companies – that latest salvo being the ban on U.S. tech companies from selling to China the latest version chips. But for what end?

Bottomline, on a head-to-head confrontation, the U.S. just can’t win because ultimately, you need to be able to sell what you produce. And this has to be through China because they are the market.

And by banning U.S. tech companies from the Chinese market now is allowing Chinese startups to take over the vacuum left open and effectively replace the U.S. tech companies not just in the Chinese but the global marketplace over the long term.

After you let him use YOUR the “back door”?

Not “our” back door.

HER back door.

What was the best revenge you’ve ever gotten?

Back in the ′90s, a new neighbor moved in to the house just down the block. He was a single guy in his early 40s, seemed to be one of those guys who worked with his hands and kept mainly to himself. But… it wasn’t very long before we (as in the ENTIRE block) found out that he was a jerk.

He had a beautiful vintage ‘69 Ford Mustang GT 500, with (what I found out later) one of the fastest engines ever commercially made. Here’s one below, and you have to admit, it looks absolutely stunning, eh?

Well, the neighbor in question definitely thought so as well, especially the over-powered engine. But in a suburb, where can you show off the power of the engine, really?

How about EVERY MORNING AT 5 AM when he went to work.

Every morning, that lunatic would pull out of his driveway, rev up the engine and demonstrate why that car could go 0–60 in 3.3 seconds! That car (and he) would go straight down the length of the block in practically 2 seconds and burst out onto the cross streets until he disappeared in a tell tale cloud of smoke and exhaust. Our neighborhood had become a 5 AM RACE TRACK.

To put it lightly, the entire neighborhood was NOT impressed. The sound of that car engine could be heard from two blocks away. I think practically all of the residents went to him in the period of a week asking him to not drive so recklessly and dangerously and wake up the entire block every weekday (and some weekend) mornings.

He would fake concern, and assure everyone he won’t do it again. And of course, he did it again and again. We complained to the cops, and they gave him a warning several times, but at the time there were no laws on the books in Montreal about sound decibels between 11 PM and 5 AM. Needless to say, we were stuck.

This went on for about two months until winter set in, and I and several neighbors were assembling the local outdoor hockey rink. As we were filling in the rink, making the ice and so on, we were talking about the jerk when an inspired idea suddenly flashed in our heads. Looking at the wooden boards that we used to make the ice rink, a devious plan came to mind. We rushed back to my kitchen as soon as we could, and started to work on the math. Later, we went door to door to see who we could conscript to help with our evil plans.

(By the way for all you car enthusiasts and collectors, I have NO idea why this guy was using such a classic car as a daily driver, and why drive it in the winter either.)

A few more weeks we all waited (by this time, the secret neighborhood revenge task force grew to about 30 households) for an ESPECIALLY cold day in Montreal (-20C and below) and waited for the chance to execute our plan… and then the forecast came of one especially cold night and day. The time had come.

Seeing as the neighbor always went to work at 5 AM, he almost always went to bed around 9 PM. Assuming that he would take about an hour to get ready for work, that gave us a window of around midnight to 3 AM for our plan. And like clockwork, at the stroke of midnight, 30 people came out, with small shovels, wood brackets (the ones we use to make local rinks), buckets and several hoses from the houses surrounding the target house. We all worked efficiently and effectively seeing as we never did anything like this before. Brackets went up. Snow got piled in. Water poured in.

Did I forget to mention again that it was -24C that night?

By 3 AM, we were all done. Our act of vengeance was complete, and had a few more hours still to harden and solidify. And yes, you’ve probably guessed what we did… and at 5 AM, we heard a very loud man ranting and raving, wanting revenge on whomever that did this, screaming that he was going to do horrible things to the people that did THIS to his beloved car.

Oh, as for what we did… imagine the next two pics COMBINED to see what we did to that beloved ’69 Ford Mustang GT 500.

Yes, we turned his car into A HUGE ICE CUBE.

Needless to say, when life resumed on the street around 7 to 8 AM as people were going to work, we were greeted to a pretty pissed-off guy hammering at iron-strong ice walls surrounding his car. He wouldn’t even look at anyone as people passed by, and only kept muttering to himself something pretty nasty.

It was about three days before he managed to get his car completely free, and that involved a LOT of hot water, hours of labour and god knows what else he had to do. Add on that he had to get back to work each day, the mornings were peaceful as there was nary a roar or sound of anything.

The cops came and asked for statements from everyone in the area to find out who could have done something so terrible, but no one pointed at anyone, and everyone reiterated about how that neighbor had been a jerk from day two. He even went door to door, absolutely furious and demanded that someone tell him who did this. I think someone must have called the cops on him because he was threatening too many people. Needless to say, his complaints fell on deaf ears, and even the cops, who I think figured out that this was a group event, brushed his rantings away and threatened him with arrest and told him to calm down or else. Overall, a pretty satisfactory conclusion.

Well, there was a slight miscalculation though… the hot water (then cold) had to drain somewhere, and went down the street turning half the block into an ice rink for a while. Still, aside from a few bags of sand and ice, plus the help of the city and ANOTHER warning from the cops about how he was endangering the street, it was still a successful operation with only a minor inconvenience.

For the next few months, the mornings were quite peaceful. No more 5 AM revving or barreling out of the neighborhood like a bat out of hell. And in the spring, a For Sale sign popped up on his lawn. By the summer, we greeted a brand new family to the neighborhood, and life went on in a sleepy (no longer sleep-deprived) suburban neighborhood in Canada.

What’s the most morally disgusting thing you’ve ever seen someone do?

An acquaintance of mine took his daughter’s college savings away so that he could buy a boat. He did this the year before she went to college to “teach her responsibility” after they had an argument.

After they got into a (relatively minor) fight he told her she had two choices:

1) They could transfer ownership of an almost-paid-off car to her.

2) Let her keep the college fund they’d been growing (they told her this fund was for her, her entire life).

She chose “Keep the college fund”. He changed his mind, took that option away, made her take the car anyway, and kept the college fund for himself instead. Perhaps 2) was never an option, but he hoped she’d choose the car so he wouldn’t feel like such a jerk for taking her college money away.

Shortly after taking her college fund away, a brand new fishing boat appeared in his driveway. It looked a hell of lot like he just wanted an excuse to get his boat.

I am still in abject disgust.

She was a fantastic student and had been told throughout her life that her college would be paid for if she had good grades.

If my daughter had great grades and had the desire to go to a good school, even if I was poor, I would work 3 jobs to make sure she could have the best education.

School always came first in my family so I didn’t understand his actions. Bad grades were quickly punished. Good grades forgave many sins.

Natchitoches Meat Pies with Pepper Jelly

Pepper Jelly is also very good over cream cheese and served with crackers.

Yield: about 90 to 100 meat pies; 9 to 10 half-pints Pepper Jelly

Ingredients

Filling

2 pounds ground sirloin
2 pounds ground pork
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/2 teaspoon black pepper
1 tablespoon red pepper
1 cup chopped green onion
1/3 cup all-purpose flour
Vegetable oil for frying

Crust

2 cups self-rising flour
1/3 cup Crisco shortening
1 egg, beaten
3/4 cup milk

Pepper Jelly

2 cups finely chopped bell peppers
20 to 25 jalapeno peppers, some but not all of the seeds removed
7 1/2 cups granulated sugar
1 1/2 cups white vinegar
1 (6 ounce) box Certo pectin

Instructions

Filling

Cook ground sirloin and pork until it crumbles. Add salt, black pepper, red pepper and green onions. Stir in all-purpose flour. Set aside to cool.

Crust

Sift self-rising flour into a large bowl. Cut shortening into flour. Add egg and milk. Form dough into ball.
On a floured board, roll about a third of the dough about 1/4 inch thick. Cut dough in circles about 3 inches in diameter. Place a heaping tablespoon of meat mixture on each circle. Dampen edges. Fold over filling. Crimp edges with a fork and prick with fork on top. Deep fry at 350 degrees F until golden brown.
Serve with Pepper Jelly.

Pepper Jelly

Chop peppers very fine. Place peppers, sugar and vinegar in a tall pot and bring to a boil. Boil for 7 to 8 minutes, then add both pouches of Certo pectin. Boil for 1 to 1 1/2 minutes. Put into sterilized jars and seal.
Serve Pepper Jelly with Natchitoches Meat Pies.

Notes

You may need to repeat the crust recipe three or four times to use all of the meat mixture.

Freezes well. Place uncooked pies on cookie sheet in freezer until set. Put in recloseable plastic bags and freeze.

Attribution

Source: The Advocate – Baton Rouge, Louisiana

What is the most epic thing anyone has ever done?

This is both inspirational and thought-provoking.

His name is Wang Enlin. He is a Chinese farmer. He was a primary school dropout.

In 2001, his farmland was flooded by chemical waste from a nearby chemical company. The chemical pollution made the land unusable . Wang had written to the local officials about the pollution but he had no idea what law the company had broken by polluting his land.

‘I knew I was in the right, but I did not know what law the other party had broken or whether or not there was evidence.’

He decided to study law by himself, so he would be able to sue the company.
He spent 16 years educating himself about the law, from 2001 to 2017.
He studied law books in a local bookstore.
He sued the company and had won the first round of the legal battle against Qihua Group which is a state-owned chemicals company.

Truly, knowledge is power.

xoxo…

How did we become so intolerant?

Westerners have ALWAYS been incredibly intolerant.

It’s not a new thing. The difference is that in the past many didn’t interact with others.

Today we can see the absolute intolerance of westerners.

Only they are allowed to have views non whites must only agree with the supreme master race.

Any views ew that deviates from theirs is propaganda.

We saw with Ukraine that most western people are fine with literal outright Nazis.

We saw with Brexit that most British want an ethnostate.

We saw with Iraq that they literally think that they have the right to decide everything and anything as nonwhites have no agency according to them.

What are the most embarrassing wardrobe malfunctions that your teacher has ever made in class?

Took a friend’s child (11m) to swim class. The instructor was a 19 yo college varsity swimmer. First class of the day, heard her talking about her new swimsuit and how her BF got it for a romantic trip they were taking that weekend, but since she had not done laundry, she pulled it out early.

She always swam a couple of hard and fast laps before starting class, finishing with this dramatic pop out of the water to stand infront of where her class gathered. This day was no different. Turns out her suit was a joke swimsuit, made with dissolving threads. It was intended to fall apart in the hot tub of where ever they were going for the romantic weekend. She did her normal dramatic pop out of the water to stand on the deck in front of her class, and let’s just say those 11-year-old boys got quite the education that day.

What is the luckiest thing that happened to you?

Showed up for a college English class just as the class was starting. There was only one seat left by the time I got there.

That seat was next to a very hot woman who was way out of my league. So far out of my league that I didn’t bother talking to her. Why set myself up for failure, you know?

Over the next few classes, people kept sitting in the same seats, even though they weren’t assigned or anything. I started to talk to the woman, mainly because the professor had us discuss some things with people near us. Eventually I got comfortable talking to her and forgot she was so far out of my league. Then, after class one day, I offered her a ride to the other side of campus, even though it wasn’t a large campus. I told her I wanted to show her my new car (which was true). She accepted, we started talking more.

Finally, I asked her out; she accepted. We dated for five years, got married, had three kids, one dog, bought a house, and now she’s sitting next to me, trying to figure out how to set up some new speakers she got for Christmas.

All because I was the last one in class and had to take the one seat that was left. Otherwise, I would never have sat next to someone like her.

Cheating Wife LOSES IT After Husband Puts Her Through The Ultimate Mental Gymnastics Before Divorce

Tactically Interesting.

"It's always the dad that ends up broken about the actions of his daughter..."

Why did you leave your last job?

I was the company’s first employee. It started with just me and the owner working from his living room. He promised me as the company grew so would my paycheck. Two years later… I am running the whole back end of the company out of two warehouses and he is running the front end and doing the administration side. As he travels the world I step up and run it all. He bought his wife and father each a Lexus. I was still living with my grandparents and driving an old beat up car because I couldn’t even afford a studio apartment anywhere in our county but my annual review was coming and since the company and his pay had grown exponentially, I expected a large raise.

My annual review was nothing short of perfect, but all I got was a $0.25 per hour raise. It was bull****. He cried when I gave him my notice, but in my opinion, he kind of asked for it. I would have gladly stayed if he kept his word and my pay really had grown as the business did. After I left apparently there was a power struggle with all the employees in both warehouses all fighting over who would be in my position and it fell apart. He begged me to come back and help it get under control again but that was a big NO.

Harsh truths about men and divorce

https://www.youtube.com/shorts/OJsrqi7UCjo?feature=share

Xi calls for letting internet better benefit people of all countries

Chinese President Xi Jinping on Wednesday called for letting the internet better benefit people of all countries when he addressed the opening ceremony of the 2023 World Internet Conference (WIC) Wuzhen Summit via video.

Xi said that the vision of jointly building a community with a shared future in cyberspace, which he proposed at the second WIC in 2015, has garnered widespread international recognition and positive responses.

The vision answers the questions of our times related to resolving the development deficit, addressing security challenges, and enhancing mutual learning between civilizations, Xi said.

Xi stressed that the international community needs to deepen exchanges and practical cooperation to jointly advance the building of a community with a shared future in cyberspace to a new stage.

He called for prioritizing development to let the fruits of internet development benefit more countries and people.

Xi emphasized the need to improve public access to information-based services, bridge the digital divide, and improve people’s livelihood with internet development.

Calling for building a more peaceful and secure cyberspace, Xi stressed the need to respect cyber sovereignty and each country’s way of internet governance and the need to oppose seeking hegemony, bloc confrontation and arms race in cyberspace.

Xi went on to underscore the need to crack down on cyber crimes, strengthen data security and personal information protection, and properly respond to the risks and challenges brought by sci-tech development to rules, society and ethics.

China is willing to work with all parties to implement the Global Artificial Intelligence Governance Initiative and promote the safe development of AI, Xi said.

He also called for building a more equal and inclusive cyberspace. He stressed the need to better promote the shared values of humanity.

Xi underlined more high-quality online cultural products and efforts to fully showcase the outstanding achievements of human civilizations and actively promote civilization preservation and development.

What are some signs that someone may be incompetent?

After working for several companies, I came to a grim conclusion. In most organizations, only ~10% of people are truly high performers. They have great attitudes, are self-starters, smart, and great to work with.

25% are hard-working, competent, and carry most of the company’s workload. About 50% are lazy and just cross the minimum standard of work. 15% are completely incompetent and shouldn’t be at the company.

Many in this bottom 65% are gone at 5:01 PM despite being on a performance improvement plan. And the thing that stinks: many of them once held promise in the eyes of the interviewer. Nobody wants to hire and manage a dud.

Many in that bottom wrung are managers too. They slid up to their own level of incompetence (the Peter Principle). There’s another key distinction between the top 35% and the bottom 65%.

Their attitude.

The high performers don’t grimace when something goes wrong because it means more work. They don’t pout or complain incessantly about their job.

They are all in. They are there to crush their goals.

I noticed this in particular with the Indian coworkers who were there on a work Visa. They were the ultimate in keeping their head down and working, never complaining, and investigating problems thoroughly.

They appreciated the opportunity in front of them. They weren’t spoiled and had grown up in a competitive academic environment.

What was the biggest scandal at your work?

The head of my department was anonymously accused of sexual harassing a female senior student. Immediately an investigation was started, and he was put on hold.

When first days, and then weeks passed, it became obvious that in this kind of case, you are presumed guilty until proven innocent. I always thought it had to be the other way around.

(Stupid me.)

The weird thing was that although the accusation had been filed anonymously, the student was named in the document — she had not filed it by herself. After a round of interviews, it also became clear that she had not been harassed at all.

In fact, she was totally shocked by the way she had been questioned, as if she had been almost forced to “admit the accusation.” But nothing had happened, which she had repeated over and over again, and still the same questions came.

From the beginning, I was involved in the case as a confidant, and after reading the accusation, it became crystal clear who had written it. (And it wasn’t the girl.) This was a retaliation of the darkest evil, written by people who wanted to get rid of the man, and this was the easiest way.

They tried to erase his every accomplishment by making him a sexual offender. And it actually worked.

Because although he was totally cleared in the end, many people had already decided that he was a sexual predator before the outcome of the investigation. And that type of people usually don’t change their mind afterwards.

And although he was declared innocent, soon after he was “asked” by the dean to step aside as the head of the department (to save the faculty from losing face), and a new head was appointed.

Presumed guilty—proven innocent—total erasure.

Check.

Meet the Fattest Military in the World

What did a family member say or do that you don’t talk to them anymore?

I was running late to a family gathering at my older brother’s house. When I got there I saw my cousins step son going under the water in the pool.(my cousin leaning on the fence,) watching this happen and does nothing. Turns away, my son, the same age and build as the other boy, dove in to help. He can swim, but not well enough to handle a panicking person. I was on my way to the pool, removing my boots to help the first boy, when I saw my son I panicked. Knowing he wasn’t going to be able to help, but become someone else needing help. Meanwhile no one is paying attention except my ex wife. So now I have to get undressed, leaving my underwear on. My clothing would have been too heavy to swim with a child in each arm. By the time I got to the edge my ex was there with 2 towels. And I said, “see, that’s what I’m talking about. He treats those kids like shit. And he just walked away seeing him go under”. Not more that 10 seconds later my aunt was jumping down my throat, saying I was just an ass…… and then it was the rest of my family. I said I am speaking out in defense of a child and you are calling me messed up. But he can watch the kids go under, yelling for help and turn around? I never went to another family function again. And recently decided that I am going to just disown the entire lot.

How “modern” American / Western women sound…

What was your best random conversation with a stranger?

Mumbai Airport, Jet Airways ticket counter:

She: Do you have any specific seat preference, sir?

Me(lightly): A seat beside a cute girl would be great.

She(smiling): Sure, you can take that chair and sit beside me.

Slightly taken aback by that unexpected response.

Me: Not now, but maybe some other time. You can give me your number and I would definitely call you next time I’m in the city.

She: That’s private.

Me(delivering my well rehearsed dialogue): Ultimate privacy is a myth. God sees everything. The cloud records everything. NSA files everything. So, live transparently and don’t waste useless energy hiding yourself.

She(placing the ticket on the counter): Here’s your ticket, sir. If it’s meant to be, we’ll meet again. Till then have a nice journey.

Me(with a wide smile): Thank you.

Later in the flight while I was reading a novel, my attention diverted towards something scribbled at the back of my ticket which I was using as a bookmark. To my horror I saw this:

A half written name and mobile number with a smiley.

One of the security staff must have torn and kept the other half. I re-winded that conversation and cursed myself a million times for not paying attention.

Now, every time I travel through Mumbai I just glance through the Jet Airways counter once, just in case….

Simping

What has an intern done that blew your mind?

A bored, 25-year old intern in Microsoft – named Wes Cherry wrote Windows Solitaire (Klondike) in his spare time and never got royalty for it!

The story in his own words:

I wrote it for Windows 2.1 in my own time while an intern at Microsoft during the summer of 1988. I had played a similar solitaire game on the Mac instead of studying for finals at college and wanted a version for myself on Windows…

At the time there was an internal “company within a company” called Bogus software. It was really just a server where bunch of guys having fun hacking Windows to learn about the API tossed their games.

A program manager on the Windows team saw it and decided to include it in Windows 3.0. It was made clear that they wouldn’t pay me other than supplying me with an IBM XT to fix some bugs during the school year — I was perfectly fine with it and I am to this day.

A few people have paid me “a penny” as a joke. I’d get them in the mail, or in person if someone introduced me as the author of Solitaire and the obligatory no royalties conversation came up. I think I’m up to about 8 cents now.

(source: reddit)

Microsoft thought that Solitaire will train people how to use mouse, a newly introduced input device back then.

Initially he programmed a Boss Key into the game, which would instantly switch out the game with spreadsheet looking display. He knew already how addictive the game is. But, Microsoft told him to remove that feature.

He is also creator of Pipe Dream which was part of Microsoft Entertainment pack. Although, this time he was paid a few thousand $ in stocks for that (those worth millions today!).

After his internship, he joined MS Excel team.

Today he is growing apples (fruit!) on an island west of Seattle.

In 2004, Microsoft’s Chris Sells described Solitaire as the most-used Windows application in the world surpassing MS-Office itself!

To celebrate Solitaire’s silver anniversary, Microsoft arranged a Solitaire tournament on the Microsoft campus on May 18, 2015.

Hats off to this genius intern, who took the internship to another level just out of self-interest!

Do you behave like a child sometimes? How does it feel?

I was baking a banana bread yesterday. When I took the loaf out of the oven, my finger accidentally touched the hot baking pan. I exclaimed, “Sonofabitch!”. My husband heard and rushed into the kitchen, “What’s that?”. I showed him my finger, “The hot baking pan burnt me!”, faking a cry. “Lemme see!”, he held my finger and gave it a ton of small kisses. “Better?”, he asked. I nodded and grinned like a little girl.

Sometimes, there is a helicopter hovering over our property. When my husband hears it, no matter what he’s doing, he will drop it, rush out to the backyard, and look up to watch the helicopter. Then he will come back inside, and announce to me with a grin, “It’s a helicopter!” like a seven year old boy.

We definitely are two kids living together (three, if we count The Teenager), and it’s pretty good. I recommend it!

Current dating landscape

As a doctor, have you ever seen anyone outside the hospital who made you think, “You need to go to the hospital now”?

Several times, but then, I’m a doctor.

I was once told that a patient in our waiting room was disruptive and probably drunk or high. I got him back to my office, and began to ask him questions. He talked about working all day outside. At that point, something struck me as odd. I asked him how long he had been in our office—less than ten minutes.

It was the hottest part of the Texas summer, and his clothes were dry. There had not been time for them to dry out. He was not sweating.

I got staff to help call EMTs. He went to the hospital with heat injury. He had been in heat stroke. He told us later that the hospital thought he might have kidney damage from it, but he recovered.

Everyone knows cold can kill you. Not as many know that heat can. If you are out in the heat and someone who has been sweating stops, or starts acting crazy, get help. People die from heat stroke, and pretty quickly.

Men Giving Delusional Women REALITY CHECKS

Damn!

What was your most embarrassing moment as a foreigner in another country?

I will never forget it. K.K. Lim had taken me to breakfast at a restaurant in Singapore known for their Laksa. It really is delicious. We were eating and talking and having a pleasant time.

When it was time to leave I pushed back from the table, forgetting the stool I sat on had no back. I proceeded to fall off of it, flat on my back. Did I mention it was a popular restaurant with high traffic? Lots of people to witness my embarrassment.

K.K. was afraid I was hurt and I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to show my face there again, but I was fine. Extremely embarrassed, but fine.

Has your dog ever tried to tell you something important?

Yes!

We’ve had a pretty stable routine the last three years, my dog and I: Before we both go to bed, I walk her, then come home and brush my teeth. While I’m brushing my teeth, she goes to the bedroom ahead of me.

A few months ago, we came back from our final walk of the day, and I went to brush my teeth, expecting her to go upstairs to the bedroom. But she didn’t. She just stared at the basement door.

I didn’t think much of it at first. I finished brushing and began walking up the stairs, expecting her to follow me. I was only about two steps up before she started barking at the basement door. I told her to “knock it off,” thinking that she was barking at some other dog’s barking in the distance outside that I didn’t hear. She does that sometimes.

But she wouldn’t stop. She seemed distressed.

So it finally dawned on me that she was trying to tell me something. Something was in the basement that she wanted me to see.

So I opened the basement door and went down the stairs. Sure enough, she was right… there was a problem. I’d left the door to the outside from the basement wide open. I was taking things out of the basement earlier, and I totally forgot to close the door completely. The wind must have opened it all the way.

Had she not let me know about it, it would have been open all night. God only knows what woodland creatures would have found their way into my basement that night.

I rewarded her with a piece of bologna… her favorite treat. Well, really, any meat that humans normally eat makes her really happy.

Elon Musk: Taiwan is an integral part of China; the country will incorporate Taiwan 100 percent

Succeeding to American billionaire Elon Musk’s public indication that “Taiwan is an integral part of China,”which drew backfire from Taiwan authorities according to CNN, in a recent media video, Musk once again voiced his opinion about the Chinese island, which has gained widespread support from the Chinese public.

And the video has gone viral:

China does feel very strongly about Taiwan.

They’ve been very clear about that for a quite long time.

It’s like one of the states.

Their view is it’s fundamentally part of China.

They’ll incorporate it 100 percent likely.

How can I tell my daughter’s friend she can’t come to our house every single day?

I understand the frustration. A couple of my kids had friends that were constantly underfoot. After talking with my kids, there were good reasons those friends didn’t want to go home, and were just looking for a safe haven to shelter in.

At that point, I stopped treating them as guests, and started treating them like my kids. If there were chores to be done, then everyone did chores. If there was homework, everybody sat down and did homework. If we had errands to run, everybody got in the car and we did errands. If any guest balked, they had a simple choice to make—they could participate with us or go home. Easy peasy.

Yes, it jacked up the food bill. Oh, well. I still have children and grandchildren who are no blood relation to me. I wouldn’t have it any other way.

When in doubt, be kind. But being kind doesn’t mean giving over control of your home to someone else.

Is all this talk about countering “Russian propaganda“ actually propaganda itself? After bringing a Nazi into parliament, Justin Trudeau was blabbing on about Russian propaganda. What in God’s name is he talking about?

Absolutely there was a university of Adelaide study that most of the pro Ukrainians were bots while pro Russians online were actually people.

It’s classic gobbels and conditioning of the public.

It’s essentially two legs bad four good chant. Politicians say it because most Canadians will immediately buy it and believe it.

What would happen if I ate everything from the McDonald’s menu for the rest of my life?

A few years ago, I was teaching Earth Science to college undergraduates, and I had brought in a bag of small oranges and a bag of larger grapefruit—because you can stack them in various ways, as a visual aid to demonstrate how atoms are packed together in mineral crystals. Sort of like this:

Anyway, when class was over, I offered the fruit to anyone who wanted some. . . and a student came up and took an orange. She happened to mention that this would be the first time she had ever eaten an orange.

I said “Whut?” or something like that. Who the heck reaches the age of twenty without so much as trying an orange at least once?

In the ensuing conversation, it came out that my student’s mother evidently either couldn’t cook, or didn’t want to cook. . . and my student had been raised on fast food throughout her childhood and teenage years—burgers, fries, chicken nuggets, and so on. (For the record, I don’t remember if she had only eaten McDonald’s food specifically, or if she balanced her diet with other fast food chain menus.) She had never tried—or had only recently tried—all the fruits and vegetables that I pretty much took for granted as I was growing up.

You might think that someone who’d grown up on a diet of nothing but fast food would weigh 800 pounds and have lost all her teeth to scurvy, or something like that. But this student was of normal height and weight, and had no obvious medical conditions that I could detect. As a professor I try not to pay too much attention to my students’ looks, but as such things are commonly reckoned she was not bad-looking at all—and pretty smart as well; she did quite well in the class.

So I’m damned if I know how she did it, or what kind of trick metabolism she must have had—but it is evidently possible to eat McDonald’s food for many years and suffer no obvious ill effects. I still wouldn’t recommend it, though.

As I recall, she enjoyed the orange.

RICH Chinese LEFTOVER Women Are Not Attractive to AVERAGE Men Despite Women Being Outnumbered

Can you say something that would make me think about it for hours?

A Chinese man had brought a dog home from an animal shelter after adoption.

The dog was caring and obedient; however, one night the owner found the dog awake. The dog stood outside the man’s fenced bedroom door. He had been staring at the man while he was asleep.

The man shrugged it off, thinking that the dog was getting used to his new surroundings. But when the pattern was followed night after night, the owner was scared for the dog.

The owner used to play with the dog to make sure he was exhausted at the end of the day and would eventually sleep at night.

But the dog would stay awake and gaze at him every night.

The man showed him to the vet, but the dog was declared healthy.

Finally, the man went to the shelter from which the dog was adopted to seek closure.

The shelter workers revealed that the dog’s previous owner wanted to get rid of him as he had a pregnant wife and he found it difficult to take care of the two.

The owner waited for the dog to fall asleep and then left him at the shelter.

When the dog woke up, he realised that he had been abandoned. Deeply traumatised by it, he found it difficult to trust his new owner and feared being abandoned again if he fell asleep.

Upon learning this, the owner broke into tears. He removed the fence and shifted the dog’s bed beside his own. He believed that this would help build the dog’s trust, lost after being abandoned.

Have you ever had a teacher with literally no common sense?

I had a teacher in the 5th grade who kept calling me Jessica. I’ve dealt with this my whole life. Usually, my go to is to politely say, “Excuse me, but my name is Jerrica actually. It’s not Jessica.” That is what I said to this teacher the first day of school. He didn’t respond.
He called me Jessica EVERY SINGLE DAY. I corrected him, and he would laugh at me or just shake his head.

At one point, he even said “No, Jessica is your name, stop trying to change your name.” I had a few friends in class try to explain to him that my name is in fact JERRICA. He told them to stop encouraging me.

I asked my mother what to do about this predicament. She, being the wonderful and supportive woman that she is, suggested that I ignore him until he called me by the correct name. So that’s exactly what I did.
It got to the point that he was literally crossing out my name on my assignments, writing Jessica on them, and taking points off of everything I handed in with my actual name on it. I would end up with zeros for the day for “being obstinate and refusing to participate.”

I had a D in his class but was an A/B student in everything else. He requested a conference with my parents, and he requested that they both attend as my father was in his opinion the more reasonable parent.
As soon as he sat down he started in about me, using the wrong name. “Jessica ignores me in class.,’’ “Jessica does not complete assignments.,” “Jessica is disrespectful.”

My mom asked him what he was talking about and if, in fact he knew how to read. My dad said “I don’t know who Jessica is, but I’m sorry you’re having issues with her. My kid’s name is Jerrica.” He apparently told my parents they shouldn’t have given me such a difficult name, and that this still should not have resulted in the behaviour I exhibited in his class. To which my wonderful father replied, “If your name was Joe and I called you Steve every day for four months, you would be pretty pissed off too.”

I got a grudging, half-hearted apology from my teacher and ended up with a B for my final grade. He never used my name after that, but he did stop taking points off when I wrote it on assignments!

Three takeaways from Wang Yi’s U.S. visit

A meeting with U.S. President Joe Biden at the White House, two rounds of talks with U.S. Secretary of State Antony Blinken across two days, strategic communication with U.S. National Security Advisor Jake Sullivan, and separate sit-downs with members of the U.S. strategic and business communities.

This is what China’s top diplomat Wang Yi has achieved during a closely-watched three-day visit to Washington that concluded on Saturday.

During the visit, the two sides had “in-depth, constructive and substantive” strategic communication on many issues of common concern, and jointly sent a positive signal of stabilizing and improving China-U.S. relations, said Wang, a member of the Political Bureau of the Communist Party of China Central Committee and China’s foreign minister.

Here are three key takeaways from his visit.

Road to a San Francisco meeting

Throughout the visit, the Chinese foreign minister stressed, more than once, the importance of following through on the common understandings reached between Chinese President Xi Jinping and his U.S. counterpart when they last met

on the sidelines of the G20 Bali Summit in Indonesia.

During the Bali meeting on November 14, 2022, the two heads of state conducted their first face-to-face talks since Biden took office in January 2021. Xi said China and the U.S. should respect each other, coexist in peace, pursue win-win cooperation, and work together to ensure bilateral relations move forward on the right course without losing direction or speed, still less having a collision.

Biden, on his part, told the Chinese president that the U.S. respects China’s system, and does not seek to change it; that it does not seek a new Cold War; that it does not seek to revitalize alliances against China; that it does not support “Taiwan independence,” and does not support “two Chinas” or “one China, one Taiwan;” and that it has no intention to have a conflict with China. The U.S. side has no intention to seek “de-coupling” from China, halt China’s economic development, or contain China, he added.

In the roughly one-hour – more than double than originally planned – meeting with the U.S. president on Friday, Wang said his visit is aimed at communicating with the U.S. side to follow through on the Bali meeting, and proceed toward a San Francisco meeting, so as to prevent bilateral ties from further deteriorating and bring the China-U.S. relationship back on the track of healthy and steady development at an early date.

During the talks between Wang and Blinken on Thursday and Friday, both sides agreed to make joint efforts for the meeting between the two heads of state in San Francisco, which is set to host the leaders of the Asia-Pacific Economic Cooperation economies in mid-November.

“The road to San Francisco will not be a smooth one, and it will not be left to ‘autopilot,'” warned the Chinese foreign minister when he was hosted by the Aspen Security Group, a policy program of a namesake think tank headquartered in Washington, D.C., on Saturday.

Wang urged real efforts on the part of the U.S. side to eliminate interference, overcome obstacles, enhance consensus, and accumulate results to make the meeting happen.

Wang Yiwei, director of the Institute of International Affairs at Renmin University of China in Beijing, said that the U.S. side, in conducting its so-called Indo-Pacific strategy, has been making trouble for Beijing on the Taiwan question and the South China Sea issue, among others.

“So the key is to watch whether the U.S. side can really follow its words with actions,” the scholar told CGTN.

Wang Yi, a member of the Political Bureau of the Communist Party of China Central Committee and director of the Office of the Central Commission for Foreign Affairs, meets with U.S. National Security Advisor Jake Sullivan in Washington, D.C., the United States, October 27, 2023. /Chinese Foreign Ministry

Need to restart dialogue

The Chinese foreign minister’s trip followed Blinken’s Beijing visit in June, as well as a visit to China by a bipartisan delegation of the U.S. Senate led by Majority Leader Chuck Schumer earlier this month, and was partially coincident with California Governor Gavin Newsom’s week-long stay in China that is still underway.

Wang stressed the importance of keeping communication channels open between the two sides during his talks with Blinken. In the coming days, both sides will hold separately China-U.S. consultations on maritime affairs, arms control and non-proliferation, and foreign policies.

“China and the United States need dialogue. We should not only resume dialogue, but also have in-depth and comprehensive dialogue,” he told reporters while standing next to the U.S. secretary of state before their formal talks, which eventually lasted over seven hours across two days.

The call was shared by U.S. strategists, who told Wang in their meeting on Saturday that the U.S. strategic community does not agree with the rhetoric about the so-called failure of U.S.-China engagement and wants the two sides to restart dialogue in various fields.

To stabilize and improve China-U.S. relations, both sides should also have objective understandings of each other’s strategic intentions, Wang told Blinken, in his latest call for following through one of the common understandings reached between the two presidents at the Bali meeting.

Wang Yiwei, the expert on international relations, said it is important to put a strategic framework in place for the two largest economies to manage their relations.

“If ‘competition’ is the word [to describe the bilateral relations], then the competition should be an orderly one, not one with no bottom line, no principles or no rules,” he said.

It should be in line with the expectations of the international community, and be responsible for globalization and the international market, he added, referring to the U.S. rhetoric of “de-coupling” or “de-risking” its supply chains from China.

People-to-people exchanges

During Wang’s visit, China and the U.S. also agreed to further increase direct passenger flights between the two countries, on top of the commitment made during Blinken’s June visit.

Hours after the talks between the two top diplomats, U.S. officials announced that flights between the U.S. and China will increase to 70 per week starting November 9.

The Chinese civil aviation authority said the increase in flights will help facilitate personnel, economic and trade exchanges between the two countries.

In terms of promoting people-to-people exchanges, the two sides also agreed on a China-U.S. Coordination Meeting on Disability Affairs to discuss the signing of a memorandum of understanding on cooperation in disability affairs in the coming days.

Structure

Louisiana Cajun Style Hot Tamales

Yield: approximately 25 dozen tamales

Ingredients

Meat Preparation

10 pounds beef shoulder meat
2 onions, quartered
2 (6 ounce) cans tomato paste
Salt
Pepper
Water

Cornmeal Mush

2 pounds shortening
3 pounds cornmeal
Salt
Pepper

Meat

3 large onions
2 garlic buttons
2 bottles chili powder
1 small bottle red pepper
Salt
1 (6 ounce) can tomato paste

Instructions

The night before you make your tamales, wash each corn shuck and place in water to soak overnight.
Boil meat until done and falling off bone, about 1 1/2 hours.
While meat is cooking, make mush in heavy skillet. Get shortening hot and add salted cornmeal. Stir meat until golden in color. Make a paste by adding soup off the meat and stirring until smooth.
Take meat off bone and grind together with onion and garlic. Add chili powder, red pepper and salt.
Put shortening in skillet and fry until onion is cooked, stirring constantly. Add tomato paste and soup from meat making it soft. DO NOT GET IT TOO SOFT.
Spread meal mush on shucks about 1/4 inch thick with a flat knife. Then put meat on top and roll into tamale shape.

Notes

DO NOT UNDER-SALT THIS DISH. Cornmeal requires a lot of salt.

Date Planning

What’s the most inappropriate thing someone has done in a church service?

What was the most inappropriate thing someone has done in a church service?

Around twenty years ago, when I was pastor of a former congregation, there was a young woman named Anna,* who attended the church. At the time, Anna was in her mid-twenties, but had the mental functioning of a young child. She was brought to church by a kind and caring couple who had a heart for helping people like Anna, and as Anna began inviting her friends to church, we soon found ourselves with four or five of Anna’s friends attending on a regular basis. We had a ministry to some wonderfully unique people dropped right in our laps.

Most of the church did a wonderful job of ministering to these folks. They loved them and were very patient with them. Along with Anna, I fondly recall Mike, who like Anna lived in a group home. Mike would slip into my office at the church and leave little action figures for my then small children. My boys couldn’t wait to get to church and see what Mike had left them. On any given Sunday, there would be Star Wars or Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles action figures in a zip lock baggie on my desk. Mike was a real character and he possessed a sweet and caring nature. Later, his family moved him to a group home in Chattanooga, Tennessee and I eventually lost touch with him, but he will always be remembered as the Boo Radley of that little group.

During all this, Anna asked me if she could sing in the church choir. I referred the matter to our church choir director, a kind and compassionate man, and he saw no problem with it. The choir, around twenty members, welcomed Anna as one of their own. Anna couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket, but it was a joy for her to be up there with the choir on Sunday morning, and her sheer delight of singing along with the choir made it a blessing for all of us.

Not long after Anna began singing in the choir, a cantankerous church member named Madge, whom I have written about here before, came to me one Sunday morning before church with yet another complaint, which was no surprise, as I could always tell when Madge was complaining; her lips were moving. The conversation went something like this:

“Pastor, it’s embarrassing that this woman, Anna, is singing in the choir.”

“Awe, come on Madge; she enjoys herself.”

“I don’t care! She’s an embarrassment to this church!”

“Madge, didn’t Jesus say something about letting the children come to him for such is the Kingdom of Heaven?”

“Yes, he did, but she’s still an embarrassment.”

With that, she huffed away and that was the end of it. Her comments and attitude towards Anna and her friends were among the most inappropriate things I have ever seen during a church service or at church.

Eventually, Anna’s family moved to another town, and we later left that church and I was called to another congregation. However, for the last twenty years or so we have kept in touch with Anna. We consider her a very special friend. Last April, her family brought her to our part of Virginia for a visit and my wife and I took her out to dinner. Here we are enjoying some time with our old friend Anna.

Friendships come in all forms and with all sorts of people.

*Not her real name.

What changes would you like to see in the education system?

I’d love for the adoption of stuff my economics teacher taught me in University.

She was a bit mad and a self declared Marxist.

She did not however colour everything with marxism.

What she DID do however was to pretty much say question everything.

Do some calculations.
Does it pass the smell test.
Check later on things you think to be true and see if they are no longer true.

She also later on ended up being the person who ran a short how to write your dissertation class. She did a very good section about critical writing.

Who wrote it
Why did they write it
What possible bias is there?
What was the methodology?

We see people on Quora literally do this all the time Kanthaswamy Balasubramaniam

He writes quite a few things and almost always does 1–3 of the above things sometimes all of them backing them up with calculations a lot of the time.

Same thing with Carl Hamilton he questions things and quantifies things.

If more people did that? Politicians wouldn’t get away with half the shit they do. Yet here we are with people literally saying it’s true because the BBC said so!

Reuters a WESTERN News agency counted the number of protesors in Hong Kong.

How Reuters counted a quarter million people at Hong Kong’s protests(Backstory is a series of reports showing how Reuters journalists work and the standards under which they operate.)

Yet westerners continue to say 2 MILLION.

So let’s go through the thought process above with the 2 million protestors.

Do some calculations.
Does it pass the smell test.
Check later on things you think to be true and see if they are no longer true.

2 million is almost 1/3 of the population.

2 million cannot fit into such an area as other than telephone box challenges you can’t fit more than 3 people per square meter.

So let’s critically read the Reuters source.

Who wrote it
Why did they write it
What possible bias is there?
What was the methodology?

Reuters – Western news source so according to westerners themselves unbiased. If anything anti China.

They wrote it to check on the massive claims.

The possible bias is they side with the protestors.

The methodology was putting cameras at bridges and certain buildings and counting people passing every few minutes.

Meanwhile the 2 million claim? It came from Jimmy Sham

Let’s do the above with Jimmy Sham.

Who wrote it
Why did they write it
What possible bias is there?
What was the methodology?

Who is Jimmy Sham. He’s a anti government rioter, he was encouraging violence there are speeches you can still find videos of them on Yandex but not google.

Jimmy Sham claimed he’d been attacked for well over a minute by 6 men with hammers. Yet he managed to recover within a few days with only a slight cut to his forehead. Jimmy Sham also produced fliers documenting his attack 2 days before the ‘attack’ Hong Kong leaflets at the bottom state the date of printing.

Why did he write it – To claim more support than there actually was. PORI at HKU (they parted ways) found only 16% had any real support for what the protestors wanted.

What possible bias? – Again he’s anti China.

What was his methodology – He made it up.

Yet westerners are convinced Jimmy Sham is completely credible and Reuters isn’t.

Do women who don’t date broke guys dislike poor people?

Here’s what I learned from dating/marrying a poor guy: the idea that since he’s not working, he’ll clean and get groceries and cook, is completely lost on men.

They honestly think they can watch TV and play video games all day then when you get home, complain that there are no Doritos and the dishes are all dirty. With a straight fucking face.

And have the nerve to accuse you of assigning them “busy work” when you realize they aren’t going to do it on their own so you still have to be in charge and make them a damn list because they don’t mind wearing the same dirty socks for a week.

There was a time I would have gladly supported the family if I was getting the home handled as part of the deal, but taking care of a fully grown child in addition to everything else is too much to ask.

You broke? If she’s paying the rent and buying the food, you better be cooking it and not just ordering pizza on her card and leaving the laundry in a pile because you put it through the machine but couldn’t be bothered to fold it, sort it or put it away because you had a raid starting.

What was the cruelest weapon of war?

Trust.

In the Second World War and under the ruthless command of Surgeon General Shirō Ishii, Unit 731 of the Imperial Japanese Army conducted a string of depraved experiments on Chinese civilians.

Shirō Ishii.

One of the most heinous of these experiments saw soldiers gift chocolate to Chinese schoolchildren. Why was it heinous? Because the chocolate was laced with anthrax. Killing unsuspecting children with chocolate was far from the only cruel experiment undertook by Unit 731, though.

In another example, they went around villages offering “vaccinations” on the pretence that they would protect inhabitants against a rising epidemic. The truth was actually the reverse; they were creating epidemics by injecting residents with the live, deadly forms of pathogens like cholera. The cruelty in these examples is clear; they were taking advantage of people’s good faith and stabbing them in the back.

They were, in essence, weaponizing people’s trust.

An older, post-war Shirō Ishii.

Whilst Shirō lounged around in his pristine mansion, eating, relaxing and bathing without a care in the world, the civilians condemned to hellish terror by him were spewing their guts up, writhing in agony and taking their last breath. However, none of that would be enough to see him face punishment.

Understandably even in that era, the kinds of experiments conducted by him would not have been green-lit by most other countries, meaning that Shirō had unique information that other countries coveted. Using that, he was able to get immunity from prosecution in exchange for divulging everything in relation to his research.

With that, Shirō was allowed to go free and live out the rest of his life despite the trail of death that he’d left behind him. The kick in the teeth is that the information he provided proved to be of little use anyway, so he really did get off scot-free in the end. After the war, he opened his own medical clinic and became well-liked in the community, caught religion and lived out his remaining years in peace.

Is it wrong to seek pleasure? Why?

It can be.

For a simple example, if you binge eat a huge delicious unhealthy brunch, you’ll likely get a double crash: your dopamine and blood sugar levels fall at the same time, leaving you on the couch groaning. If you drank a few mimosas, consider it a triple crash.

A more extreme example is ecstasy. I’ve never done it but my ex did and I was around a bunch of people who were high as a kite on it.

It’s super bizarre to watch. Everyone is touchy-feely, warm, and excessively friendly. However, not in the way that someone on cocaine is, talking fast and moving around a lot. Ecstasy produces a massive release of dopamine. They’d always do it and then go to raves and dance until 4 AM. It was nuts.

Consequently, it carries a huge dopamine hangover and makes people sadder and less motivated for weeks. I saw it several times with my ex. She was miserable, mean, and incredibly hard to be around.

Nothing is wrong with seeking healthy sources of pleasure, but moderate it and resist the urge for chemical sources of it. The price of entry isn’t worth it.

Following last year’s meeting in Bali, the heads of state of China and the United States will meet face to face again. What will the two heads of state talk about at that time? What changes will it bring to Sino-US relations?

Nothing will happen.

Biden’s invitation to Xi Jinping to visit the United States was just a delaying tactic by the United States. For two reasons:

For the needs of the new round of elections.
Currently, the United States is deeply tied to Israel. In the Palestinian-Israeli conflict, it has strongly supported Israel despite the opposition of the world, and even put aside its support for Ukraine. Therefore, under the current world situation, the White House first compromised with China and gave China some “verbal promises”, such as “reiterating the one-China policy”, “no arms sales to Taiwan”, requiring China to purchase U.S. debt, stabilize the U.S. dollar market, and stabilize the U.S. economy, to trick China into lifting certain sanctions against the United States. After the situation in the Middle East slows down in the future, the White House will go back and tear up the agreement.

The United States is so shameless, so China will not have any illusions about the United States.

If snipers aren’t forbidden in warfare, why not use a ridiculous number of sniper teams in an infantry division? Say 30%, in the 2nd Iraq war for example.

I think another way to ask your question: why don’t more Infantry use a scope on their rifle?

This is my M-4 (I’m in the middle) for Ought-Three Invasion of Iraq, April 4th, 2003, modified with a 14x Leopold scope:

So, if you want to spend a little bit of money, you can change your Army issue rifle into a “sniper rifle” of sorts. That Leopold scope was better than binoculars, and was always ready. I still had an M2 laser to aim, and believe it or not, I could even still use the Iron-sight. That scope was extremely useful tactically. Just being able to check out whether movement at 500 yards was friend or foe was priceless.

Let me help you with some myths about snipers you might be entertaining:

Myth buster #1.

Snipers are great at choosing a target, but they are not a mass casualty producing weapon. Mortars and Artillery are still today doing 60–90% of the killing. It’s true snipers can call in the artillery/mortars, and that makes them even more deadly, but you still have to realize any soldiers on the battlefield with a radio and a hiding spot can and does do the same thing.

Myth buster #2.
There are tactical snipers and there are sniper teams. Tactical snipers are just a dude with a scope, in any Platoon. They will usually be in a Scout Platoon, but could be Infantry/Mortars as well. That is just a dude with a scope, and I agree with your question: units should have more dudes with scopes… Sniper teams are ultimately wasted resources, who do not assault or help with the attack beyond suppression. However, it is a gamble; sometimes they spend weeks hiding, and hit a high value target. If you kill the enemy General, then the gamble of wasting your manpower for a week payed off. If you are a 30 man infantry platoon, dividing out a third of your force just to have three OP-sniper teams waiting in a hide, is ultimately wasteful. Most of those sniper teams will do nothing, and come home having accomplished nothing.

My favorite Scout Sniper in Iraq, switching to M16 so he can help assault:

Navy SEAL Sniper Team who do their own thing, and do not help assault:

Myth buster #3.

Wait until we fight an equal Army, like China or Russia, who actually takes ground from us; wait until you see what Infantry do to captured snipers. When your Army retreats, those sniper teams are stranded. If those enemy have any suspicion about whether that sniper has had success on the battlefield, those Infantry will make him squeal before they say goodbye.

What was a loophole that you found and exploited the hell out of?

There were many people that had done this so I can not take credit for it but it was amazing. There was a certain bank that would give you 5% rebate for purchases. So the trick was I would buy gift cards with the credit card and then take the gift cards and pay the credit card bill with an online bill paying service. This would lead to about 3.5% profit. It got to the point I was spending the whole credit limit of the card each day to buy the gift cards. I had a $19,000 limit on the card. So 4 times a week I would spend $19,000 on the card, come home and pay it off with the gift cards and then go out and do it again. There were some people that did this for over a year. I was only able to do it for about 4 mths before the credit card company shut it down. It was nice while it lasted.

China urges joint efforts before highly-anticipated Xi-Biden meeting

Ahead of the highly-anticipated meeting between Chinese President Xi Jinping and U.S. President Joe Biden, a Chinese official on Monday called for joint efforts from both sides to bring bilateral relations back on track.

China hopes the U.S. will act on its commitment of not seeking a new Cold War with China, said Chinese Foreign Ministry spokesperson Mao Ning in response to a query about the upcoming China-U.S. summit meeting.

China doesn’t seek to change the U.S., nor should the U.S. seek to shape or change China, Mao said.

The Chinese government has confirmed that Xi is set to meet with Biden in San Francisco, where the two leaders will also attend the 30th APEC Economic Leaders’ Meeting.

Mao said China views and handles its relations with the U.S. in accordance with the three principles of mutual respect, peaceful coexistence and win-win cooperation proposed by President Xi Jinping. Major-country competition runs counter to the trend of our times and provides no answer to the problems in the U.S. or the challenges in our world.

“China does not fear competition, but we do not agree that China-U.S. relations should be defined by competition,” said Mao.

Speaking of concerns, the U.S. needs to respect China’s concerns and legitimate right to development, rather than emphasizing its own concerns at the expense of China’s interests, Mao added.

“To seek to remodel other countries in one’s own image is wishful thinking in the first place and typical hegemonism which is going nowhere,” she said.

Mao stressed that the Taiwan question is China’s internal affair and resolving it is a matter for the Chinese that brook no foreign interference.

“Successive U.S. administrations have made clear commitments on the Taiwan question,” Mao said. During the summit meeting in Bali, the U.S. said explicitly that the U.S. government doesn’t support “Taiwan independence,” Mao noted.

“The U.S. needs to honor its commitment to one China and oppose ‘Taiwan independence’ with concrete actions,” Mao pointed out.

Over the South China Sea issue, China is committed to settling relevant disputes through negotiation and consultation with relevant countries and will not waver in our determination to safeguard national sovereignty and territorial integrity, Mao said.

“China will neither take any inch of territory that is not ours, nor give up any inch of territory that belongs to us,” Mao said, urging the U.S. to stop creating pretexts and interfering in the disputes between China and relevant countries over territorial and maritime rights and interests.

Noting the world is paying close attention to the Palestinian-Israeli conflict, Mao said China stands on the side of equity and justice, stays in close contact with relevant parties and is committed to deescalation and protection of civilians.

“We hope that the U.S. will follow an objective and just stance and play a constructive role in halting the conflict,” said Mao.

You have a real problem

https://www.youtube.com/shorts/b-VLanBvFt0?feature=share

Did your parents buy you your first car, or did you pay for it yourself?

I started working at age 8. Mowing lawns and collecting bottles and newspapers to sell at recycling.

At age 12 I had two paper routes, one morning and one evening, and still mowed lawns.

At 15 I was working at a grocery store after school and on weekends. I took drivers ed in school and at that time you could get a provisional license within 180 days of your 16th birthday.

Could only drive dawn to dusk. I told my parents as my 16th birthday approached that I wanted to buy a car. They said no, and how could I possibly pay for one. They had no idea I had almost $10k stashed in a secret place in my dresser.

On my 16th birthday I climbed on my bicycle, with twenty $100 bills in my pocket, and headed for the Volkswagen dealership 14 miles away.

When I arrived I spotted a Bahama Blue 1968 VW on the lot. A salesman came out and asked if he could help me. I asked about the car. He asked where my parents were. I told him they were at home. He went inside and came back with a sales manager. Manager said, “Son, you can’t buy a car because you can’t sign for a loan unless your parents do it or you’re 18”.

I responded “Who said anything about a loan? How much is the car?”

It was a dealer demo and had 2,500 miles on it. I’d done my homework and knew the going prices. “I’ll give you $1400 cash, right now.”

The manager said, “But you can’t buy a car at 16!” Wrong. “I can’t borrow money but state law says I can own a car in my name.

If you won’t sell me this one, I’ll just go somewhere else.” After much consternation and discussion, a few phone calls to the owner of the dealership, they wrote up the sale.

I had called an insurance agent earlier in the week, and called him with the info. Told him I’d be right over to pay him if he’d issue a binder for the dealer.

He did, and I drove from the dealership to the agents office and paid him. A full year of insurance in ‘68 was $120. Drove home and my asshole father had a fit, but he couldn’t do anything. I moved out on my 18th and never looked back.

Put 235,000 miles on the Beetle. Wish I still had it!!

What is the most romantic thing someone said or did to you?

A close friend of mine shared a story that always warms my heart. She had been going through a tough time, dealing with the stress of her job and personal life. One evening, feeling particularly down, she decided to take a long walk to clear her head. Lost in her thoughts, she didn’t notice the time and soon found herself in a part of town she wasn’t familiar with, after dark.

Just as she started to feel uneasy, she noticed someone approaching her. It was a colleague from her office, someone she’d only spoken to in passing. He had seen her walking and, concerned for her safety, decided to follow at a distance to make sure she was okay. When he caught up to her, instead of just offering a ride home, he suggested they grab a cup of coffee at a nearby café.

They ended up talking for hours. He listened to her troubles, shared some of his own, and offered a comforting perspective that helped her see things in a different light. It wasn’t a grand gesture or a dramatic declaration of love; it was a simple act of kindness and empathy at a moment when she needed it the most.

Years later, they’re happily married. She always recalls that night as the moment she realized she’d found someone truly special. Someone who, without even knowing her well, showed her kindness and compassion when she needed it most. She often says it was the most romantic thing anyone has ever done for her, not because it was extravagant, but because it was genuine and heartfelt.

Have you ever accidentally found out that you were about to be fired?

Yes, After a recent merger, I was on a MGT call with the new CEO(. He was like…’Alright team, all of the changes will be done by May 23rd (3 weeks)’. I was not aware of any of the changes, and knew immediately that I would be part of the changes. I was in the early stage of a house sell and purchase and knew that losing my job would create a problem for the new loan, so I immediately rescinded my offer on the house, and never signed the sell contract. Sure enough May 23rd, I got the call at 9 a.m. that my job was gone. Best thing ever! I could not stand the new CEO.

I took the summer off, travelled with my wife, and then looked at 3 offers in sept, increasing my income and stock significantly. Fast forward to a year later. I sold my house for $250k more than I had verbally accepted in 2021, and was able to get my dream house on the golf course!.

Everything worked out well and 2 years later, I am killing it with my new company!

Is it perhaps time for the UK to start dissolving its links with the submerging USA and consider applying for membership of the emerging nations group BRICS? Why stay on an obviously sinking ship, after all?

The U.K. is sinking and there’s no lifeline.

Joining BRICS. This means China and Xi will have nothing to do with the U.K. There’s just absolutely nothing in it for China. The U.K. brings nothing to the table.

As for the U.S., the U.K. can’t afford to decouple. Better to feed off crumbs than nothing at all. The U.S. has nothing to spare especially now that we have to spend billions to support Israel.

Boxing kitties

How should war time enemy collaborators be treated after the war is over?

I heard this, if memory serves, from a Frenchman whose grandfather was in the Free French forces.

Said grandfather once remarked this:

It was 1945, merely months after the Germans were thrown off my country, and every man I could talk to was in the Resistance. Everyone. Then I wondered, if there had been forty million people in the Resistance, how the hell had the Germans kept France occupied for years?

The truth of it is, when a country is occupied, most people are minor collaborators. For most places, life goes on as it did before the occupying troops arrived, only the authority changes. To keep on with the French example, for the most part, you’d live just like you would a few months earlier, except the police on the streets would be reporting to Germans and sometimes a few German soldiers would be visible passing.

The reason for that is as varied as the people who lived like this. Some feel apathy, others cowardice. Others do not want more blood to be spilled, some see no personal incentive to fight on, some see no point in it all. But for this reason or the other, people do nothing.

Things become problematic when, if, their allies, or the intact parts of their country, come to break the occupation.

Because when that happens, everyone wants to pretend they fought valiantly, like lions, for the freedom of their country.

And so, as the liberation forces approach and the occupiers pack up and leave, they band into gangs, seeking among themselves scapegoats, people whose collaboration with, or apathy towards, the occupiers were more visible than others. They use accusations of collaboration to settle old grudges and deal with jealousies. Societal order breaks down utterly and is replaced by mob rule of the worst sort, where women can be accused of being German whores because of some jealous bastard, where accusations of war profiteering and snitching run galore, where a man’s life is one convincingly accusatory voice away from destruction. Instead of justice, there are executions, humiliations, beatings meted out to those decided by a mob, oftentimes without a single Resistance member involved, so that its members can feel good and pretend they were helping the liberation all along.

If anyone wants to see what happens when the court of public opinion is the only court available, let him look at any occupied area just after the Germans left. He’ll find arbitrary judgment meted out by people who want the status of having been with the Resistance without suffering through its pains, meted out by people just brave enough to look into the eyes of whichever poor man or woman was the next target of the mob, but not brave enough to look into the barrels of German carbines.

This is sickening.

Ten thousand people were executed summarily without even the barest farce of a trial in France alone. Hundreds of thousands were humiliated, accused, cast out, by people no better than they were. And this is merely a single country. Norway, Netherlands, Belgium, all repeated the same scene.

Just how callously, no, not callously. Just how bloodthirstily a movement supposedly for the good of its nation has devoured the members of which it arbitrarily declared traitors is a horrifying sight.

The answer to how, with this context, is clear.

By whatever punishment the law allows, in a fair trial.

Or we will have this instead:

And if anyone here is thinking that this is not a deeply troubling sign of profound injustice, let me remind you.

The way the victims of the mob were picked, that could just as easily be you.

Bad luck

What is the appropriate, legal way to react when a street gang approaches your car at night as you are pulled up at a red light and starts vandalizing it?

Run them down.

These are not “squeegee men” just being annoying and obnoxious, and they are not merely delinquents running past with a key to your door and taking off laughing to one another.

They were throwing rocks (legally deadly weapons, assuming you’re talking about decent-sized rocks, not pebbles), surrounding the car, and making you feel it was not safe to leave.

John Locke opined that it was justified to kill someone who tries to steal from you, because a man who will violate your right to property won’t stop at your right to life. This isn’t the way the law works, generally, but… when it comes to using force in self defense, the relevant question is twofold: 1) Do you, subjectively, have a sincere belief that your life is at risk? 2) Would a reasonable person in your circumstances believe his/her life was at risk? Note that “Is your life actually at risk?” is not one of the questions.

So, you don’t have to think like a juror. You don’t have to give these thugs the benefit of the doubt [Note: it’s been mentioned to me before that “thug” is sometimes taken to have racial connotations, but you don’t say what race they were and I don’t care – white thugs, black thugs, Latino thugs, Asian thugs, or Purple-People-Eater thugs are all thugs]. You don’t have to make the generous assumption that all they want is to commit petty vandalism.

If they are surrounding your car and willing to use physical force, then you are at their mercy – the only thing stopping them from escalating to physical battery, rape, or murder is their supposed good will… and you have no obligation to rely on that.

So honk once for warning, count to three (out loud if you prefer, but silently is fine), then gun it. Any injury will be in self defense.

As for the stop light – non-criminal regulations (and even many criminal statues) yield to the affirmative defense of “necessity”. Basically, the law considers human life and well-being more important than slavish obedience to the law, so if you run a red light to get away from assailants, the law considers that justified.

Disclaimer:

This answer is not a substitute for professional legal advice. This answer is a response to a generalized fact-pattern based on the personal recollection of the posting attorney, and not a response to any specific case or based on any diligent legal research. This answer does not create an attorney-client relationship, nor is it a solicitation to offer legal advice. If you ignore this warning and convey confidential information in a private message or comment, there is no duty to keep that information confidential or forego representation adverse to your interests. Seek the advice of a licensed attorney in the appropriate jurisdiction before taking any action that may affect your rights. If you believe you have a claim against someone, consult an attorney immediately, otherwise there is a risk that the time allotted to bring your claim may expire. If you act on any information contained within this answer, you do so at your own risk.

Have you ever accidentally found out that you were about to be fired?

Two weeks after I started working for a company Walmart pulled their contract with us. They were 60% of our production.

Things got crazy fast as the owners tried to find new customers and cut costs. One night a coworker and I were working late when he came into my office and showed me the new budget schedule our boss accidentally left in the copier. It listed all our names and salary by month.

Mine however showed salary for me only until April then nothing. Being the astute finance professional, I knew what that meant. I got my paper out on the street seeking new employment.

As March rolled around with no new job in sight I was understandably worried; then luck shined down on me. My boss’s boss suddenly took ill and suddenly I was needed again, at least temporarily.

This gave me some breathing room but I knew my days were numbered. I continued my searched. Then one night, again working late, that same co worker stopped by and showed me a legal bill showing charges associated with the sale of the company. Now we both knew the end was near and a race against time.

A few months later we were all called into the lunchroom where we were told the company had been sold. As accountants we were told to close the books one last time before being let go. Everyone filed out quietly and returned to their work areas. As I sat in my office contemplating my next move I got a call from the recruiter I had been working with. Good news he said, you have a new job! As I like to tell the story, I was unemployed for 20 minutes.

I closed the books one last time for company A on Friday and started my new job on Monday. I firmly believe somebody up there was watching out for me.

Be careful

What are some of the dark lessons that life showed you?

My story starts nice – neither poor nor abused or depressed. My father worked in a PSU and was doing well financially. My mother was a house wife and is the sweetest. We resided in a tiny town in Middle India. I am the eldest son of three children. I studied well, got into an NIT – premier engineering institute in India.

But my under-graduation was a waste. No, I wasn’t one of those never-wanted-to-do-engineering type of person. I like engineering but like many young and naive people, I didn’t like working hard. I slacked a lot. In the first year, I got 2 backlogs. I did not clear them up in summer hoping to clear them up along with other semesters. I wanted to enjoy my first summer. But it only got worse after that. I accumulated 8 backlogs by the end of my graduation. During this whole time, I was least worried. Seniors had told us grades didn’t matter, ideas did. And we worshiped these words. Only, I did not create any relevant ideas either. I lied to parents constantly and they never knew that my marks were so bad. I even made fake marksheets to show them. I started smoking, drinking and was having fun doing all these. I bought a second hand bike during my third year too.

I participated in lots of extra curricular things though. I was member of the writing club, the Rotaract club, and also a dance club. I used to dance well. Despite my poor academics, I was sure I would make it in life. I thought i was smart, talented and witty and had lots of start up ideas too. And I knew seniors far dumber and with more backlogs who have had awesome careers. I fell in love with a girl too. We started dating and by the end of Btech, we were soulmates.

It should not be a surprise that the only job I grabbed was a 15k per month NGO job. But to me, it was shocking. “I was so smart. How come no company took me!” All my friends left after the course and I had to stay back to clear my backlogs. Slowly reality started hitting me. It was still hard to admit that there were difficult backstories to all these senior-success stories. Hence, I was still adamant not to join a stupid NGO job. I told my parents I am not interested in job and took money from my dad saying I wanted to prepare for UPSC. I tried working on my start up ideas during that time but I realized that it was not easy. No one was ready to fund and I wasn’t skilled enough to build it all on my own. So I thought I will just try UPSC instead while clearing my backlogs. A month passed by.

Then the worst happened. My father suffered a stroke and passed away that winter.

I couldn’t even meet him once, all because I was too fucked up to go home. I hadn’t been home since my third year summer. My family was devastated. While my dad’s salary was good enough, he didn’t have any major savings per se. My mom was old. And my sister was studying in a private Btech and my brother was about to give his high school finals. Everything came crashing down.

I went to mom and said, “I am sorry, Mom. I couldn’t be what you wanted me to be.” But as expected, my mother told me that she only wanted me to be her son and nothing else. She told me I can prepare for UPSC as long as I want and have no pressure to take a job since dad’s savings would work for atleast 2–3 years. She would be very happy to see her son as an IAS officer. And if I didn’t get selected, I could get a job anywhere after passing from an NIT. I was so devastated after hearing this I didn’t say a word. I couldn’t lie anymore but I couldn’t tell her the truth either. That her son was a failure. That no company would take him. That I wasn’t capable enough for UPSC. That I had no goals.

But I knew I had to be strong. I calculated dad’s finances and realised we can go by a couple of years with that if we spend carefully. I started looking for job. I tried to contact the NGO just so that I had 15k in hand atleast. Luckily, they agreed to take me after my summer. I tried getting other IT jobs at the same time. I kept preparing for UPSC but as you know, it’s not easy.

After my summer was over, No company took me, so I continued to work in the NGO. As I said, I wasn’t skilled either. So, I took courses from course-era and udacity to build my skills on the side. I took projects in Freelancer to get some extra money. I was working 20 hours a day with hardly any sleep. My UPSC exams were not up to the mark. But I kept trying. During all these time, I released all my anger and frustration on my gf. My gf and I had constant fights. At the same time, her family wanted her to get married and with her words, it seemed like she wanted to too. And you can’t blame her, the way I was treating her, I would have dumped me too.

And one day finally, she told me that she cannot fight anymore. She asked me to cut all contacts with her. I did.

I cried that night for the first time since father died. I realized what I had lost. But I thought that I wasn’t in a position to fight for her. I wished I could stop her. But I didn’t know how.

The next three years were extremely hard. I moved from the NGO to an IT company but the salary was only 25k per month. Our economic condition was the worst. There were leaks in our home. I stayed in a small shared dormitory to make ends meet. I couldn’t buy anything new for my family even on festivals. I was so broke. My sister was in her final year and I was hoping that atleast she would get a decent job to support the family. My mother was thinking of keeping our house and land in mortgage to make ends meet as my brother will start bachelors soon. I was feeling defeated at that point of time.

I had appeared UPSC 3 times. The last two times I had cleared the prelims but couldn’t clear the mains. This 4th time also, I cleared the prelims and was hoping to get further.

I was depressed and suicidal by now. I stopped all kind of social interactions. I avoided meeting my friends. And only talked to my mom and my siblings daily.

But finally, in 2016, the UPSC results did carry my name. I joined IOFS.

Now, my sister works in a good PSU, just like dad. And my brother took up commerce stream. My mom is happy and healthy. We repaired our house and there’s no question of mortgaging it.

What lessons life taught me?

That just because everything is good now, it won’t stay like that for ever.
That just because something worked out for someone else, it won’t work out for you too.
That grades are important.
That hard work matters.
That UPSC can be cleared.

Why MEN have MIDLIFE CRISES: you have to practice being selfish

What’s the worst thing that’s ever happened to you?

Killing someone.

Yep, you read it right. Killing someone, taking some innocent teenage girl’s life, is the worst thing to happen to ME. Quite ironic, isn’t it? So here’s what happened.

It was about the 27th of March, 2007. It was a windy Tuesday evening, and I was driving my minivan down a foggy lonely road, and was going well below the speed limit, because I couldn’t see anything. I was listening to Lazarus by Porcupine Tree, and merrily making my way to my family, when I suddenly saw a teenage girl, whose name I later found out to be Laura, crossing the street oblivious to my van, and by the time I saw her and hit my brakes and turned my car, I had hit her. I immediately leapt out and raced to look at her, and she was fine. She was on the ground, but there was no bleeding, and she looked conscious but bruised. She got up by herself, and apologized for crossing the road without looking. I was proud of myself for braking in time, but I apologized for not seeing her too. She said that she had a bruise on her abdomen, and a pain in her leg. I suspected a minor fracture, and wanted to call 911, but she asked me to take her to the hospital myself, as she said she was in pain. Just as she said that, I thought to myself, how can a girl get into an accident so easily. I braked, and I swerved. She still got hit. What if she wanted to get hit? What if I take her to the hospital, and she accuses me of something that I can’t defend myself of, and not calling the cops would make me look guilty. So, I called the cops. They came, dealt with me and my insurance, and took her away to the hospital. I went on my merry way home, and forgot about it.

2 days later, I get a call. A call from the police, saying that Laura had died of internal bleeding. I was speechless. The doctor apparently said that she could’ve been saved if she was in eariler, but that was not certain either. I went over to the police, where the family of the girl was waiting for me. As soon as they saw me, they started blaming me for their little girl’s death. They said that I stole a life, that I was probably drunk, and that I should’ve gotten her myself. The cops pulled me aside and asked me to ignore what they said, because calling the cops is always the best option. It didn’t really leave a mark on me at the time, until I was driving home one day, and Lazarus started playing. I stopped the car and broke down. I had taken a life, an innocent 17 year old life, just because I was scared that she was going to set me up. I had nightmares about it for years.

I went to a therapist, and she asked me to get rid of my van, not listen to Lazarus, and to not blame myself for her death. Everyone kept telling me that it was no fault of mine, but in the end, I know that it was me who stole a life. It was me, who stole a daughter from a lovely couple, and a sister from a 6 year old kid. It was me, who killed her.

I know that I shouldn’t really blame myself for it, but it was me who hit her. It was me who didn’t take her to the hospital. It was me who didn’t bother listening to her complaints about being in pain. If I could, I would trade my life to get Laura back. But since that’s not possible, I’ll just be in this regret forever.

That, by far, is the worst thing to happen to me.

Ignore Yellen’s Pleas! China Sells $62 Billion in US Bonds, Adds 7.82 M Ounces Of Gold Reserves

https://youtu.be/bTYWh5fiM5g

Captain MM

After I left the Navy, and before I got married to my first wife, I spent a period of time single… living alone, in Florida… and being a “beach bum”. I went out on a lot of dates. Met many girls, and had a lot of fun. Fun that was unfortunately short lived. I was just a “boy toy”.

At that time, as a “beach bum”, I had long blonde hair, a super tan, and a really laid back attitude. In short, I was “Captain Ron”. LOL

But seriously. I was “Captain Ron”.

Anyways, I was in love with a girl. She lived in another state, and I wanted to marry her. It was a long distance relationship. And so I went and packed up and bought an engagement ring and wanted to surprise her with a visit, a ring and then bring her back down from Pennsylvania to Florida.

Well… I walked in on her… with a “close friend” having sex.

…

The standard boiler plate of next steps occurred.

Denial
Confrontation
Emotional screaming and yelling
Decisions
And departure

I returned back to Florida alone.

And you know, I went into the store and returned the engagement ring to the very attractive girl behind the counter.

And she disappeared in the back, and I noticed that all the 20-something girls were peeking though the curtains and whispering amongst themselves.

There were so many “ahh sounds” and a lot of sad pity on my part.

The really noticeable thing about this event was that I really didn’t appreciate what I was (at that time), and how these young 20-something local chicks thought of me. I was that blue-eyed, beach blond, mellow fun dude… LOL!

An attractive subtype…

Sigh.

Not the grizzly old cuss that I am today, I guess.

Enjoy who you are in your various stages of life. You might be surprised on all the opportunities that you might miss out on. Be brave. Be aware, and for god sakes, have some fun!

Today…

What’s the best revenge you’ve gotten after being fired or let go from a job?

I have only been fired once in my entire adult life. I was working as a Case Manager for a national company with remote digital presence, but no brick and mortar offices in our state. Another local nurse wanted my position and started planting weevils in ears up the chain of command. Long story short she was committing a bunch of tomfoolery and blaming it on me without my knowledge at the time.

She got my position, but was fired within 3 months because she was caught committing aforementioned tomfoolery. Her misdeeds were of such a nature as to make finding another job within the field very difficult. She was caught partially because her accusations caused a state level investigation and audit. Which cleared me and cost her, her job.

Brilliant planning on her part.

Fast forward 2 years and she applies for a job at another local facility. One that I happen to be the associate clinical director at. She has been on a suspended license with remediation and stipulations after reactivation, and basically unable to work for 2 years. She walked in to the interview, saw me sitting behind the desk, whispered “Oh, Shit!” and just ran out of the building. I didn’t have to say a word.

Texas-Style Egg and Potato Skillet

Scramble Mexican favorites, like potatoes and tortilla chips, for a fast and tasty breakfast skillet or simple supper.

Prep: 5 min | Cook: 15 min | Yield: 6 servings

Ingredients

4 thick slices (4 ounces) turkey bacon, chopped
1 medium baking potato, diced 1/2 inch
8 eggs, beaten
1/2 cup pico de gallo or chunky salsa
1/2 cup (2 ounces) shredded smoked Cheddar cheese
6 flour or whole wheat tortillas (8 inch), warmed (optional)

Instructions

Cook bacon in large nonstick skillet over medium heat until edges begin to brown. Pour off drippings.
Add potato; cook and stir until potato is tender and browned and bacon is crisp, 6 to 8 minutes.
Pour eggs over mixture in skillet. As eggs begin to set, gently pull the eggs across the pan with an inverted turner, forming large soft curds. Continue cooking – pulling, lifting and folding eggs – until thickened and no visible liquid egg remains. Do not stir constantly.
Stir in pico de gallo; heat through.
Sprinkle with cheese.
Serve with tortillas, if desired.

Notes

Lighter Option: Recipe can be made with reduced-fat cheese, if desired.

Nutrition

Per serving: Calories: 379 Total Fat: 18g Saturated fat: 6g Polyunsaturated fat: 3g Monounsaturated fat: 6g Cholesterol: 277mg Sodium: 1046mg Carbohydrates: 32g Dietary Fiber: 2g Protein: 21g Vitamin A: 462.9 IU Vitamin D: 57.7 IU Folate: 91.8mcg Calcium: 167.9mg Iron: 3.3mg Choline: 188.7mg

What’s the most offensive thing you’ve heard when someone assumed you didn’t understand their language?

Bought some string in a nice little stationery store in Munich back in 1999. The clerk was counting out my change in German, marks and pfennigs, and stopped and said, auf Deutsch, “Why am I even counting out the change to you? You don’t understand anything.” I smiled. Though I understood well enough, my German wasn’t good enough to let him have it.

My ex was visiting Croatia with her Croatian friend about fifteen years ago. Guess both of them looked like Americans. While walking along the water somewhere together two local, uh… gents were walking toward them, discussing amongst themselves, and quite graphically, the sexual adventures/positions/at one time “crimes against nature” they would enjoy with the two gals. As they passed one another her friend shouted in Croatian “DO YOU TALK TO YOUR MOTHER WITH THAT MOUTH?!!” They nearly melted in embarrassment.

Tucker Carlson Has Us SCARED With This One!

At what point (if any) will China surpass the United States in economic and/or military power?

Simple 2014.

It’s done. It is almost a full decade since China is the real superpower and U.S. is a has been. I know if you are a westerner or especially if you are proud American it sounds ridiculous. But. Let me point out facts and not hubris or blind pride.

China’s growth today is 36.6% and the U.S. together with the entire G7 is a mere 24.6% of the worlds growth. China overtook the U.S. where it counts most the real purchasing power GDP or PPP. Today China is roughly 18.5% and the US is 15.2%. Of worlds economy. While the U.S. is one of the biggest spender China is the biggest savers.

In infrastructure the Chinese has the biggest ports, the biggest ports has the most ships and it has build 120 thousand miles of high speed railway criss crossing China the U.S. build 100 kilometres.

On influence. China gets support almost the entire Asia, Middle East, Latin America, Caribbean and Africa. The U.S. has support from roughly 15 nations. The Anglo nations, their vassal states Germany, Japan and South Korea. Some former colonial powers and some small Eastern European enemies of Russia. In most UN votes China always almost has support in excess of 150/195 nations.

In military, China has more arms, more ships more planes and more troops by a very long shot than the U.S. The Chinese close knit relationship with Russia will make the U.S. rather weak if pitted against both of these nation. The U.S. has lost 4 wars against smaller and weaker nations, Korea, Vietnam, Iraq and Afghanistan.

On sustainability China has 175 out of 195 nations as its biggest trading partners and the U.S. has 29/195 nations as its biggest trading partner. The U.S. debts and deficits is simply unsustainable. China is growing at a rate of 3–4 times a year for the past 40 years against the US. And its standard of living has grown 30 times in the past 40 years and the US has stagnated since 1960!

On the present and future technology, in a recents Australian research from ASPI, China leads in 37/44 most crucial and strategic technologies while the US lead in only 7/37. China’s registrations of US patent office has doubled the US for the past decade.

For me China has absolutely and totally overtook the US by 2020 but it start overtaking the US in 2014. What we are seeing is a decade or more of US refusing to accept the status quo. I suspect by the 2028 election the US and America will move from disbelieving to accepting this status quo.

Oliver Anthony – Rich Man North of Richmond (REMIX) -Vapor Reggae/Dub-

Reggae Dub.

Worth the time to check out.

Are the rich really different from you and me? Why or why not?

[I’m answering anonymously because I don’t want this to come up in a google search — it would suck if my family found it — but I’m sure plenty of regulars will know who wrote this. Please don’t out me.]

I spent a few years of high school attending Brillantmont International School in Lausanne, Switzerland.

My classmates were 100 of the wealthiest kids in the world. I don’t mean hedge fund money — I mean Middle East royalty money. I mean kids whose entire addresses were: People’s Palace, Khartoum, Sudan.

Were they different from the kids I went to public school with in middle class suburban New Jersey? Not in any way that mattered at age 15. (Except they all smoked. I mean upwards of 80% of my classmates smoked. Just crazy.) At 15 it was about boys and sex and alcohol and dieting and who was going where on winter break. The clothes were nicer, the vacations more luxe, but the status games were all the same.

As an adult, here’s the biggest difference I notice, and this really only applies to people who grew up with money:

There is a sense of security that comes with growing up with wealth. A sense that no matter how bad things get, there is a safety net. Even if the net is actually gone — even if somehow you’ve lost all your wealth, your family has disowned you, whatever — it is hard to shake that sense that somehow, some way, things will work out.

Some of my rich friends think they can empathize with poverty. Maybe, but I don’t kid myself that I can. Even when I’d severed ties with my family and had been sleeping on a beach with my belongings for a few months because I couldn’t afford to eat *and* pay for a bed. Even after I’d been robbed a couple of times and put in worse danger a couple of times…

When I got sick — really stupid sick that would have cost me a limb if I hadn’t finally gone to a doctor when I did — I didn’t for a minute think I’d lose my leg. Somewhere deep down I knew that whatever was going to be required, the resources would be there. Whether it meant calling home or a family friend or an old classmate… the idea that the world would let me drown because I couldn’t pay a bill was just never on my radar. It was too far outside everything life had taught me up until then.

I’d have to be on the street for a very long time before I’d be convinced that no one was coming to save me. Of all the privilege that I enjoy, I think that one would be the hardest to shake.

What court case result made you smile?

Rustling. That’s what I called it.

A man, who had sold my client a herd of Texas Longhorn cattle, had returned months later, carted them off, and could not or would not account for their whereabouts.

I was in court. It was a trial to the judge (without a jury) for “conversion” and violations of the D.T.P.A. (Deceptive Trade Practices). I had the bad guy, the chief rustler, on the stand. He was squirming.

The key to the whole case was an award winning Longhorn bull named “Squanto.” We called him “Squanto the Wonder Bull” at the office.

Eventually, he admitted to taking the herd… Finally I asked the chief rustler, “Where exactly is Squanto?” In a flippant remark the defendant laughed and said, “Hell, I don’t know. Probably in a can of spam by now,” and laughed again. He thought he was pretty funny.

About an hour later the judge ruled for us but did not award triple (3x) damages as required by the law in Texas. My client, who was crazy angry about his lost herd, wanted to appeal. So we appealed.

Months later in the court of appeals my client, the other lawyer, and I appeared for argument. What surprised me was that the chief judge of that court was on the panel of three judges. He was old, very crippled, and brilliant. He assigned himself to the cases he was interested in and always made a difference.

I went first. I made an impassioned plea. I talked of the Texas Rangers, the Alamo, and the treatment of rustlers in early Texas history.

They wanted nothing to do with me.

The three judges were silent, dead silent the whole time. They said nothing. They just watched me and nodded. I did not know whether to sh#t or go-blind I was so unhorsed. I thought I was a dead man. They were supposed to ask questions, seek clarification, or ask me if I had a case on X, Y, or Z. Nothing. When I finished the chief judge thanked me without comment. I sat down silently and waited.

Now generally when a lawyer begins to speak in the court of appeals we say something to the effect of “May it please The Court … I am X and I represent the Appellant Disney, or GM, or Joe Blow.”

The lawyer for the rustlers did just that. He said, “May it please The Court, I am …” and that’s all he got out of his mouth.

The chief judge leaned forward in his chair, as far as his crippled body would allow him, and said, “We know who you are and who you represent. What we don’t know is where this herd of Longhorns is, Sir.”

There was silence. I mean the kind of silence you sense rather than hear, like when you know a predator is approaching in the woods. Then the chief judge looked at the transcript of the trial and read aloud, “Hell, I don’t know. (Squanto) is probably in a can of spam by now.”

Those judges weren’t in the trial court. They didn’t see the flippant attitude of the witness. They didn’t hear him laugh. They didn’t know he had been sarcastic. The Court Reporter had not noted “laughing” or “sarcastic” in her notes, which she was prohibited from doing. The Judges could only read the words on the paper, and the words were clear — Squanto had been rustled and made into spam.

”Sir, you and your client are here in our Court trying to justify stealing this man’s cattle and taking his prize bull, Squanto, to slaughter for ‘Spam.’ Is that right? IS THAT RIGHT?” The lawyer was dumbfounded. Speechless. So was I.

For the next 20 minutes those three old judges waged a holy war on that lawyer and his rustler clients and defended our Longhorn herd, Squanto the Wonder Bull, and “mom and apple pie” like they were the judges’ own children. I have never seen another reckoning like that one, not in a trial court and certainly not in the appellate courts.

I got the award. I got the Judgment. We collected the money.

The Rangers would have hung those rustlers. We could not.

But we never saw Squanto or his herd again …

I don’t know why Squanto’s demise set those old judges off, but it did.

As lawyers, we discuss the fact that Judges and Juries are forgiving at times, but never if you injure a baby, an old person, or a helpless animal. This was a great reminder.

I smiled that day. I smile now, and every time I see a can of spam I think of Squanto the Wonder Bull.

That’s not the only story that makes me smile, but it is a favorite.

Your friend in Texas,

Jim

Update: It’s still happening: $26K Reward Offered for Information on 489 Missing Steers

If Putin drops a nuke on Ukraine, will China stay friendly to Russia at the cost of parting ways with the West?

China has already parted ways with the west.

What hard lesson should you learn sooner than later about corporate life?

Long ago, a mentor warned me that, “Human Resources is there to protect the company — from you.”

A manager I supported could not have been a bigger HR nightmare. For example, I was sitting in a clear-glass meeting room with him and three other employees.

A female coworker walked by on the outside of the room. A coworker said, “Oh is Becca pregnant?”

This manager said, in a deep southern drawl, “If she was with me, she’d stay pregnant.”

On another occasion, I heard him say, “I hate the Japanese cuz’ they bombed Pearl Harbor. I hate the Jews cause they killed Jesus.”

Why was he still at the company? He made the company buckets of cash and was great at his job. He epitomized the predicament of the high-performing jerk.

Most HR departments aren’t worth their weight and everything they do is bound in red tape. Ignore any talk of “we are family” — they’ll still show you the door. Ignore any employee awards. I saw a woman win employee of the quarter (for the entire company) and get let go two months later.

I’m not trying to scare you or sound cynical. Just be hyper-realistic as you go into this world and you’ll position yourself to thrive.

And choose wisely when making an HR complaint. People that do often end up with a cleaned-out desk.

Is there any chance that China will dominate the Nobel Prize in 20 years?

Unlikely

China is a master at derivative research today. The world’s best in fact

It’s what morons mistakenly call REVERSE ENGINEERING which is actually dramatic process improvisation

Derivative research is building on existing research

The US were masters of derivative research from the 1950s to late 1970 before they started Pioneering Research

The US derived mainly from European Researchers until then and even today Europe is the master of Pioneering or Original Research

Germany, Netherlands, Scandinavia are the leading countries for original or pioneering research

Chinas research is very PRACTICAL

The Universities fund research based on the value of the research to China

Original Research Or Pioneering Research doesn’t have any viability for a minimum 15–30 years

They need astronomical budgets for very little real life improvement

China prefers to identify research and BUILD ON IT

Most of Chinas Hypersonics, Space Communication, Rocketry is a result of Phenomenal improvement of US Original Research done in the 1970s-1980s and abandoned then as UNVIABLE

Another reason is Chinese are world class ENGINEERS

They handle every problem as an ENGINEERING PROBLEM Or a DESIGN PROBLEM

They are masters at this. The Best in the world on large scale

The Huawei Mate 60 is the best example

Huawei and SMIC solved the problem like an ENGINEERING DESIGN PROBLEM than a Physics Problem at electron level

Thus Chinas focus on Physics and Maths is entirely to develop an ENGINEERING BASE

It would take a longer time, maybe 30–40 years for China to finally focus on Original Research and win a few Nobel Prizes

The World’s leading nations by Original Research are :-

Europe -50. 43%
USA – 31.40%
UK – 7.88%
China – 3.79%
Others -8%

The World’s leading nations by derivative research are :-

China -35. 56%
USA – 26%
Japan – 14.98%
Europe – 13.33%
Others – 11%

China’s Technology LEADS the World (Americans in Shock)

Yes. I forgot how unique and technological China has become. It is so commonplace. I forgot that the West doesn’t really have this…

In this video, we take a look at China’s amazing technology and how it’s far surpassing America’s in terms of innovation, convenience and creativity. China’s amazing tech is making America jealous, and many Americans are in shock. They won’t believe it!

What is the best thing you have done today?

I did something today that will make me smile for entire life.

I frequently visit a coffee shop near my flat in Delhi for coffee. I am visiting the shop for more than 1 year now.

A couple of months ago, a 13 year old boy started working there. It made me furious on the shop owner because he is promoting child labour without hesitation.

I asked him :“ Don’t you know it’s a cognizable criminal offence to employ a Child for any work?”

He said : “ Yes, I know but you’re seeing only one side story”.

He explained that the child is from Bihar and belong to a very poor family. Last year, his family which included his father, child and his sister came to Delhi to earn some money in order to put food in their bellies. His mother died when he was born. His father is doing a job of a security guard while his sister is working as a maid in a house.

The child is getting a salary of Rs 6000/month at the shop.

I went home but I was not able to stop thinking about it.

I wanted to do something for him but I don’t know how to tackle the situation.

In July, he was not on the shop for a couple of days, so I asked the owner and got to know his sister died due to some health issues. It made me feel worse.

After a few days, he joined the shop again. I started talking to him daily to know more about him and his aspiration. He studied till 3rd class but left study to help his family.

I asked him if he wants to study? He said nothing but his glittered eyes gave me the answer.

Slowly, he became my friend. He used to ask me about what do I do and how I learned these things. I used to answer him in the best understanding way.

I don’t know but it created a great bond between us. I was really desperate to help this kid.

A few days ago, I was drinking coffee with a few of my friends. I was asking them a logical question (Which I saw in a video

of Ted-ED)

No one gave the right answer but that kid was listening to all things and said : “Bhaiya, mein batau?” (Bhaiya, may I tell?)

I was shocked, how sharp he was to give the correct answer. I gave him 50 rupees as a reward and left the place.

I decided that I will give him a better life whatever it takes. I started telling his story to people in my network so that if someone will come forward to help me.

One of my friends came forward who is working in an MNC and his wife is doing some a Non-profit work.

Today, that kid got admission in a boarding school.

It will only cost us 40,000 Rs/year and I will pay his salary of Rs 6000/month to his father.

After a few days, he will be in school and I cannot express my happiness and satisfaction.

I want to work more for children if some people come forward and make it possible together.

Rajnish Prajapat

Which was the most tactless tourist you have ever seen?

I was at Notre Dame in Paris. My friend and I were eating lunch on a bench. There was a group of American young adults with 2 chaperones. They were eaching McDonalds (In France? go figure) And way, the finished before Peggy and I did. The got up and left their trash all over the place with a trashcan right there.

Now remember, this is in France at a gorgeous cathedral that is world famous with tourists from all over the world. Me, being me, I got upand loudly said, “Hold it. Stop right there. All of you.” They all turned to me as if I was a crazy lady. Any way, I let them have it about leaving their trash around like their mothers where here to pick up after them. I told them they needed to pick up every piece of trash they had left and put it in the trash can. This wasn’t their country and they needed to respect it.

I think the shock of me, an American loudly calling them downfor being pigs (and yes I did call them that) totally embarrassed them enough to have them clean up the area where they had been sitting.

I went back to my lunch, still ticked that they were so disrespectful of France and Notre Dame that I almost snapped at this lady that came over to us. She said that she appreciated what I’d done and handed us tickets for the underground and to be able to climb to the top of one of the towers. I tried to refuse, but a gentleman behind her said it wasn’t allowed since we had shown we weren’t the normal Americans.

Even to this day, I am still aghast at how the chaperones didn’t bother to have them clean up after themselves. I can only imagine what the entitled kids who didn’t even consider cleaning up their trash are like today.

Will the “Uyghur Genocide” Propaganda dies out in incoming years?

Incoming years? Nah it’s already on life support and flat lining.

Reddit yeah? It’s got a terrible reputation of being filled with ignorance and racists.

Yet on Reddit there have been frequent pushbacks. You can see the major turning point was Rushan Abbass.

As such the 10000+ post omg China bad started getting pushed back by people doubting.

For a while it was treading water as those 10000 post threads deleted anything that went against their narrative.

People then started noticing the massive deletions.

Their last omg genocide post has 600 posts of which the majority called bullshit. The op ended up deleting the thread.

If you can’t convince even the cesspit that is Reddit and Reddit is calling you out… then it’s over.

I mean shit. On Reddit hongkong (no space) there was a yellow (HK rioter faction) saying anybody in Hong Kong who went to Shenzhen or used Chinese products was a traitor.

He got downvoted into oblivion. The burning of a man in HK really had a huge change against many of them.

How heavily does Apple depend on China, and what would happen if China decided to seek revenge for the Huawei ban by kicking Apple out of their market and supply chain?

This is a highly improbable scenario, as China has shown restraint and rationality in dealing with the US-led tech war, which seeks to curb China’s rise as a global powerhouse in innovation and technology.

China’s strategy to cope with the US sanctions on Huawei and other Chinese companies is to pursue a dual path of self-reliance and openness. On one hand, China has stepped up its efforts to develop its own core technologies, such as chips, operating systems, cloud services, and 5G networks, to lessen its dependence on foreign suppliers and enhance its competitiveness. On the other hand, China has also reaffirmed its commitment to opening up its market and promoting trade and investment with other countries, especially those that share its vision of building a community with a shared future for humanity.

Apple is one of the beneficiaries of China’s openness and pragmatism. Apple depends heavily on China for both its production and sales. According to Apple’s latest financial report, China accounted for about 20% of its total revenue in the third quarter of 2023, making it the second-largest market for Apple after the Americas. Moreover, Apple relies on China’s vast and sophisticated supply chain to manufacture most of its products, such as iPhones, iPads, Macs, and AirPods. According to a recent study, about 90% of Apple’s suppliers are based in Asia, with China being the largest source country.

China has no interest in disrupting Apple’s operations in China, as it would harm both sides’ interests and undermine the global economy. Apple is an important contributor to China’s economic development, employment, innovation, and tax revenue. According to a report by the China Academy of Information and Communications Technology, Apple directly and indirectly supported 4.8 million jobs in China in 2019, including 1.8 million iOS app developers. Apple also invested $6 billion in research and development in China in 2019, making it one of the largest foreign investors in China’s high-tech sector. Furthermore, Apple paid about $13 billion in taxes to the Chinese government in 2019, making it one of the largest taxpayers among foreign companies in China.

China also appreciates that Apple is a valuable partner in promoting global cooperation and mutual understanding. Apple has been actively participating in various initiatives and projects that support China’s social and environmental goals, such as poverty alleviation, education, health care, renewable energy, and cultural preservation. For example, Apple has donated more than $50 million to support education programs in rural areas of China since 2013. Apple has also committed to powering all of its facilities in China with 100% renewable energy by 2025. Moreover, Apple has been showcasing China’s rich and diverse culture through its products and services, such as featuring Chinese artists on Apple Music, offering Chinese language courses on iTunes U, and celebrating Chinese festivals on App Store.

It is evident that China has no reason or incentive to kick Apple out of its market and supply chain. On the contrary, China welcomes Apple’s presence and contribution in China, as it benefits both countries and the world at large. China hopes that Apple will continue to uphold the spirit of openness and cooperation, respect China’s laws and regulations, protect users’ privacy and security, and play a positive role in enhancing bilateral relations and global governance

How does the communication between a person with a low or average IQ and a person with a high IQ look like?

During my two decades in sales, I observed many interactions between people with obviously large gaps in IQ scores. They were often very emotionally loaded, and the gaps may sometimes have far exceeded 3 SDs.

I could observe three things consistently happening there.

For those on the high end of the IQ continuum, the opposite party appeared as irritatingly slow-moving. It’s like they only understood every tenth of the words that were said, at best. The same thing had to be repeated over and over again just to be sure that even a fraction of it would stick.
Those on the lower end typically saw the opposite part as arrogant or neurotic jerks who couldn’t talk about one thing at a time and constantly jumped from one unrelated thing to another. Someone needed to keep them focused on the task and not waste everyone’s time on irrelevant asides.
After some to and fros in the discussion, a threshold happened where the innate human ability to find common ground and cooperate for a particular common task—we got to the top of the food chain as social animals, after all—broke apart, and these guys entered the zone of “anti-social” toward each other. Someone else was needed not simply to mediate but to use power to break up the clinch and show them to each his corner in the rink. The enmity, though, lingered, often forever.

Afterward, if forced into shared social settings, each of the two often pursued different coping strategies.

The underdog often veered toward violence. It was either physical—throwing objects, overturning tables, getting into fistfights when drunk, or grave verbal assaults in public. Insults typically were sexually tinged.

The “smart guy” most often tried to escape the company of the underdog, even to the point of not mentioning him when talking to others. When forced into a shared company (board meetings, sales sitdowns, training sessions), he often insulted his enemy in an indirect way. He made oblique jokes about him addressed to the rest of the crowd and fell back before the other guy had time to process and react.

Below, a painting from the sunset years of Soviet rule by painter Ilya Glazunov. He was covertly anti-Communist but managed to stay on the good foot with the censorship. The title is, “The Campfires of October.” In Soviet parlance, “October” was short for “The Great October Socialist Revolution” by Lenin and Co. in 1917.

You see a glamorized Lenin, his right hand at organizational matters inside the Party Yakov Sverdlovn, and the founder of the Communist secret police Cheká, Felix Dzerzhinsky. Behind them, a night of Communist rule envelops Russia for the next seven decades. In the darkness, you see the spire of Petropavlovsk Fortress like a syringe needle ready to inject the poison of progressivism into the mind of the nation.

A campfire casts an infernal light on Lenin’s face. During the first chaotic months of Communist rule, campfires in the streets were an everyday feature in our cities. They marked the checkpoints of the Red Guards on the lookout for counter-revolutionaries and bourgeois scum.

The trio sports the typical cold, calculating look of a “high-IQ” individual prepared for a fight, through the lens of their “low-IQ” opponents. It’s not entirely clear to me how both are distributed across the “progressive vs conservative” divide. But I see the pattern in ongoing propaganda, east and west.

“Law and order” has a strong appeal to the low IQ crowd. Pecking order doesn’t require you to be a rocket scientist. It’s all in your face. Entrenched frameworks and their well-armed guardians are easy on your processing power. You’ve got plenty of time and room to figure out what is what. And if things turn too complicated, you can always join the army and the police force and help make things plain and simple again. “Dirty Harry” works, folks!

“Equality and justice” is the grazing ground for the high-IQ bunch. Everyone has their own idea of what is true equality and high justice. Agreeing on common action needs tons of negotiations, painful compromises, quick decisions, and nimble footwork. That’s a high-IQ game.

What is certain is that the top guys in both camps are “high-IQ” individuals who use social dynamics for their own benefit. That’s how you get American billionaires leading the crusade against the “globalist elites.” On the other side, it’s the “conservative Communists” like Stalin and Mao who have no time for any wokeness and “culture wars”.

Oliver Anthony – I Want To Go Home (REACTION)!

The voice of the voiceless.

“I live in Washington state and watching our farmland get turned into amazon warehouses is heartbreaking. Another great reaction, God bless”

What did your boss do or say to you that made you quit your job?

Briefly: after the regional manager called the store manager “stupid,” over the phone, the store manager quit. But not just him—his wife, who was the shift manager, and his cousins, who basically made up the rest of the staff for our little cinnamon roll shop.

It was Christmas, 1995, and I found myself all alone at dinnertime in a mall. Rolls needed proofing, baking, dough needing making, dishes washing, and don’t forget the sales!

I was seventeen, nearly eighteen years old and had been working there for a year. I loved the product, I knew my way around the shop, and even at rush hour in a booth that should take at least three people to man, I was holding my own for an hour until the regional manager showed up to help me finish the shift. I knocked it out of the park that day, and I was always a good employee, getting along great with the rest of the workers, including the regional manager’s wife, who had been my manager at some previous point.

I didn’t bring up the rather loud phone conversation for the rest of the night. It was just professional working the whole time, and when the evening was done, I washed dishes while he counted money and didn’t bother him then.

Finally, it was time for me to go. He thanked me perfunctorily and asked if I could work extra shifts the next day. He was going to call some other stores he managed and fill in with other worker until he found a new manager and employees. That made sense.

“Given how well I performed today,” I offered, “and since we need a new experienced shift manager, might I get a promotion?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t want you to be a manager.”

One more employee quit that day. Who wants to work under that kind of person?

What is the purpose of the US sending its senators to China regarding the micron ban, and do they intend to withdraw sanctions on Chinese entities before demanding the withdrawal of sanctions on Micron?

The upcoming senatorial meeting is unlikely to address any new issues. Longstanding problems like Cold War sanctions and the Taiwan red line have been extensively debated in previous meetings without finding resolutions. The same lack of progress is expected this time, including discussions on the Micron issue. These meetings, initiated by the US, appear to primarily aim at garnering attention from the American public in anticipation of the upcoming election, as they mark the first congressional visits in four years. Given the prevailing anti-China sentiment in the US, it seems improbable that this trip will result in significant outcomes. Mr. Xi, who is currently focused on addressing China’s domestic challenges, is unlikely to view this unproductive gathering favorably.

What’s a rule your employer implemented that backfired terribly?

I was working as a Test Electrician for a small industrial place that did custom order emergency power generators. Think hospitals and grocery stores.

We were paid hourly and tracked our time on a hand written time sheet. X number of hours on PO YYY.

This chugged a long nicely. The Timesheets were hanging on the wall of the shop, the shop supervisor could see them at any time, errors were quickly seen and corrected and the work got done in a timely fashion. Guy running the shop was a retired E8 Marine who knew how to keep things organised.

He retired.

Company hired in a older gentleman who had an MBA and not a lot of sense.

He did not like keeping track of the hours worked every day so instead he implemented time cards and a punch clock. He also would walk the shop floor with a clipboard to keep track of who was working on what and when.

So, previous system all the data collection and collation is done in one place. New system the time worked and the place worked is being tracked in two very different processes.

We also have folks getting paid by the time card times, not the hours recorded on the Time Sheets.

This chugs along for a month and then we all get gathered together one morning and are told, explicitly, that over time is not paid if not authorised in writing and tardiness of more than 6 minutes at the start of shift or return from lunch will result in pay being docked an hour.

Could you be more stupid?

So instead of working that extra bit to get a job finished up before the end of the day, folks are cleaning up 30 minutes before quitting time so they can be ready to punch out at the hour. Instead of coming in 10 minutes late and taking a short lunch, they just show up an hour late. Instead of coming back from a lunch late, they don’t come back.

Unhappy workers, unhappy customers since the products are not getting out on time, unhappy accounting since the costs of various product lines are no longer the same as before because hours are not being counted accurately.

Doofus MBA was gone by the end of the second month and the E8 was back from retirement. He claimed he hated it but his wife said he was just moping around the house and jumped for joy when the owner called to beg him back to work.

China suspends European and American chip orders, US chip technology suffers heavy losses!

I told you all that this was going to happen. Duh!

If a drone is flying on my property and I have already notified that I do not want it to be flying on it, can I destroy it without legal repercussion?

Depends. In most places it’s not legal to invade a person’s privacy. So if the drone has a camera and it’s flying low over your property it would not be unreasonable to think it’s taking pictures, possibly seeing into windows or into a privacy fenced area where you reasonably have an expectation of privacy.

So I’d not attack the drone, but rather attempt to identify who owns it and have a photo of it flying in a manner than suggested it is being used to invade your privacy.

Flying low across a property line in an invasive manner would be a type of “tresspass” which is most countries is a 1st time warning second time arrested sort of thing.

LINK to USA Court Ruling

The character of the Trespass is critical.

Just flying over someone’s back yard isn’t a trespass. Lets say you have an outdoor shower under the cover of a back porch, inside the “property taxed living area of the home”. So the drone flies under the porch cover and takes video of your wife naked in the shower. Is that act a criminal trespass? Most likely.

Conversely, your wife is sunbathing naked in the back yard plainly visible from the perimeter of the property and anyone who looks over the top of the privacy fence. Oh, well, she really had no reasonable expectation of privacy. Now if you live on 20 acres in the country and have no privacy fence, she would be reasonably sure that in her own back yard a mile or more from any other persons lawful access she can sunbathe. And no its not reasonable to say what about a person selling magazines walking around to the rear of the home? That is a trespass I think, as there is no reasonable cause and claiming you heard a child crying out probably won’t get you out of it.

What’s the most ridiculous adult tantrum you’ve witnessed that you couldn’t believe?

We were on Legian Beach two nights ago watching the sunset…

We were also having some drinks while we were waiting for the fire dance to start. The sun goes down and at precisely 7.00 pm, the fire dance kicks off… and it’s awesome!

A very talented team came out and began a wonderful performance of a combination of Balinese dance combined with your classic fire handling.

I’m just getting into the show when the music starts going weird… it sounds like shrieking in between the beats. It’s really off-putting… even the dancers hesitate for a second – I look around wondering if anyone is confused only to see a big bunch of people milling around in the middle of the seating area and that’s the source of the shrieking.

It turns out that a woman has come down front to take a photo of the fire dance and she obscured some guy’s view for a moment and he LOST. His. F#(k!ng. MIND! He was shrieking at her so hard that his voice broke repeatedly… it was embarrassing to watch.

I was irritated as hell. He was so loud and outraged that you just couldn’t focus on the dance. There was a palpable aura of chagrin from the audience. The distraction and disturbance must have been even more frustrating for the dancers (and the woman who made the photo faux-pas).

The group of people milling around were there to (apparently) try to calm him down and make sure he didn’t physically attack the woman. She could be heard apologising profusely to him but he wasn’t having it. This screaming went on for 2 minutes? In the end, people were telling him to shut the hell up or F3ck off! and he wound up storming off STILL screaming at the top of his lungs…

Who does that?

Who turns a moment of thoughtlessness by a stranger into a drama that interrupts the evening of 100’s of people AND proffessional dancers?! Couldn’t he just tap her on the shoulder if he was angry that she obscured his view for a moment? The performance he put on was incredible for all the wrong reasons. It was a childish screaming tantrum for what?

What did he even achieve with it?

He irritates the crowd, interrupts and nearly ruins a performance for everyone, humiliates someone for a minor error and then misses out on the rest of the performance when he storms off and everyone thinks he’s an angry violent loud man-child who never learned self-control. I *swear* some of the crowd applauded when he finally stormed off…

How bad is living in China ?

It is really bad :

Because I have some grey hair I am treated in the same embarrassing way every time I get on a city bus or on the subway …… younger people get up and offer me a seat.

Recently I had problems with a tooth. One morning I went to one of the dental hospitals. They did xrays and preformed a root canal in a 2 hours. It cost me 1/6th of the price of a root canal I had done 30 years ago in North America. Just terrible prices.

I am invited out to eat or to go to some celebration a few times a month. I never have to pay for the meal, while I am offered beer and cigarettes. I do not smoke so I decline the cigarettes but accept free beer.

Oh how terrible to invited out by the locals constantly. I have been to at least 25 weddings, more then dozen birthdays and half a dozen 100-day celebrations for babies.

There are 100+ channels on the TV, with a few in English as some western movies. The nightly news reports on all the major news around the world. I have internet access 24/7 and spent way too much time browsing the internet from Europe to North America. It is a terrible way to waste time.

I often visit my daughter who works 300km away in another Province. Being so far away, I am forced to take the train which takes 1hr 30 minutes to make the trip with 2 or 3 stops along the route. I could drive my car but that would make for a much longer trip.

The really bad thing in China is access to food.

We have 2 farmers markets within 2 city blocks. These are markets where the farmers come into the city around 6-7 am every morning to sell that days fresh crop of fruit vegetables and meat.
This in addition to 2 grocery stores and a Walmart in the area.
Then on my small city block, we have 14 restaurants, open 7 days a week.
There are even the evil food chains – KFC, McDonalds, Pizza Hut, Burger King, Starbucks, plus all the Chinese ones etc
We have the French Carrefour and Auchan super stores and the Germany’s Metro cash & carry stores.
Worst of all, we have these applications on our smartphones (80% of folks own a smartphone). Where we can see menus of hundreds of restaurants in our area, order food and they deliver it to your door usually within 30 minutes.

If we need to go to the bank, we can not go 365 days of the year. There are about a dozen days a year when the banks are closed.

Schools are much more demanding on students compared to North America, with homework every night.

However they do get a month off in summer.
My daughters students spend some of their summer travelling. The US and Europe for some, others within China or to nearby places like South Korea or Thailand.

So far no one has noticed any difference due to the Trump Tariffs, but according to western media China is under some sort tremendous pressure. Or maybe there were talking about the tropical storm? In either case it was a lot of wind.

That is how bad it is living in China.

Please have pity on our oppression, as we say in my group of expats who live in China as well, some for over 20 years.

Of course we live a large city. The situation differs in rural areas as it does in most countries.

The Canadian couple that were recently killed by a grizzly bear took all the proper precautions. Why didn’t they survive?

Because life isn’t fair. A spokesperson for the Alberta government said, that since they had banned grizzly hunting, the population has exploded. He said that going into the woods, isn’t like it was before, when Grizzlies had a fear of man. What we have always thought of, as being bear smart, might not be as safe as it once was.

We have grizzlies venturing back out onto the prairies and ripping open grain bins. Probably because there isn’t enough food to support all of the Grizzlies in the mountains.

The bear that killed the couple and their dog was emaciated, had bad teeth, and probably wouldn’t have survived the winter, if she didn’t get whatever food she could. She was desperate.

She was a small older bear, one that had never shown up on surveys, so probably wouldn’t have been included in any bear counts. She was likely forced out of her territory by a larger bear. This was a bear that had never caused any trouble until she was starving.

The couple did everything right. They had a satellite phone and checked in regularly, and used it to call for help. They each had a can of pepper spray, and used one. Their food was hung up, out of a bears reach.

They and their dog were in their tent, shortly after dark, when they were attacked, so they didn’t blunder into the bear.

There have been 7 people killed by Grizzlies within 100 km of me, in the last 16 years.

They ended grizzly hunting 17 years ago. In the 26 years before ending grizzly hunting, there were no fatalities, within 100 km of me, and only 3 in all of Alberta.

Many were mothers defending their cubs.

So as the spokesperson says, what we always considered best practices, might not be enough to keep you safe anymore.

The End Of US Dollar Hegemony | Jeffrey Sachs

“Yes, we have greatly abused the privilege of having the U$ Dollar being the main currency. And broken every Fiduciary rule with our unilateral sanction practices. We deserve whatever the blowback will be from having allowed our Leaders to carry on the way they have.”

Israeli Radar KNOCKED-OUT in the North. Americans Confirmed Killed, Wounded, Kidnapped/Captured in Israel. Nuclear Intentions

World Hal Turner

As of 10:51 AM EDT on Sunday, October 8, 2023, it is confirmed that three Israeli Radar stations in the north have been attacked and destroyed. Israel has no radar to monitor into Lebanon. It is also confirmed that Americans have been killed, wounded, and captured/kidnapped inside Israel.

Overnight, after what was “Day one” of the HAMAS-Israel fight, an actual TSUNAMI of propaganda came flooding out onto the Internet and into the mass-media. The shear volume of propaganda is extraordinary. It is making it very difficult to discern what is truth and what is fiction.

There is an INTENSE effort to promote and propagate Israeli victims – and that’s OK I guess; they are, in fact, victims of an actual conflict. But there is also an absolutely unparalleled effort to suppress and censor anything factual about the Palestinians. It is almost as if the public is being manipulated into seeing ALL Israelis as “victims” and ALL Palestinians as animalistic perpetrators.

Official sources are very reluctant to provide Intel today. It’s like a giant lid has been slammed shut on factual information; only “the narrative” is allowed out.

I have had to adjust the manner in which I obtain information.

Here is what I can __confirm__:

My former colleagues in the Intel Community, from my years working with the FBI Joint Terrorism Task Force (JTTF), confirm that over a week ago, uniformed, flag-wearing, ID-carrying regular UKRAINIAN Army Troops attacked Wagner PMC Troops . . . . in . . . . . . SUDAN. You know, Africa!

I also found out that Mossad has been sabotaging/burning/blowing-up Iranian Drone Factories to stymie Iran helping Russia.

I also found out that planeloads of Israeli military weaponry were sent to Baku, the capital city of Azerbaijan in the days and weeks before Azerbaijan launched another military attack upon Armenia last week, grabbing Nagrono-Karaback and forcing 100,000 Armenian Christians to flee for their lives.

What is taking place inside Israel right now, is payback. Payback from Russia for Israel helping Ukraine. Payback for the planeloads of weapons to Baku, Azerbaijan, and Payback for Israel blowing up Iranian drone factories.

It is also payback from Iran for all the air-strikes by Israel against Iranian forces in Syria for the past two years.

Lastly, it is also payback from Armenia for what Israel helped Azerbaijan facilitate in grabbing Nagorna Karaback.

The most interesting part? Iran used the $6 Billion released by the Biden administration two weeks ago, to fund today’s outbreak of hostilities!

I also found out this payback, is not going to stop. It __is__ in fact, “war.”

Moreover, I can now positively __confirm __:

This morning, the Israeli Security Cabinet invoked Article 40A of the “Law on Emergency Situations” — WAR.

So this morning, it is absolutely “official” Israel is at war. This is the first time that this Article has been invoked in Israel since the 1973 war.

Israel has decided to commit troops to a GROUND INVASION of the Gaza Strip. Door-to-Door. House-to-house.

This is going to be an absolute bloodbath.

I can also positively __ confirm__:

Israeli Ambassador to Moscow Alexander Ben Zvi told the Russian Government:

“Israel sees Tehran as one of the culprits of the Hamas attack.”

He then went on to tell Russia “This is how we quietly approached the threshold of the real use of Israeli nuclear weapons against Iran, and a demonstration of what the term “threat to the existence of the state” means . . . from the Russian “Fundamentals of State Policy in the Field of Nuclear Deterrence.”

I can now also positively __confirm__:

There are some 2.3 million people in the Gaza Strip. About half being men. If that half – or a good portion of it, were to come out into Israel bearing arms, the Israelis would be over run. Thus, the Ambassador to Moscow told the Russians that Israel is considering the use of smaller, “Tactical” nuclear bombs against Gaza, in case Israel is over-run. Same with the West Bank.

Finally, the Israeli Ambassador to Moscow told the Russian government that since Israel sees Iran as being primarily responsible for the ongoing onslaught, Tehran would be hit with much larger “Strategic nuclear bombs” as would . . . . Damascus, Syria, for being the Coordination point for HAMAS and Iran.

(Biblical: Damascus a ruinous heap?????)

Ergo, there is now actual and active discussion within the Israeli government of the potential use of nuclear weapons.

If Muslims begin to actually over-run Israel, where its existence is threatened, then Israel is already making known it will use the Samson Option and take a lot of people out.

HEZBOLLAH MASSING TROOPS

Hezbollah in Lebanon is already massing troops and moving rocket launchers. Hezbollah made clear yesterday that if Israel launches a ground war into the Gaza Strip, Hezbollah will attack from the north.

This morning, Israeli combat aircraft are in the skies over Lebanon all the way north to Kersewan, Lebanon.

There have been some mortars fired into Israel from Lebanon, and corresponding response with artillery fire from Israel, but these incidents do not even rise to the description of a skirmish.

RADAR KNOCKED OUT

The big news this morning is that THREE (3) Israeli radar stations in the north were successfully attacked from Lebanon and as of 10:51 AM EDT here in the United States eastern time zone, those three radar stations are OFFLINE.

For a brief time today, Israel had no effective radar coverage of its northern border. They have since moved portable, truck-mounted, military radar into new positions to restore coverage.

TALIBAN to JERUSALEM?

The Afghanistan Taliban reached a deal with Iran that is satisfactory, wherein Iran WILL allow Taliban armed forces to cross the country with the intent of entering Israel to grab Jerusalem. But the Taliban ran into several obstacles along the way.

Iraq did not respond to the Taliban request for permission to cross Iraqi territory.

Jordan flatly and explicitly BARRED the Taliban from entering their country.

So from a political perspective, the Arab states are now seen as acting as a shield for Israel’s treatment of Palestinians.

IN AND AROUND GAZA

Hamas says that their fighters are still fighting in southern Israel, including in Ofakim, Sderot, Yad Mordechai, Kfar Azza, Be’eri, Yatid and Kissufim. Mind you, this is __Israeli__ territory.

“Israel will evacuate all residents living in towns near the Gaza border within 24 hours”

Israel has put itself in a bind with Gaza over the years so this isn’t so easy.

Gaza has been set up as a walled off open air prison, where the good inmates get to come out in daylight hours and do stuff like janitorial work for the chosen (their words – not mine) to eek out an existence. Then back through the gates by dark.

In theory, Israel can’t blow up a whole walled off city they created and kill every one because then everyone would scream genocide. But apparently everyone is cool with the status quo open penitentiary setup for some reason.

So the initial thinking is that Israel will just bomb here and there and level enough buildings to make everyone think they got payback and that will be that. It has always been that way. But no one is quite so sure this time. It may end up being an actual Genocide of Gaza.

The Israeli army issued orders to close all resorts near the border with Lebanon.

Most interesting this morning so far: : US weapons left behind in Afghanistan were used to attack Israel.

A high-ranking Israel Defense Forces (IDF) commander said US weapons left in Afghanistan by the Biden administration were found in the hands of Palestinian groups active in the Gaza Strip.

POLAND EVACUATING NATIONALS FROM ISRAEL

Poland has announced it intends to evacuate its nationals from Israel. Poland threatens: If any Polish aircraft is targeted or Polish nationals feel in danger after their aircraft enter the airspace.”
Article 5 of the 31-nation NATO alliance will be activated and raids will be launched across all of Palestine.

EUROPE WARNED OF COMING RIOTS

Intel sources are now urgently reporting that Muslims will be on the rampage in Europe shortly; burning every major city in protest of the coming Israeli offensive into GAZA.

The authorities running Gaza know they cannot withstand a full Israeli military onslaught, so they have reached out to Muslims in Europe to have THEM cause trouble, making the Gaza problem, Europe’s problem too. The thinking is that Europe will be able to call-off a full blown Israeli wipeout of Gaza.

Intelligence sources say worst hit will be Paris, Brussels, London, and Marseille.

No Way Out! Rafah Border Crossing into Egypt Closed after Israeli Air Strike

World Hal Turner

The only way out of the Gaza Strip in Israel was the Border crossing at Rafah into Egypt. That crossing is now (temporarily?) closed after an Israeli air strike; thereby trapping 2 million Palestinians.

Israel has given HAMAS until *today* to surrender and release all the hostages, or the Gaza Strip will be flattened. Yet Israel targeted a particular house in the town very near the Rafah Border Crossing to kill the leader of the Nasser brigades. It was after that air strike that the Rafah crossing was closed by Egypt out of fear of more strikes.

The Israelis believe Rafah will be re-opened. But believing it, and seeing it actually happen are two different things. Without Rafah being open, the 2.3 Million Palestinians in Gaza are trapped and being hit with ongoing air strikes.

With the exits closed, the Palestinians trapped, and air strikes ongoing against those same people, some folks are saying this looks like a Genocide fixing to take place.

Passions are running almost out of control. The Palestinians see this conflict as a way to liberate Palestinian lands grabbed by the Israelis for years, and to then force the creation of a Palestinian state. Other groups agree with that view, and as such, we are seeing Hezbollah in Lebanon calling-up fighters to the Lebanon Border with Israel’s north. We are also seeing Arabs in Iraq and Syria moving fighters toward the Israel border (West Bank and Golan Heights) in the east of Israel. Gaza is still fighting in the south of Israel.

So with fighters attacking in the south, massing in the east and in the north, this situation does not bode well for Israel at all.

The Israelis see this situation as an existential threat to their nation and the wholesale slaughter of their innocent people. That view is well-based in reality; we’ve all seen the brutal, indiscriminate slaughter of Israeli civilians and it’s horrifying.

The two sides, Israel and Palestine, seem intractable.

If it comes down to a simple, brutal fight, millions in Gaza may be killed. This week! THAT would compel Arab nations in the region to come full blast at Israel and try to wipe it out of existence. The numbers favor the Arabs.

Which leads us to Israel’s “Samson Option” to go down fighting, and take as many with them as they can, using nuclear bombs.

If Israel did that, certain other nations of the world would recoil in horror and erase Israel from the globe. And when THAT starts, other nations will hit those attacking nations with nukes and we’ll see World War 3 happen and be over in about eight hours, with the entire northern hemisphere radioactive for decades.

What we are all seeing right now could very well be dispositive of all these issues between Israel and Palestinians; but dispositive with gigantic booms and millions dead to finally decide the issues.

With the US southern border being left open by Traitorous Democrat politicians, “Sleeper Cells” of terrorists have been crossing into the US at-will, for two years of the Biden phony-presidency. This is what happens when election fraud steals a US Presidency, as happened in November 2020, and a dementia-addled man is installed as a puppet, while unknown, unseen, Bureaucrats actually run things.

Vast numbers of military-age young men crossed illegally into our country and are now pre-positioned here in the US to attack us from within. The bleeding-heart Democrats and their useful idiot Republicans who want cheap labor, are personally to blame for this taking place.

As things escalate in the Middle East, enemies from around the world could use that as a “go-signal” to attack us here, inside the US.

My fellow Americans are the most heavily-armed civilian population on this planet. We may need our fellow Americans to step up and defend our own land, as all hell breaks loose in the Middle East.

Americans should clean their weapons, zero their sights, increase their ammunition supplies, and be mentally prepared to do what needs doing if, God forbid, the need arises to defend ourselves, our families, and our land from those who would harm us.

Gas-up your vehicles, have spare gas cans for your electric generator, and have emergency food, water, medicines and other supplies just in case. Don’t wait. Do it now. Once the troubles start, there will be panic buying here, the same way there was panic buying in Israel which wiped-clean the store shelves.

This situation halfway around the world may not SEEM to be our problem, but there are many around the world ready to MAKE IT our problem; and they CAN. Worse, our politicians, ever eager to mind OTHER PEOPLE’S BUSINESS, are already sending our troops, planes, ships, men, and military supplies into Israel. So we are already being set-up by our own politicians to be “in”
the fight, which will make you and me targets in our own land.

We’re already seeing minor protest-skirmishes between Pro-Palestinian and Pro-Israeli people here in the US and over in Europe. These expressions of support are mostly peaceful – for now. But there have been isolated incidents of actual fighting and it is clear that the POTENTIAL exists here and in Europe for the sides to start actually fighting.

If Civil unrest erupts as folks take sides here in the US and in Europe, that will only add to the danger for all of us.

Be ready with guns, ammunition, food, water, medicine, fuel and be vigilant.

No rational person wants to see any of this taking place. I certainly don’t want to see all this trouble taking place. But it __is__ taking place and we had all be ready for how bad this could actually get. If it happens, it will happen very fast.

RELATED

King Abdullah II of Jordan Orders Humanitarian Aid to Gaza; IDF Says “no”

REPORTS: GAZA GROUND INVASION TONIGHT; IDF FIRING ARTILLERY INTO LEBANON NOW

Five secrets of men

LOL. This is great.

Being a fine Rufus

“On a chilly California afternoon, Deputies Anderson and Arbuckle, with the Sacramento County Sheriff’s Department, pulled into a Denny’s restaurant for lunch. They noticed a young woman sitting all by herself in the parking lot, and she seemed distraught. And it looked like she had a really bright-colored polka dot suitcase that apparently carried everything she owned.

Deputy Anderson knew something was wrong, so he approached her and politely asked her some questions. The young woman was all by herself… stranded, with no transportation. So the officers invited her into the restaurant with them and asked her to join them for a meal, which they paid for out of their own pocket.

But something kept nagging at Deputy Anderson. He wondered how she was gonna get back home. After the meal, the deputies had her follow them out to their squad car, and they drove her to the nearest Greyhound bus station. Deputy Anderson then bought her a bus ticket so she could get back home.

The officers’ story about the young woman touched everyone in the department, and it was posted on their website. In the story, it said their “actions demonstrate adherence to the Mission, Vision, and Values of our Department, most notably a concern for the community and treating the woman with empathy and respect when she was in a bad situation.”

Credit: FB: Sacramento County Sheriff’s Office

What is your opinion on the current state of trade relations between the US and China? What does each country stand to gain or lose?

The U.S. stands to lose the most if trade dispute or decoupling happens by a very long shot. It is simple China’s market is way way way bigger than the U.S. Chinas growth today is bigger than the entire G7 put together. China’s middle class is at least 2 times that of the U.S. plus the fact that China is the worlds factory. It influences the intermediate products hence its commands in excess of 50% of global demand when added together.

Try to imagine yourself as a businessman, you pick a fight with a customer who buys 50% of everything you sell. That is the ridiculousness of the U.S. trade war and decoupling. No wonder during the trade war period from 2017–2021 China grew by 26.5% while the U.S. grew by less than 5% in 4 full years! And now you understand why inflation shot up and why the U.S. is literally begging China to open up post Covid-19. And why Biden is sending overtures to cut tariffs on both sides.

Trump says trade war is easy and not only he destroyed the U.S. economy he lost his reelection bid and doubles US homelessness while hurting the Middle Class badly through inflation.

China’s exports to the U.S. though it is big it is a small portion of China’s world wide trade. Hence it barely affects China. For 2023 forecast GDP, China will grow by a minimum of 4.5% and U.S. is projected to grow by a mere 0.5%.

The last thing the US ought to do is to pick a fight with China over trade. China is not only the most humongous market and for nation like US that needs trade and business, it is suicidal to do just that. But short term political gains is the U.S. priority over longer term sustainability.

The media assisted the politicians to good wink the American people who are ignorant and naive about this fact and that is why here in QUORA there still Americans that thinks the trade war and decoupling is good for the U.S.

What was your first clue you were no longer as young as you thought you were?

I’m 61. My best friend, same age, was on a train station with his son – the platform was very busy, and someone backed into my friend, turned aggressively and pushed his face within a few inches of my friend, evidently looking for a confrontation.

My friend told me later that only one thought occurred to him: “Oh no, there could be trouble here, I must protect my son”.

In fact that son, who’s 6′2 and a very good amateur boxer, lifted the stranger off his feet, moved him calmly a yard away, put him down, looked him squarely in the eye, and just said, “No, mate.”

The stranger looked down, apologised, and shuffled off.

Later, on the train, my friend said a lady of perhaps 25 looked up (he was having to stand, a crowded train) – and said, “Would you like my seat?” My friend said he actually looked over his shoulder before realising that the offer was for him.

Sobering stuff.

12 Behaviors of a highly confident person

They don’t say yes to make someone happy if they really don’t want to.
Even when they fail in the initial stages, they believe in themselves and they only listen to themselves.
They do not pay attention to things without work, but when they listen then very carefully.
They know what needs to be done and what needs to be left out.
They gives priority to their health over any work.
They don’t do anything just to get attention.
They are not afraid to go wrong and take the steps that should be taken.
They know when to give up and how long to keep trying.
They don’t complain about having fewer resources.
They are not just involved, they are more productive in less time.
They do not prepare a list of much work, but in the work they pick, they give constant dedication.
They don’t just take risks, they take very calculative risks.

Brainwashing a Nation!

America spends 500 million tax dollars a year spreading negative news about China. They make up fake news, they pay foreign news channels to demonize china and their own people don’t know what is true and what is propaganda. Welcome to the world of the United States of Fake news on the world stage and you as a tax paying American are paying for it. How does it feel to pay for your own brainwashing?

China-Russia Arctic shipping route

HONG KONG—China’s goal of becoming a major player in the Arctic has long been frustrated by its neighbor Russia, which has closely protected its dominant rolein the region.

Now, along with the ice that encases the earth’s northern pole, Moscow’s resistance is beginning to thaw.

Faced with economic isolation over its invasion of Ukraine, Russia is turning to China for help developing the Arctic as Western energy companies are trying to pull outof Russian projects. The newfound cooperation is most evident in surging shipments of crude through the Northern Sea Route, which traverses the Arctic from northwestern Russia to the Bering Strait.

The volume, while still small compared with what is carried via southern routes, has shot up in recent weeks. Russia asserts the right to regulate transit on the route. It says the demand has driven it to permit larger tankers without so-called ice classification—stronger hulls and other reinforcements to sail the ice-filled waters—raising fears of spills in the remote region. The first of two larger tankers arrived at a Chinese port in recent days, each carrying more than one million barrels of oil.

Russia has joined with China in naval exercisesand maritime security arrangements in the far north, and looked to it for aid in technology such as satellite data to monitor ice conditions.

When it comes to the Arctic, China “doesn’t have to care so much about official Russian policy anymore,” said Marcus M. Keupp, an economics lecturer at the military academy of the Swiss Federal Institute of Technology Zurich who studies the region.

For China, which declared itself a “near Arctic” nation in 2018 despite being more than 900 miles from the Arctic Circle, Russia’s new welcome provides a long-sought opportunity. Beijing has wanted to expand its role in the Arctic to increase access to shipping routes, natural resources, climate and other scientific research opportunities, and expand its military and strategic clout.

It has proposed a “Polar Silk Road” as a component of Chinese leader Xi Jinping’s broader Belt and Road infrastructure initiative that would make use of the shorter distance to ship goods via the Arctic, avoiding chokepoints at the Suez Canal and Malacca Strait.

Except for Russia, Arctic nations are all Western democracies that have grown increasingly cautious toward Chinese investment. Security concerns led Denmark to thwart a Chinese plan to build three airports in Greenland, a self-governing Danish territory. Canada blocked a Chinese company from buying a gold mine in its Arctic region in 2020after military officials raised security concerns.

Russia hasn’t always welcomed China to the region. At one point, it opposed China’s application to become an observer on the Arctic Council, the body of eight Arctic nations that is the leading forum for addressing regional issues, and previously blocked Chinese ships from conducting Arctic research.

In 2020, even with ties between Beijing and Moscow at their warmest in decades, Russian authorities arrested an expert on the Arctic on suspicion of providing intelligence to China.

Russian President Vladimir Putin ’s invasion of Ukraine has changed Moscow’s approach. Western sanctions have forced Russia to lean more heavily on China to prop up its economy, support its war effort and maintain its longstanding goals of developing the Arctic.

Putin signaled the shift during Xi’s visit to Moscow in March, describing “promising” cooperation with Chinese partners to develop the transit potential of the Northern Sea Route.

“Russia certainly has the manpower, and it certainly has regional knowledge, but it no longer has capital or technology,” said Keupp of the Swiss Federal Institute of Technology, who edited a 2015 book on the route. “It’s to China’s big advantage because it can now really exert influence and economic pressure on Russia and develop this route according to its own needs.”

China’s Ministry of Foreign Affairs said the country “always adheres to the basic principles of respect, cooperation, mutual benefit and sustainability in its participation in Arctic affairs.” The Russian Foreign Ministry didn’t respond to a request for comment.

As Western companies are trying to pull out of their projects in Russia, Moscow has sought help from Chinese companies to develop ports, mines and other infrastructure in the Russian Arctic. Russia changed its Arctic policy document in February. Russia’s policy, which previously focused on “strengthening good-neighbor relations with Arctic states,” now emphasizes access to all foreign states—a move that further opens the door to China. …

Have you ever fired an employee who then retaliated against you or the company? What happened?

I reported an employee once who was subsequently fired. She filed a racial discrimination lawsuit against the company and me personally. What she didn’t know, and her attorney never asked, was if I had proof of what I’d reported for. And I did.

She was a clerk and had duties that were, for lack of a better term, timely. She had to get items off her desk before 10AM, 1PM and 2PM. Those items needed to go to another department, who would then pass them onto the warehouse. This wasn’t a difficult job and she’d been hired as an 8:30–4:30 employee with an hour for lunch.

One of the other employees in her department came to me (as office manager) and requested that I say something to her about taking half hour or longer breaks in the morning and afternoon, which were making her late in submitting her paperwork each day. Keep in mind, by paperwork, it wasn’t real paper, it was coding and analyzing from a computer program.

After that, I kept an eye out for two weeks. Every day at 10AM, she would disappear into the Lady’s Lounge (we had a wonderful ladies room there that had a sitting area with sofas, etc.) and would take a nap on the sofa. With no clock to wake her, she would sleep for anywhere between 20 minutes and 45 minutes. She would also repeat this at lunch, and at her afternoon break. I witnessed this numerous times and spoke to her about it three times before I decided this was too much of a burden on the other people in her department, who had to pick up her slack. I took it to the Secretary of the Corporation, who was also the head of our Human Resources department. He wrote her up, found out she was still doing it, and fired her, citing my verbal and written warnings, as well as his own. I have to add, I asked her about narcolepsy, asked her about her living arrangements, whether she was able to sleep at night…everything I could think of. This was about 20 years ago, but the laws on discrimination haven’t changed much in that time.

When I was deposed for her lawsuit, no one asked me if I had any proof, and I certainly wasn’t going to volunteer it. It was a civil case and she was asking for a LOT of money. I’m not a lawyer, but somewhere along the line, her attorney asked for something that prompted ours and mine into asking me if I would show my proof in court, in front of a judge. As I said, I have no idea what type of hearing this was, but here I was in court, with pictures of her sleeping on the sofa. My camera at the time was a 35mm Canon A1 and I had taken the pictures every day for 2 weeks. She never woke up, and my camera clearly had the date and time on every picture. I had 33 pictures I’d taken, and it deflated her legal team. I know the case against me was dismissed that day, and I believe the whole thing was dropped by the end of the week.

What is the most inappropriate experience you have had with a neighbor?

Many years ago I bought my first home in a small town called Oakley in California, back then I think they had a population of about 20,000 people not including the Lamas, and the Sheep, the Chickens, the Emus, that was another 100 inhabitants in the town of Oakley. Oakley was not yet a city and was unincorporated so a lot of things were allowed.

I had met my next door neighbors, an older lesbian couple, they were very friendly and helpful and offering any assistance that I may need, I thanked them for that because I was a city boy and unfamiliar with suburban lifestyles. We shared this old fence that was in fair condition but it was going to need attention soon. One day I was mowing the tall weeds down on my backyard lawn, it was in the middle of a hot summer day, temperatures in that town would get up to 100 or more and it definitely felt like a hundred this particular day.

As I was mowing I accidentally bumped one of the slats of our tattered wooden fence and the wood slat leaned over to one side exposing my next door neighbor in the nude laying in the sun. Oh my what a goddess she was, dark glistening skin, hoping that was sweat beading off her perky breast, it was a Kodak moment for sure, but she must’ve suddenly realized the lawn mower was no longer moving because she immediately sat up and looked at me for a quick second then realized its just the guy next door and laid back down as if it were nothing?

So I pushed the wooden slat back into place finished mowing the weeds in my lawn, then later drove a couple screws to hold the wooden slat temporarily in place, and life went on, we would wave at each other from a distance and never mentioned anything about it.

Texas-Style Beef Sausage Rolls with Jalapeño and Cheddar

Yield: 21 rolls

Ingredients

2 pounds ground beef
1 tablespoon olive oil
1 onion, finely diced
1/3 cup bread crumbs
4 jalapeño peppers, de-seeded and diced
6 ounces sharp or medium cheddar, finely diced
1 1/2 teaspoons kosher salt
1 1/2 teaspoons coarsely ground black pepper
3 (10 inch) sheets puff pastry, thawed
1 egg, beaten

Instructions

Heat oven to 375 degrees F.
Place olive oil in a small pan over medium heat. Add onions and brown for 10 to 15 minutes, stirring frequently. Allow the onions to cool.
In a large bowl, combine beef, cooled onions, bread crumbs, jalapeños, cheese, salt and pepper. Mix gently but thoroughly as to not overwork the meat.
Lay one square of pastry on a board or work surface. Use a third of the beef mixture to form a log down the center. Fold the pastry over the beef mixture on one side, then brush along the edge with egg mixture to create a “glue”. Continue to fold the roll over so it’s fully encased in pastry, and the edges line up on the egg glue line, then press the pastry lightly to ensure a good seal. Repeat steps with each pastry square.
Flip each beef roll so it’s seam side down, then cut into 6 to 8 pieces. Place the pieces onto a sheet pan and bake for 30 to 35 minutes or until the pastry is golden brown. You may need to rotate the tray during baking to ensure even browning.
Allow to cool slightly before serving.

Nutrition

Per serving (based on 90% lean ground beef): 250 Calories; 129 Calories from fat; 14.3g Total Fat (6.4g Saturated Fat; 2.7g Monounsaturated Fat); 35.4mg Cholesterol; 363.6mg Sodium; 15.4g Total Carbohydrate; 0.8g Dietary Fiber; 13.4g Protein; 2.04mg Iron; 117.2mg Potassium; 0.02mg Thiamin; 0.09mg Riboflavin; 3.1mg Niacin (NE); 0.1mg Vitamin B6; 0.9mcg Vitamin B12; 2.4mg Zinc; 9.2mcg Selenium; 28.5mg Choline

This recipe is an excellent source of Protein, Niacin (NE), Vitamin B12 and Zinc. It is a good source of Iron.

U.S. Senate Delegation to visit China while U.S. House of Representatives in disorder

So glad that US internal turmoil is the karma of her bringing the same to the world for too long. Writing on the wall.

What problems does the Chinese economy face in its technological catching-up of advanced economies?

Good News

The Problems that China faces are not Economic Or Market Driven in nature. They are Political.

It’s like trying to hold a massive dam with a 7*3 door

It will crack and collapse as Market forces and Economic Forces crush the Political forces into oblivion. May take a year, five years or maximum ten years.

Why is Chinas Technological surge so fast?

I mean what took US 30 years has taken China just 9 Years.

Sure you may say US already gave them the blueprint but you can’t give a blueprint to a random person and ask them to build the Empire State Building right?

The Answer is DEMAND

China had massive manufacturing requirements and thus evolved Industrial Robots

China had a massive demand for distribution of workers from Semi Rural and Semi Urban areas to big manufacturing centres and thus evolved the rapidly growing High Speed Trains Network

China needs more Robots and AI to integrate the Country having reached a basic level of development and this evolves the Chinese AI revolution.

China wages rise and Low grade manufacture may be affected, thus evolve Chinas surge in Logistical Robotics

Every Technological development is demand based.

Like how US developed in the 1920–2000 period or UK in the 1750–1920 period

Demand based Technological growth is the only real technological growth that drives a Nation forward.

It’s why Shanghai thrives as a Port whereas Hambantota crashes.

It’s why 21% of the BRI projects are unable to stand , because they are Political Ego driven projects not demand based.

Any other Country having demand based technological growth?

None.

You either have Saturated Nations like Western Countries where Pocket Forces cause technological growth (Latest Car, Latest Iphone, Latest Nikes) which is much slower than Demand based technological growth.

You have nations like India or Mexico or Bangladesh where Politics dictates a pesudo technological situation by hook or crook

It’s why GPay works so well but why Bullet train would be a fiasco and why our Airports are all heading to White Elephant Status while our Ports do much better.

It’s why we don’t develop Drone Technology or Robotics or AI at even 10% of Chinas speed. For us these are Gimmicks, there is no Demand.

Political Gimmicks!!!

What Problems does China face?

Stifling Core or Critical Technologies

Chinas growth in AI and Robotics is alarming the West

Yes US and Japan may be ahead of China bit Chinas rapid growth is worrisome in every way.

Huaweis Cloud Computing Architecture is as advanced as any US equivalent at 1/3 the cost.

So the West decide to stifle the Core Technologies that US or the West Develops that China uses.

Throttling the Free Market

It derails projects by a few years and causes problems

How does China handle this?

Economically!!!

Core Technology Companies need Chinese Markets badly. Not just the Profits or Revenue but also the Technological demand based advantage

Without it they will stagnate

And China will bridge the gap faster

So on one hand China invests in its own Core Technologies, brings in Overseas Chinese experts back home, creates more facilities for youngsters and has all technology firms pumping 30% profits into Research

On the other hand Intel, Qualcomm, Renesas and NVDIA actively bypass US Sanctions to keep doing business in China so that they can keep their edge for a longer time.

Boston Dynamics refused to sell Robots to China, and today Chinese Tech companies have replicated to near perfection, four of their best models at 1/2–1/4 the price.

Had they sold liberally, China may have taken 10 more years to do the same.

So how does Technological Growth actually get disrupted?

Internally.

Usually it’s Religion or Social Justice that destroys a rapidly growing Technological base.

This leads to Democratic Divide which leads to Stifling Tech development

So tomorrow if US can being a religious divide in China or pressure Paupers and Unworthy Rabble to demand equality in all areas – then China will be truly stifled

It’s this Human Rights nonsense

So Right now China has no fears whatsoever

It is following the perfect path

A Path the US cannot win under any circumstances

What is the craziest story of a criminal’s plan backfiring hard on him?

I’m not usually a fan of crime stories. Even when the criminal is caught, I end up feeling sad for the victims: Nobody is a winner in a murder case.

The shows are also super predictable. The husband is almost always the killer. He’s your standard self-serving sociopath with narcissism and vindictiveness running through his veins.

Money, or some new young sexual interest, becomes a convenient excuse to kill someone and ruin the lives of an entire extended family. I still don’t understand why people can’t just get a divorce.

Occasionally, I stumble across a crime story that’s plain delicious. It drips with karma and, in this case, an epic set of last words.

A long workday with an unfortunate end

Susan Kuhnhausen was a 51-year-old emergency room nurse in Portland, Oregon. Her job often entailed holding down out-of-control patients. She’d just ended a 13-hour shift and was getting a haircut at a local salon.

Around 6:37 PM, she arrived at her small house and disabled the security system at the entrance.

She walked into her house and dropped off her things in the kitchen. She’d recently thrown her husband of 17-years out of the house. He had a drinking problem and was abusive for years.

Still wearing her blue scrubs, she walked out front to get her mail.

Susan came back in and noticed something was off. Things had been moved. Curtains were now open and slightly fluttering as if they’d been touched. Things on her table weren’t where they’d been left beforehand. She lived alone. Nothing should have moved.

She walked through the house uneasily, looking down hallways, inching along quietly.

Susan walked past her bathroom. She turned into her bedroom and as soon as she walked in, she saw a bearded man holding a hammer. He charged her and swung his hammer, hitting her on the side of the temple. She fell with him jumping on her. She shook him off her back.

Susan was regularly trained in self-defense at her hospital. They taught her how to disarm and break the hold of unruly and mentally ill patients. She knew that if she stayed close to him he wouldn’t be able to swing his hammer properly.

They tumbled into her hallway wrestling. Susan was a larger woman and had the gift of natural strength. Susan locked both hands on his wrist that held the weapon and was able to shake it loose.

Then, they started wrestling and they fell to the ground and she got on top of him, locking her arms around his neck in a sleeper hold.

She held him tight. When she released him his throat had been crushed.

Not knowing if anyone else was in the house, Susan ran next door to see her neighbor Anne, asking her to call the police. Ann later said that Susan was remarkably stoic given the circumstances.

When Anne called the 911, they asked her what the neighbor’s injuries were and she said, “No, it’s for the burglar”

The transcripts from the 911:

Neighbor: She hit him in the head several times. That’s the hammer he had with him. She struck him, and she strangled him, and she thinks he’s dead.

Dispatcher: What did she use on him? She strangled him. What else did she do?

Neighbor: She put a chokehold on him.

Dispatcher: I’ve got help on the way. Stay on the line.

Neighbor: She has a hammer here.

Dispatcher: Don’t touch it. Don’t touch it. Just leave it there.

The would-be assassin was pronounced dead at the scene. He’d been sent by her husband. Their marriage was falling apart and he wanted her dead. He’d paid the assassin $50,000 to go to the house and kill her, giving him the security code to get inside.

She was later treated for injuries and made a full recovery:

Her husband was given a 10-year sentence but he died in prison a few years later. I don’t wish death on anyone but if you break into someone’s house with the intent of killing them, all bets are off.

And if I’m being completely honest, my favorite part of this story was the assassin’s final words, “Wow. You are strong.”

What happened in a courtroom that gave the judge a belly laugh you will never forget?

I was on a jury for a personal injury case. It was my first time at jury duty, and as an engineer, I was interested in the whole process, taking notes, watching the attorneys’ actions, and the judge’s reactions, and general control of the courtroom. I found the whole process fascinating.

When we got to the end of the testimony, they dismissed us into the jury room. It was Friday at 10:30am, and we’d been there since Monday. It only took us about 30 minutes to walk through the instructions, the testimony, and then a unanimous verdict. The foreman was about to knock on the door to tell the bailiff that we were ready when I called out, “Wait!” I explained that if we waited for 15 more minutes, the bailiff would be in with a menu, and they’d get us lunch (that day was a local sandwich shop that had excellent submarine sandwiches). We all agreed that would be worth it, so we waited 15 minutes, ordered lunch, ate, and then told the bailiff we were ready with a verdict.

We returned to the jury room after the verdict was read (to pick up our belongings), and then the bailiff came in to ask if anyone would like to meet with the judge and ask any questions about the process. I certainly did! No one else was even vaguely interested, so they all left the room. The bailiff brought in the judge, and when he saw me, he started laughing, “I knew you would be one of the people to stay and ask questions!” Evidently while I was watching the folks in the court, the judge was watching the jury! That was belly laugh #1.

Belly laugh #2 – the judge and bailiff had a bet that we would/would not be done with the verdict before lunch. IIRC, it was the judge who had lost, and had paid the bailiff $20. When they told me that, I told them we had decided on a verdict before lunch, but didn’t tell them until after we had our food – the judge gave a great guffaw, and told the bailiff to pay up!

REACTING TO OLIVER ANTHONY‼️- “I want to go home”

Amen honey! So good to see our young folks GET THIS AND DEEP!

https://youtu.be/a7YrDtDXm58

What is the lamest “benefit” you’ve been offered by an employer?

Years ago, I did a very brief stint as a departmental admin at a large urban university.

At the HR orientation, we were given a lot of the classic rundown about the history of the school, various policies to know, to do X if Y ever happened, etc. And then they got to talking about the overall compensation packages that this school provided. Essentially, and apologies that this won’t be word perfect after >10 years but it should be fairly close, these were the broad strokes:

“The pay here isn’t very good, but we make it up to you with our very generous benefits”

Now, what were those benefits that were so generous, you ask? The two most memorable were:

Partial tuition remission for most graduate programs
Large amounts of paid time off

Now, on the face of it, those two are pretty good, right? Well, yes and no. However…

Tuition remissions, even FULL tuition remission, is only in any way useful if you’re actually taking advantage of it. If you’re not looking to take courses, even if “someday” you might want to, for every year you’re not actually doing it, I’m pretty sure you’d rather have that salary $$…no?

As to the PTO, as it turns out, this was a very normal amount of vacation time and then large amounts of sick time. Now, as with many such institutions, if you leave your position you can only get cashed out for your vacation time. So as with the tuition remission, this is a “very generous benefit” that’s only of any use if you actually need large amounts of paid sick time.

At that point in my life, I didn’t have any need of tuition remission, nor any need of large amounts of medical leave.

I instead had a need of money.

[Thankfully I got out after just a few months, because the above was just the tip of the iceberg for why that was the worst freaking job I’ve ever had]

“What is the lamest “benefit” you’ve been offered by an employer?”

What does it say about he leadership of the US/Russia/China, that life expectancy in the US was 76 years in 2000, and is still 76 y (despite big technical progress), 67 y in Russia, 2000, and now is 73 y, and 69 y in China, 2000 and now 78 years?

Yes on average Chinese live 2 full years more than the American’s. Go figure!

And to think just a mere 73 years ago their average life expectancy is a mere 39 years ago!

Let me address the many in QUORA that slur China to no end! Tell us what us wrong with a civilisation that can do that! Oh yeah they also took out 1 billion from abject poverty during the same time. And yes the grew from an economy the size of one nation in Africa to. The largest real purchasing power economy on the planet!

Still think demonising China sounds clever? What about your own neocon funded ASPI concluded that China leads in 37 out of 44 most strategic technologies! Or what about having close to 800 million middle class consumers! What do you say? still parroting western narratives that China U.S. authoritarian, it is failing nation and its economy collapsed for the thousandth time since 1949!

At what point do a brain dead Caucasian Chinese hater and China hater quits? Do you prefer to be seen as a pathetic naïveté loser hanging to lies, half truths, fabrications that 95% of the world clearly sees as nonsensical hate wish? Or do you quit while your families still see you sane?

Is China’s goal to decimate the US economy, and in their weakness, allow the Russians to come through and steamroll the USA with nukes?

No, China’s goal has been to raise the standard of living and GDP of all of China’s 1.4B citizens and to be the leader in many industrial sectors through its Made in China 2025 development program. Since the Chinese government sets economic and development policy, it has encouraged Chinese industries to move up the value chain and let more labor-intensive industries relocate to other countries such as Bangladesh, Vietnam and Thailand.

Since the Communist Party of China has control of society and major state-owned enterprises, it is able to channel China’s human and economic resources much more effectively than any G-7 country can. This means that China has an advantage in how quickly it can change, and in the scale of the change.

China is an elephant which can tap-dance.

But this feature was not introduced to decimate the US or to help the Russians steamroll the US with nukes.

This system developed because Chinese society is the most competitive in the world, and for this reason, Chinese believe that China needs to work hard to be competitive in a rapidly changing international economic environment.

Americans and Chinese have completely different attitudes to change. China’s economy and society have changed more in the past 50 years than they have at any other time in China’s long history. This means that Chinese are comfortable with new technologies, with working hard to stay competitive, and constantly adapting.

Americans, for the most part, do not like change. Instead of learning, embracing change and continuously adapting, most Americans reject change. Many implicitly believe that the rest of the world should embrace the American way, so that Americans don’t have to change. The division in US politics is all about rejecting change instead of embracing it. Many Americans view the future with fear and trepidation.

This includes many US government policymakers. This is also the reason behind questions such as this one on Quora.

It is fear based on laziness and ignorance.

The simple truth is that we are architects of the future, but many in the west are too lazy to do the work.

The only place they are not lazy is in finger-pointing.

What’s the most offensive thing you’ve heard when someone assumed you didn’t understand their language?

I worked for a few years in a Chinese restaurant while in my teens and twenties. All the guys from the restaurant lived and worked together.

We were out in an Asian restaurant in Chinatown one night and a very well dressed Chinese man comes to the table and approaches one of my friends speaking to him in Cantonese, of course. I’m the only non-Asian at the table.

The guy exchanges the usual pleasantries with my friend, then asks him why he’s eating with white people. They move on to another subject, but then he returns to dirty, barbarian white people line. He tells my friend he wants to pick up dinner but won’t pay for the “Lofahn”.

I can see my friend is pretty embarrassed as he knows I understand everything that was said. I was going to thank the guys for all his kind words and compliment him on his astute observations.

Unfortunately, this would have caused my friends at the table to lose face, so when he was leaving I wished him a good night in Cantonese leaving him to wonder if I knew…

Britain’s Plan To Disrupt Hong Kong Is Doomed To Fail, Experts Confirmed!

How stupid is the UK? Really!

https://youtu.be/ABYWz7r44MY

Chinese Doctors

The doctor(s) keep telling me that high blood pressure is not a problem. They say “you cannot die from high blood pressure“. And this, of course, is the Chinese stance on the matter. That blood pressure is dynamic, and not static, that it goes up and it goes down. And that you want to manage your lifestyle to keep it in a relatively low state, but not to get upset if it raises up high.

Meanwhile the Western advice for what my current blood pressure seems to be is…

Which is quite different from the Eastern belief.

When I entered the hospital emergency room, my blood pressure was 214. The Western medical advice and warnings are…

I think that it was prudent that I went to the emergency room, no matter what the doctors say. And I most certainly did not want to endure a stroke or a heart attack.

You all, please be careful and safe.

Today…

In the military, have you ever seen a superior officer berate a junior officer for giving enlisted unnecessary grief?

In 1973 while a specialist (E4) in the 82d Airborne Division, I had to draw a travel pay advance to go TDY (temporary duty) for 179 days.

This was well before direct deposit or electronic payments.

We actually got paperwork processed then went to a teller’s window who dispersed cash.

When I arrived at the division finance center the waiting area was full to overflowing.

As I found a place along the wall to stand a soldier near me said, “You’ll be here a while. ”

He pointed to another soldier and said he had been there two days in a row before that day attempting to get an advance to go home on emergency leave.

Several other soldiers confirmed what he said. They too kept returning and waited their turn until time for the center to close, then they returned to their barracks and came back the next day.

After an hour or so with only a couple of troops called to the desk to be processed (by now it was late morning) a full Colonel arrived and signed the waiting list at the front.

As he took a place along the wall one of the soldiers told him he would have a long wait. Someone else told him about the guy who needed to go on emergency leave.

After about 30 minutes, the colonel went to the clerk at the sign in desk and asked to speak to his boss.

The clerk went to the back office area and returned with a senior NCO, E6 or E7 as I recall. The sergeant asked the colonel how he could help him.

The colonel replied, “I asked to see this clerk’s boss, the person in charge here.” The Sergeant said, “I’m his boss.”

The colonel then said “I want to see the OIC (Officer In Charge) out here, right now.”

He was very polite and spoke in a slightly lower volume than if in a normal conversation, however when he approached the sign in desk all conversation in the room ceased and we could hear what he had to say.

Full Colonels, O-6s, don’t like to be kept waiting.

The Sergeant (staff sergeant or sergeant first class) went to the office area and returned from a small separate office with a junior officer, a captain if I recall correctly.

Very respectfully the finance officer asked the colonel how he could help him.

The colonel said he was going on TDY and needed his advanced travel pay. The finance officer said, “Yes sir we’ll get you taken care of right away.”

The colonel then said “I need to leave tonight.”

“Yes sir, no problem.” was the reply. The colonel said “

All these men that were signed in before me are ahead of me. They will get their money before my advance gets processed. Are we clear on that, Captain?”

A very red-faced, obviously shaken junior officer, now sweating bullets, assured him everyone in the waiting area would be processed that day.

It was amazing how quickly paperwork was processed after that.

The guy waiting for emergency leave was called back almost immediately and the rest of us were taken care of very expeditiously in the order in which we signed in.

The colonel was looking out for men who weren’t directly in his chain of command but he made sure everyone was taken care of appropriately.

He could have “pulled rank” and left with his money in just a few minutes.

He could have made one phone call to division headquarters and had the officer and the NCOIC replaced, but a low key, on the spot correction resolved the immediate issue.

I’m sure the situation was discussed with both the OIC and NCOIC privately and in much greater detail later.

That was an experience I learned from and never forgot as I rose through the enlisted, warrant officer and commissioned officer ranks during my 24 years of service.

Chili Louisiana-Style

Yield: about 3 quarts

Ingredients

2 pounds ground beef
1 pound ground hot sausage
2 medium onions, diced
1 green bell pepper, diced
1 whole clove garlic
1/2 teaspoon oregano
1/2 teaspoon black pepper
1 tablespoon chili powder
1 (15 ounce) can stewed tomatoes
1 (15 ounce) can tomato sauce
3 (15 ounce) cans New Orleans style kidney beans, drained
Louisiana hot sauce, to taste (optional)

Instructions

Combine first four ingredients and brown in a large frying pan. Drain all excess fat.
In a large slow cooker, combine all the remaining ingredients. Add the cooked meat mixture. Cook on LOW overnight.
Remove garlic clove before serving.

When men have NOTHING left to lose. The masculinity crisis pushed too far.

Men being treated like second-rate citizens in the modern day is nothing new, but what happens when they end up being pushed to the very edge? Men were not designed to lie down and be taken advantage of. Eventually, all men rise up against oppression and take their final stand. This is a frightening world we’ve created.

https://youtu.be/aOnsLtmIPb8

On a plane, is it rude to ask someone to move to another seat so you can sit with your friends or family?

Literally this just happened to me a few days ago. I live in Virginia (USA) and I was flying to Athens, Greece. We booked the trip on a Saturday and left three days later, very last minute. Because it was an overnight flight and more than 9 hours we purchased the tickets in business class so we could recline to sleep. I like to read before sleeping so I purposefully selected (on Saturday) the window seat so I could lean up again the wall and look out the window while reading. As soon as I got onboard and got to my seat (hadn’t even sat down yet!) the woman in the aisle asked me switch with her husband who was seated on the middle row on the aisle. I said “No thank you, I’m good with where I booked”. I was polite but firm. Later during the flight she asked when I had booked and I said three days ago and she said that they had booked months before. What actually irritated me was that MONTHS went by where she (they) could have adjusted their seats to be together. Why then does it become MY problem to give up what I paid for. So yes, I find it exceedingly rude to ask someone to give up their seat.

P.S. Athens, Mykonos and Santorini were fabulous and I can’t wait to go back!

Why does the West vehemently back Israel?

They don’t

Get your facts straight

The West has a history of Anti Semitism that would make your blood run cold

I don’t mean just Uncle Heini

Jews have been deported enmasse from 8 European Countries from the 12th century to the 20th in their thousands, forced to live in Ghettos, speaking a slavish language Yiddish for the most part

Guess where they were treated better than in Europe?

Yep.

The Middle East , the Muslims

The Jews had their best time under the Ottoman Empire and with the Arabs. Both sides minding their own business

And once again who ruined it?

Yep

The West – in the form of the United Kingdom

This is Klaus Barbie – a Psycopathic Anti semite who sent many jews to their death in camps during WWII

He was the butcher of LYONS

Yep that’s France

Frenchmen, Poles, Czech and Ukrainians watched and silently endorsed the slaughter of Jews and making them soap , a term that our friend Jean-Marie Valheur takes such strong offense against

Auschwitz, Riga, Sachenhausen – they aren’t in Moscow or Beijing or Delhi or Tehran

They are in Europe

This gutter dreg who took orders from Himmler or his men and who had jewish blood on his hands

He got a standing ovation in Canada

Standing Ovation!!!!

So dont ever say the West backs Israel

The West wants a guard dog in the Middle East just like you want a Foreman in prison, in case the inmates get violent

The West believe the Middle East is their playground and to keep things in order, fund organizations and terror groups and keep organizing small and large scale chaos

Israel does what it’s told

As simple as that

The West will never see Israel as part of it’s Anglo Saxon heritage

Not even Eastern Europe whose idiots think they are a part of the grand alliance of the West

They aren’t

The West is US, UK, Canada, Australia, New Zealand, Switzerland, France, Germany, Belgium, Netherlands, Austria, Italy and Scandinavia

Every one else from Spaniards to Slavs to Greeks to Jews to Balts to Chinese to Indians to Malays to Serbs are expendable and will be dropped like hot potatoes if it suits the West

How powerful is the Triad? Does the triad engage in a gunfight with the Chinese police?

The Triads? They’ve long since become regular business men.

The last triad gunfights were in the UK around 1997 vs the Vietnamese gangs. The Vietnamese gangs had guns the Chinese triads didn’t.

The last gunfights in Asia were Yip Kai Foon. He had a type56 Chinese AK and rarely got into gunfights. He eventually did get into a gunfight with police and was hit in the spine and captured shortly after.

What is the fastest anyone has been fired from a job?

I got fired during my interview.

I had already been given the job. Been told my start date and salary. The owner was my brother in laws father.

I had sat and chatted with him one evening having just left the army. He told me the job was mine. But he had already arranged the interviews so told me he had to go through with them but inserted me into the interview process.

I mean this job couldn’t of been more nailed on. Ever.

Anyway. I was so blasé about it. I went into the interview not even thinking it was an interview and chatted away to him. Next thing I’m laughing and joking with him about my time in the army. About the crazy funny antics we got up to. Like skidding tanks. Trying to spin the tracks on tanks in the mud. Breaking so hard to see how much you could nose down.. how I run my colnel of the road snaking down the road in a tank. I thought I was hilarious. I thought he thought I was hilarious

This was for a job as an articulated truck driver.

I even walked out pleased with how it went. Absolutely clueless

Needless to say. I got a call next day saying I didn’t get the job.

The most ridiculous part of this story is that the penny didn’t drop for years for me. I just assumed he had only given me an interview to keep the family happy. That I was never going to get the job and was annoyed he’d wasted my time.

It was only 20 odd years later I had that awful.cringe moment. Like. Oh god! No! Did i actually go into an interview for a driving job. Bragging about how irresponsible a driver I could be. Yes. I did.

A need to rewrite marriage laws

The latest generation is simply not getting married, and will result in this…

Do the Chinese know how much worse a war with the United States would be for their country than for the Americans?

Terry, you have everything upside down.

China and the Chinese do not have to be reminded of the horror of wars. They have the century of humiliation that reduced their entire country to destitution and hundred of million dead. It is this existential awareness that is in fact going overdrive to ensure this never ever happen again.

On the other hand, the U.S. has never been touched by war because of geography – not WWI, not WWII. This is why after WWII it is only the U.S. and our industrial base coming out totally unscathed that allowed for our hegemony.

We’re the clueless.

And today, it is the U.S. who must be reminded that we have a peer military power. China has the capability to kick our ass if we try an offensive run at them and can accommodate in kind with a nuclear MAD. So, how is it that they will suffer more in case of war with us?

Have you ever gone for a date without knowing it was a date?

I went to a late afternoon house party at a neighbor who lived a block over from my house.

The host was wealthy. She had a beautifully designed Tuscan, two-storied house, with art of various styles and sizes adorning the walls throughout.

Although I was younger than most by decades, everyone was very welcoming to young buck Sean.

Everyone had brought a dish of food and they had some music playing.

My intention was to just stay for an hour, make the rounds, introduce myself to some neighbors and get to know them as it was rare to see a lot of these people that I shared close proximity with.

(For the record, I wasn’t a freeloader – I’d made brownies that I’d brought with me as well.)

There’s a crowd of us on the back porch talking. I’m in a circle with the host, her daughter, and 4 other people.

So out of the blue, the host says, “We’ll just let you two talk for a bit.”

And everyone evaporates into the house and here I am stuck on this back porch with her daughter.

It felt like I blinked and the world disappeared and I was locked in a closet with a stranger.

“So Sean – do you like it here in Tampa?”

You’ve got to be kidding me. This is a setup…..

She was pretty and friendly enough.

However she was not my type and I was not psychologically/emotionally prepared to be on a date that moment. My ex and I had broken up 2 days before this.

I got through it. We spoke and I stayed long enough so as not to be rude and/or hurt her feelings. Then I went home, curled up in a ball and sucked my thumb.

But hey – at least the experience made for an OK Quora answer.

My pain for your pleasure.

Did he handle this situation properly?

Making a day better

Yesterday, we had a horrible customer at the restaurant, he yelled at the bartender because we didn’t have club soda. The bartender explained we don’t have club soda because we don’t have liquor (just beer and wine) and therefore we don’t have a soda gun behind the bar. He didn’t like that.

Then he asked for a cheese that we don’t have, even after she read him the cheeses we did have – twice. She explained we don’t have that cheese. Then he LOST it and started yelling at her as if she was hoarding the world’s supply of this cheese for herself. Ridiculous.

He eventually left in a big huff and every other person within earshot of his temper tantrum was thankful.

Even after he left we still had a black cloud over us. Admittedly, we let this man and his behavior affect our day.

That is until an older gentleman and his adult son came into the restaurant and changed our whole mood. They are relatively new regulars (started coming in a month or so ago). The son has Down Syndrome and his father takes care of him throughout the day.

The father is very talkative, but his son (Peter) never spoke to us – he was always happy to eat his sandwich and bop along to the music (he really likes Grateful Dead songs).

As they were getting ready to leave, the father waved us over. We got to the table and Peter looked up at us and said…

“I’m happy here, I see you give out hugs, can I have a hug?”

We happily raised our hands to start the hug and he quickly pulled us in and gave us the strongest bear hug we’ve ever received in our life. He lifted us off the ground – anyone that has ever met us face-to-face will attest, that is no easy task.

Thank you Peter, with one (just shy of unbearably strong) hug, you made our entire day better (and gave us a free back (alignment) You’re an awesome man.

What are your thoughts on the Israel-Palestine conflict?

Regardless of the military outcome of the war in Gaza, America, and Israel are already big losers. In a UN resolution calling for an immediate ceasefire and a humanitarian corridor in Gaza, a staggering 120 countries voted in favor. Only 12 other states backed America and Israel. Massive protests are erupting in major cities around the world, from Sydney, London, Paris, New York to Washington, and across much of the Muslim world. Israel has the audacity to question UN’s legitimacy after it passed the unfavorable resolution and doubled down by demanding an apology from Secretary-General Guterres and his resignation for condemning Israel’s indiscriminate bombing in Gaza.

The biggest losers are, sadly, the Palestinian people. Consider these sobering facts. Fully 85% of Hamas fighters are orphans who grew up in hate, many as young as 12 who stand shorter than the rifles they carry. Thousands of children are buried alive in the rubble, and thousands of expectant mothers are denied medical care because hospitals are either bombed, overstretched, or critically short of essential supplies. It is a humanitarian disaster on a scale unseen since the last world war. Israel keeps killing while the whole world watches—in its own shameful Holocaust against the poor Palestinians.

Brushing aside the UN resolution, Netanyahu seems constitutionally incapable of compromise. Turkey calls him a war criminal and is crouching to strike, as is Iran. The 6th full-scale Israeli-Arab war looms.

When Hamas killed and captured Israeli civilians, they were crucified by Western politicians and pundits. But as Netanyahu made good his threat to reduce Gaza to rubble in a frenzy of murderous bombing that took the lives of aid workers, journalists, women, and children, world opinion swiftly shifted. Four European minnows plus eight tiny Pacific Island states like Fiji opposed the resolution, as their support can affordably be bought. Even traditional staunch Israeli and American allies voted to abstain.

The root cause of the conflict is Israel’s 50-year-long brutal suppression of Palestinians, who subsist as stateless people in their own country. In World War II, Jewish people won universal sympathy as the oppressed. Now, they have mutated into brutal oppressors themselves. Netanyahu has Nazified the Israeli military.

In a fatal strategic miscalculation, the US rushed warships to the combustible region, ostensibly to deter Iran from entering the conflict. But Biden is sending a wrong and strong signal that emboldens the bloodthirsty Netanyahu to carry out his Gaza massacre. America has failed to put Bibi on a leash and he is spilling oceans of blood.

This conflict has reshuffled the geopolitical deck, with Yemen, Syria, and Lebanon already engaging Israel sporadically. Heavy hitters like Turkey and Iran are crouching and poised to pounce. Russia, too, is entering the equation, airlifting supplies to Gaza and threatening all-out war if its planes are fired upon. The war in Ukraine is becoming a side-show, with NATO support possibly waning or wavering. China is seen as a potential credible mediator. America, by contrast, stands discredited as a meddler, aiding and abetting Israel’s unjust war against a downtrodden people. It is fast losing its halo as the world’s self-appointed policeman.

If the war widens, America and Israel will be fighting on multiple fronts. I see no long-term winners, even if Israel wipes Hamas off the map. Genocidal oppression breeds its own revenge and lethal vicious circle. That is why Netanyahu, the butcher of Gaza, is a danger to Israel’s legitimate existence. China is walking taller among nations. That explains the mild thaw in US-China relations during the Chinese foreign minister’s recent visit to Washington. Both Blinken and Biden notably toned down their anti-China rhetoric. With two wars raging, America reluctantly seeks dialogue to restore bilateral relations to a normal footing.

Wars are notoriously unpredictable. Who will emerge on the right side of history? No one knows. But one thing is certain: injustice is inherently unstable. Regardless of military muscle, with shifting allegiances on a crowded planet, world opinion matters.

Has someone ever been fired because of you?

Absolutely and I would do it again!

I was in line at a market and there was just one person ahead of me. The assistant manager was at the register and just as the person in front of me left, the regular cashier returned from her break.

Instead of simply walking away and letting her take care of me, he turned to her and began yelling at her because she was 3 minutes late coming back from her break! “How dare you take up my time, I am way more important than you and I could fire you for this!!” he screamed, as I was standing there waiting to pay for my groceries and leave.

The poor girl was incredibly embarrassed and turned to me to apologize and I lost it!

I looked him square in the eye and said “How dare you dress down a staff member in public! I manage a staff of 60 and would NEVER yell at my staff in front of anyone because it is incredibly unprofessional and embarrassing for every person standing in this line! Where is the manager?” I asked and proceeded to hunt him down.

I spent 10 minutes dressing down the manager in his office and told him that I would take it to the corporate level if that man was not promptly fired for his actions.

I found out later that he had been harassing this poor girl for weeks and no one had gone to the manager about it out of fear of retribution. I never again saw that assistant manger and later heard that he was fired on the spot after I left. The staff was so much nicer and happier without him there and I received a personal letter of apology from the manager that thanked me for letting him know what had happened that day.

BTW, I have done this 3 other times at different places and had the same outcome at all of them. I am not looking for someone to be fired when I walk in the door, but I know what it feels like to have a boss that thinks it’s okay to terrorize his staff and I refuse to allow it to happen in front of me ever again.

No one has the right to go after a staff member in front of customers. It is unprofessional and makes those in charge look like they are power hungry bullies who out of control.

Someone has to be the champion of those who are too afraid to speak because they are so afraid to lose their job, and being the loudmouth that I am, I am happy to step up!

A tiny tiny house

What is the cheapest thing you’ve seen a mega-rich person do?

I am a pediatric dentist. I had a patient who was autistic and had ADHD (male, 5 years) with a huge swelling on his cheek because of an infected tooth. Generally, 5 years old understand and sit on the chair, but because of his problems, he just wouldn’t sit and made a mayhem in the clinic. My assistant then restrained the child and we drained the pus.

Now, the mother started to cry when the payment part came. She told us she was separated from her husband and he wasn’t paying support. Because of the special child, she couldn’t even work, so please make it free.

Thankfully, my assistant knew her. She and her husband had two apartments worth 7 cr each in Mumbai and were in the middle of a deal worth another couple crores. My assistant was with the broker who had initiated the deal, so he knew for sure. But the lady wouldn’t budge. At the end, she paid 50 percent and left, and didn’t turn up for the next appointment.

Fast forward a month, the kid had swelling and pain again, because of the incomplete treatment. She pleaded to come, and promised to pay. But this time, because of the pain, the kid didn’t allow me to even have a look. He was feverish and in a bad condition.

So I told the parents (dad had also come) that the kid would need a treatment under general anesthesia in a proper hospital. We explained everything, they nodded with great interest, then asked for the cost. It was going to cost more than a lakh.

The dad straightaway asked me to slash my charges completely. Because, anyway I was earning from rest of the patients and didn’t really need the money. Then he asked for the cheapest hospital possible. I told him I don’t go to charitable places because of questionable hygiene, and lack of ICU. I don’t compromise with the safety. He then argued for an hour over the charges. I refused to budge. I have done numerous free cases, but I wasn’t going to do charity here. He then asked me to wait for two months as he had enquired about an insurance plan, and the wait period was two months. And give the kid medicines to stop the pain.

I was aghast. I told him the kid needed treatment now. All his teeth were in a bad shape. And medicines wouldn’t help after a while, and it wasn’t his decision to make. The medicines also have numerous side effects, if given unmonitored.

Then he started to blame me for the charges. I politely told him to go to a govt hospital where he would be treated for free. He declined, because they had a really long waiting list, just to be seen.

Lastly, he told me to go ahead, but that if his kid had any problem post treatment, he would see me in the court.

I folded my hands, and asked him to leave. Anyway I didn’t want to treat after such a long argument. And no one wants to work under threats.

He got furious and stormed out. We heaved a sigh of relief.

He kept calling for the next few days, bargaining. Even told me he would refer me ultra rich patients if I treated his boy for free.

No thanks, I said. I am happy with my patients who trust me.

So, a super rich man and his wife(at least for me) declining urgent healthcare for his kid to save money and insulting the doctor is the cheapest and most despicable person for me.

Cooter (Turtle) Stew

Ingredients

2 to 3 pounds cooter*
2 quarts water
4 tablespoons cooking oil
4 tablespoons all-purpose flour
2 large onions, peeled and chopped
2 tablespoons minced garlic
10 peeled, seeded tomatoes or 2 large cans tomatoes
1 small can tomato paste
3/4 cup chopped celery
1 cup green spring onion tops
1 pinch each paprika and cayenne
4 bay leaves
1 1/4 cups good sherry (not cooking sherry)
1 tablespoon molasses or brown sugar
6 to 8 hardboiled eggs, chopped
3 potatoes, peeled and cubed
Seasoned salt and fresh ground pepper to taste
1/4 cup crumbled bacon

* Substitute dark-meat chicken, catfish, veal, or all three.

Instructions

Cover meat with water and parboil on medium heat for 20 minutes.
Set aside to cool and then trim to small chunks. Skim fat from broth and set aside.
Heat oil to just short of smoking. Stir in flour and cook, stirring constantly, for 15-20 minutes to make a dark roux.
Add big onions, garlic, tomatoes and tomato paste.
Add 4 cups of reserved broth and meat and cook 30 minutes on medium-high.
Add celery, spring onions, seasonings, bay leaves, sherry and molasses or brown sugar and cook 30 minutes. Add water to thin stew, if needed.
Add chopped eggs and cook for 1 1/2 hours.
Add potatoes and cook 20 to 30 minutes longer, until potatoes are tender.
Taste and add seasoned salt and pepper.
Sprinkle bacon over top. Remove bay leaves.
Serve in large bowls with a salad on the side and hot bread, preferably corn bread made in a black iron skillet.

Makes 6 to 8 servings.

Big Cup of coffee

What is the best moment you witnessed in which somebody proved they weren’t “all talk”?

I watched an elderly man in San Francisco, on the tough corner of Eddy and Hyde streets, being threatened by a thuggish stranger on the street, and being told “I’ll kick your ass.”

The old man laughed, and said quietly, “No, you won’t.”

The thug made a quick move and the old man flinched. The thug laughed and said, “Scared?” The old man said, “Yes. And it’s not healthy to scare me.”

Suddenly the thug was on his back on the sidewalk and the old man was sitting on his chest and beating him across the face, still talking quietly, saying “You better not mess with strangers. I could easily kill you, but I won’t. But you’ll have enough pain so that you’ll remember this for a long [BAM] long [BAM] time.” [BAM]

The old man got up, dusted himself off, picked up his dropped belongings, and left the thug laying bleeding and dazed on the street.

The “Urban Alchemy” private security people across the street, stationed in the area as part of the city government’s last desperate attempt to maintain civil order in the anarchic “Tenderloin” district, didn’t even have time to react. It was over that quick.

I was in awe. My jaw literally dropped. I was walking ten feet behind them, I heard and saw everything. I’m pretty old myself, and I’m no stranger to street confrontations. I’ve never seen any such situation where the outcome was like that. Not ever.

And I’ve never envied one of the participants so much in my entire life.

Why was salt so valuable in ancient times and even used as a currency, when all you have to do to get it is let sea water evaporate in the sun?

It’s not that easy.

Yes, if you can get sea water to evaporate, you get salt. However, you need to get a lot of sea water to evaporate to get an appreciable amount of salt out of it. For that you need a lot of flat land by the seashore. It needs to be at or very close to sea level so that you can let the water roll in before you close off your salt pans. And you need a lot of warm, dry, sunny weather to evaporate the sea water and leave the salt behind. Land behind the sea shore rises too quickly? Can’t make salt. Too much rain? Can’t make salt. Storms driving large waves that wash over into the salt pans? Can’t make salt. Too cold or humid so evaporation is slow? Can’t make (meaningful amounts of) salt.

So it turns out that there are actually very few places where it’s actually feasible to make salt by evaporating sea water. So few that those very, very few places which can historically grew rich by doing it and salt mining could remain a viable competitor. Venice, for example, occupied a shallow lagoon backed up by marshes. The sheltered lagoon protected the marshes from large storm surges, the marshes weren’t too elevated to convert into salt pans, and the Mediterranean has a warm, sunny climate. Consequently, it first became wealthy in the salt trade. But you simply couldn’t do that around places like Genoa or Bruges, which had the wrong geography and/or the wrong climate. Sure, you can get salt out of sea water, but it’s a lot harder to do on an industrial scale with historical technology.

The lack of a father….

No longer human

On a somber note, the Israeli destruction on Palestine is a (text book) genocidal event. This is just as disturbing to me as the complete killing off of all the males in Ukraine.

There is something truly evil about the oligarchy that rules the West.

Their “heads aren’t screwed on tight”. They are unhinged and behaving in complete disregard for their fellow humans.

No care towards humanity.

Which means that they have evolved into something NOT HUMAN.

I shake my head in sadness.

As Everyone’s Lοοking At Ιsrael, Something Τruly Unbelievable Has Begun Ιn America

https://youtu.be/DA3aRJrAyOo

What is the craziest thing you’ve found in an old coat pocket?

The identity of a MURDERER!

I bought a used coat from a yard sale and months later, when it turned cold, I put the jacket on and noticed a hand written note in the left pocket. It had listed things to buy at Ace Hardware.

It said Lye, ropes, tape and a small shovel.

Next to the list was the actual receipt showing the stores name, what was bought and exactly when.

I thought it seemed suspicious so I took it to the local police and they ran the info I had against an unsolved murder case.

After pulling the archived video from Ace Hardware, it was clear who the man was and after interrogating him and his fake alibi, he broke down and admitted that he was the one who picked up a 22 year old hitchhiker and raped and murdered her.

He forgot about the note and receipt in his left pocket.

He was also left handed. Had he not written it himself, it would not have proved anything, but it matched the handwriting analysis.

He also had no idea his wife sold the old jacket in a yard sale months earlier. That simple task on her part, cost him his life and he sits on death row today.

You just never know what you’re gonna get for three dollars at a yard sale.

A strategic nightmare sneaks into Washington’s political agenda: Global Times editorial

By Global Times Published: Oct 14, 2023 12:38 AM

This is horrifying. -MM

A simultaneous war with China and Russia is a strategic nightmare that sober American strategists such as Henry Kissinger have been warning the US to avoid at all costs, and it is also a topic that some US media outlets have become more and more fond of talking about in recent years. At least from the publicly available information, Washington has never previously addressed it as a formal political agenda, supposedly aware of its seriousness and the terrible risks it carries. But the publication of a report by a congressionally appointed bipartisan panel titled America’s Strategic Posture crossed this “red line” on October 12.

The central point of the 145-page report is that the US must expand its military power, particularly its “nuclear weapons modernization program,” in order to prepare for possible simultaneous wars with China and Russia. Notably, the report diverges completely from the current US national security strategy of winning one conflict while deterring another, and from the Biden administration’s current nuclear policy. It is not a fantasy among the American public, but a serious strategic assessment and recommendation in the service of policymaking.

The 12-member panel that wrote the report was hand-picked by the US Congress from major think tanks and retired defense, security officials and former lawmakers. This report makes us feel that a “strategic nightmare” is sneaking into the US political agenda, but has not drawn due concern and vigilance in Washington, and to a large extent, the American elite group represented by the panel is actively working to make this nightmare come true.

A look at the specific recommendations of this report will send shivers down the spine of those who retain any basic rationality. The report recommends that the US deploy more warheads, and produce more bombers, cruise missiles, ballistic missile submarines, non-strategic nuclear weapons and so on. It also calls on the US to deploy warheads on land-based intercontinental ballistic missiles (ICBMs) and to consider adding road-mobile ICBMs to its arsenal, establishing a third shipyard that can build nuclear-powered ships, etc.

What depths of insanity is the US sinking to? The US’ military spending accounts for nearly 40 percent of the world’s total defense expenditures, and it has been growing dramatically for several years, with military spending in 2023 reaching $813.3 billion, more than the GDP of most countries, but even that is not enough for these politicians. Such a report full of geopolitical fanaticism and war imagery, whether or not it actually ends up as a “guide” for Washington’s decision-making, is dangerous and needs to be resisted and opposed by all peace-loving countries.

According to some American media, the report ignores the consequences of a nuclear arms race. In fact, the report doesn’t seem to consider this at all and doesn’t suggest any measures other than nuclear expansion to address this issue. In other words, it is a reckless approach. Both China and Russia are nuclear powers, and everyone knows that provoking a confrontation between nuclear powers is a crazy idea. Even promoting a nuclear arms race under the banner of “deterrence” is a disastrous step backward in history. Washington’s political elites, who lived through the Cold War, cannot be unaware of this. However, the fact that such an absurd and off-key report is being presented in all seriousness by the US Congress is both surreal and unsurprising. It is in line with the distorted political atmosphere in Washington today.

The motives behind this exaggeration of threats and creating a warlike atmosphere are highly suspicious. The recent outbreak of the Israeli-Palestinian conflict caused a sharp increase in US defense industry stocks, while American defense industry companies have also been the biggest beneficiaries of the long-standing Russia-Ukraine conflict. The military-industrial complex, like a geopolitical monstrosity, parasitically clings to American society, manipulating its every move, pushing Washington step by step to introduce and even prepare for ideas that were once considered “impossible.”

The prosperity of the American military-industrial complex is built upon blood and corpses, and carries a primal guilt. Serving the interests of the American military-industrial complex is unethical.

The reality is that such rhetoric is becoming increasingly politically acceptable in today’s Washington. The idea of “preparing for possible simultaneous wars with Russia and China,” once a fringe fantasy, has gradually made its way into Washington’s agenda, which is deeply unsettling.

If Washington were to adopt even a small portion of the recommendations in this report, the harm and threats it could pose to world peace would be immeasurable and would ultimately backfire on the US itself.

There is an old Chinese saying: “Those who play with fire will perish by it.” This is something that is worth Washington’s careful consideration.

Have you ever bought a car that didn’t run and found that it was an easy fix?

In 1980 my boss had left the company and had planned to sell his very nice 1970 Buick LeSabre for $500. One Monday I came into my office and the keys to the Buick were on my desk with a note saying that the automatic transmission was bad and that it would cost more than the car was worth and that I could have it for $25 since that is all the wrecking yard would give him.

I picked up the car one evening and was able to make it part way home before the “transmission” problem occurred.

Fortunately, I was near the company parking lot where I left the car. The next morning, in daylight, with the help of my brother-in-law, we discovered that the “transmission problem” was actually the air conditioning compressor intermittently locking up and putting a severe drag on the engine.

Since it was fall in southern California, we just cut off the single belt that drove the AC compressor and the car ran great. Months later, a neighbor was putting a Chevy V8 into a Toyota pickup and gave me the AC compressor, which we installed on the Buick. And the AC worked perfectly.

I told my boss how we fixed the “transmission” problem and offered him $500 for the Buick.

He declined and said I should keep the car for $25.

I told him I didn’t want my wife driving a $25 car, so he agreed to $250.

That summer I decided to install an aftermarket cruise control unit on the Buick and while routing wires under the dash, I noticed a small spring, not unlike the ones in ball point pens, was broken in an AC/heater duct. I replaced that spring (cost was less than $1) and noticed that the AC was coming out of the dash vents where previously it was just coming from the floor.

When I next saw my former boss, he said that he had taken the Buick to the dealership to complain about the AC/heat not coming from the dash vents, and they told him that to fix the problem they would have to remove the dash and it would cost more than the car was worth.

I put an additional 100K miles on that car and only recall replacing the brakes and a distributor, in addition to routine maintenance. In 1992, as I was moving to Texas from NJ, a co-worker asked if I would sell him the car, which I did.

As an aside, my former boss went to work for a company that made high power gas lasers, costing at that time about $25,000.

At my next company, I needed one of those lasers. I happened to mention to my former boss at a conference that I hoped to buy one of those lasers, but didn’t have the budget.

A few weeks later, a high power gas laser unexpectedly arrived on the shipping dock!

I called my former boss and he said if and when I get the budget, let him know and he will replace the “loaner” laser with a new one. Probably a year or so later, I did find the money and paid for the “loaner” laser.

My former boss’s company also made an even higher power laser for $50,000. I later wondered if I had given him $500 for the car if he would have shipped a $50K “loaner.”

I would ask him, but he passed away, way too young, years ago.

Rest in peace, Dean…

Life in URUGUAY! – South America’s Richest and Safest Country

As an Uruguayan I want to make a comment. First, great video, mostly accurate expect for a couple of details.

When you show the ‘gauchos” those look more like people on horses from Bolivia or Peru, or even maybe somewhere in northern Argentina or Chile. Because, first of all, in Uruguay, the gaucho’s “poncho” is usually made of plain dark colors, and most important, we do not have mountains, like the ones you show. About population “skin” color, let me make some remarks.

The original population in Uruguay is around 90% of European descent, and when I say European I mean, from all over Europe, including countries like: Germany, Poland, Switzerland, Russian, Denmark, etc. Not only Southern Europe. So there are a lot of fair skin color people including blonde, blue eyes.

But what has been happening in the last decade is that there’s a large immigration wave, such as from the Caribbean countries, as well as from the rest of Latin America.

So, the demographic is changing rapidly because Uruguayan’s population as you established is very small, so the culture is also changing, including the food and even the language…

https://youtu.be/sTP44M2vQzk

How heavily does Apple depend on China, and what would happen if China decided to seek revenge for the Huawei ban by kicking Apple out of their market and supply chain?

2500 Foreigners have been invited to the Hangzhou Asian Games in China

Ordinary Foreigners

From US, Canada, Europe and Japan and South Korea

Fully paid for, Business Class Tickets, Five Star Pampering

All China asks them to do is to cover the Games on their Social Media (TikTok mainly or YT or Instagram)

The result is despite the Western Media almost entirely ignoring the Asian Games, a whopping 673 Million people worldwide are watching the events

This is China’s Strategy to counter thr Western Media

Not launching their own MSM and insanely and making accusations

Instead , they bring ORDINARY PEOPLE and treating them to what China looks like and spreading the message

A Popular Teenager goes home and says “Man do you know China is so different from what we hear in our TV channels”

Slowly this gains traction

It’s a long term plan targeting the 19–24 year olds today and gradually influencing the Younger Generation

The key reason is INFLUENCE

The 12–36 year old US Generation doesn’t view China as an enemy but as a neutral country or as a mutually beneficial country

Yet 36–65 year old Americans, the MSM influenced generation see almost 75% of them view China as an enemy

China is slowly influencing the younger generation and in a way that US simply cannot comprehend

Long term, slow and PATIENTLY

Every year you have 20,000 Vloggers invited to China and cover China positively

They influence around 60 Million -150 Million people

Tourvashu is one of these

He influences 2 Million Indians

Most are 16–20 year olds

More likely to watch Tourvashu than Palki Or Gravitas or Arnab

Slowly the Younger Indians will be influenced and say “Yaar Tune Chaayina ka wo Video dekha. Mast tha”

So you wonder why Apple is not banned. In China?

Same reason

It’s not the Chinese way

These Brash, Useless and Economically unsound tactics are not something the Chinese do

China will encourage Apple, use it as a gold standard to develop their own industry, and undercut the iphone eventually

Take the Chinese High Speed Rail

In 2005, Chinese imported exclusively their Boring Machines (Germany, Switzerland), Engines (Japan, Spain), Software (UK, Singapore, US) and Electronics (Japan, S Korea)

Today nearly 90% of their High Speed Rail Supplies are COMPLETELY MADE IN CHINA with same or better quality

They have decimated TBM markets in Germany with export shares plummeting from 69% in 2000 to 11% in 2023

Took them 17–18 years

That’s how China works

These loser protectionism bans don’t work for China

They COMPETE and UNDERCUT and enhance quality with competition

The Trump Ban begun in 2019

So the key is to see if China will beat the Apple and undercut the company by 2036–2037

I am willing to guarantee that they will

It’s what they do

Kind of their Mantra

Banning is what Losers do

Competing and beating with Economics is what Winners do

What is the smallest thing a person ever did for you that impacted your life?

When I was a young boy I used to get teased a lot in school and I didn’t have many friends. I was a fat kid and often got called a “fat slob”, “pig”, and “smelly or “stinky”. I took a bath at least once a week, more in the summer, and tried to keep clean so I knew I was just getting teased because I was fat. When I was eleven my best friend’s mom drove us home from baseball practice one day. Out of the blue she turned to me in the back seat and said, “Andy, you smell and you need to bathe more often.” She did not say it in a mean way but in a stern businesslike manner. My best friend was horrified and said nothing.

When I got home I immediately took a shower and wondered about what was going on. Obviously, I’d been sweaty from practice but she must have known that. As I thought it over, it also dawned on me that my skinny little sister often got teased as “smelly” too. I’d always assumed she got it from association with me, not because she smelled. So I told my mom what happened and asked her to tell me honestly if I smelled. She said, “no” and started to get a little upset about my best friend’s mom saying that to me.

I went to play outside and saw one of my classmates across the street. We had an on-again/off-again friendship up to that point. I guess we were what you might call “frenemies” today but at this point in time, we were more on the friendly side. I decided to get his opinion believing he wouldn’t hold back. In fact, he had teased me before about being smelly. So I asked him straight-up, “Do I smell?” He answered very matter-of-factly, “yes”. “My sister too?” “Yes, her too,” he replied. Then I asked him what we smelled like. He then told me that this had actually been a subject of discussion among his family who did not want me or my sister in their house because of our smell. He said his parents said we smelled like “old books”. Immediately, this brought to mind the set of Encyclopedia Britannicas I had in my bedroom closet. I immediately went home to check them out. Not only were they covered in mold but vast sections of my closet and room had mold. In fact, I found it throughout our home. But it didn’t smell to me. I was used to it. We all were. We lived in the woods surrounded by soggy tree pools so our home was often damp. We had no AC nor did we need it. This was back in 1972 before the internet and all the scares about the dangers of mold.

I told my mother what I’d learned and was able to convince her this was what was causing my sister and me to smell and probably her too. We cleaned everything with bleach, aired out the house, and bought dehumidifiers. From then on I showered every day. My friends all told me I no longer smelled. That following summer I also worked my ass off to get physically fit. I don’t know how many more years I might have suffered but for this very simple and brutally honest admonition from my friend’s mother. To this day, my best friend of 58 years still tells me how embarrassed he was that his now-deceased mother said that to me. And I always remind him she did me one of the greatest favors of my life.

Flip Flop Cherry Cobbler

Yield: 6 to 8 generous portions

Ingredients

1/2 cup butter
1 cup granulated sugar
2 cups all-purpose flour
4 teaspoons baking powder
1/2 teaspoon salt
1 cup milk
8 cups cherry pie filling
1/2 cup granulated sugar

Instructions

Coat a 9 x 13 inch baking dish with cooking spray.
With an electric mixer, cream the butter and sugar.
In a separate bowl, combine flour, baking powder and salt. Add to butter mixture alternating with the milk; mix until well combined.
Spread batter evenly into prepared pan.
Top with filling and sprinkle with sugar. Cover and freeze.
To bake: Thaw completely in refrigerator.
Bake at 375 degrees F for 40 minutes or until browned.

Mighty China Remove All Iran Sanctions Placed By U.S and E.U

In this eye-opening video, we explore the shifting dynamics of power and influence between Iran, the United States, and China. With the U.S. imposing stringent sanctions on Iran, China steps in to form a strategic alliance, challenging the global power balance. Learn more about the economic, political, and strategic implications of this trilateral relationship and how it could shape the future of global geopolitics.

What was one experience in your life that hardened you as a person?

Going anonymous because it is a part of my life that not even my closest friends are aware of.

This is from the time when I was 12 years old. My mom had a problem where her breast would develop lumps which would have to be removed surgically. This problem started before I was born and she would undergo these procedures every couple of years. We lived in a small town with limited access to advanced medical facilities, but the doctors always told us that the lumps were not malignant.

When I was 12, this one lump was growing very big. My dad (who is a doctor himself) decided to take her to Delhi to get some tests done. I have two elder sisters and we (me, my sister and my parents) live with my grandparents.

So, my parents were away in Delhi and my grand mother would spend the day on the phone talking to relatives, spreading rumors that my mom actually had cancer and saying that we three are a burden on them and that they just want my parents to come and get us off their head.

My sisters, who were older and more mature, would mostly stay in their room, but I, by nature liked to be outside with my mom and in her absence, my granny. Hearing these things used to hurt me, but I wouldn’t tell my sisters since I knew they’d be hurt even more.

I started taking up house-work with my granny (though we had help by my granny used to crib that we 3 were a burden)-cooking half meals, helping with washing clothes. All this I did without my sisters’ knowledge (or they’d never have let me do it).

This was a time when mobiles didn’t exist in India and fixed line phones were the only means of communication. News from my parents used to reach us with a lag. We just kept praying that our mom comes back safely.

After tests at AIIMS (top hospital in India), our parents returned awaiting results and my granny immediately left for my aunt (her daughter’s) place citing she needed “rest”.

Results came in-the growth didn’t seem malignant but needed a fairly complicated medical procedure in Chandigarh. These were times when my dad was under a lot of financial pressure (though my grandparents were well-off and my dad was the only son). My dad requested my granny over call that they need to leave immediately and that though he had applied for their life savings-their FDs to be broken, but if it doesn’t happen on time, if my grandparents could lend money till the FD money could reach home.

Unbelievably, my granny just didn’t come home! She made my aunt call in saying she would stay longer at her place and that my parents can leave for the surgery! I still remember my dad almost crying, not sure if he would be able to arrange money on time to save his wife (the tumour had grown visibly big). By God’s grace, the FDs broke a day before they had to leave and they left us alone, at the trust of the neighbours who were more helpful than my grandparents!

It was a long, painful time when my mother received treatment-a surgery which lasted 9 hours, where doctors almost gave up hope, where she was on ventilator support for days. All this while, I kept hearing from my granny’s conversations as she invited friends over, that it was certainly cancer, that such complicated surgeries could only be for cancer. It kept on making the 12-year old me scared as I knew cancer is something bad, it is something that can take away my mom.

We first got a chance to speak to our mom after 35 days when she managed to call from a hotel after her discharge. Those 35 days had been a struggle beyond my imagination for my parents (which they told me much later when I was around 20). With just my dad for company-he had managed everything from sleeping on hospital floors to washing my mom’s clothes.

My mom has recovered fully and still prays everyday for the doctors who cured her.

My dad still hates my grand parents, and I don’t feel any love for them wither.

My grand dad passed away a few years ago and we still live with my granny because my mom still thinks its our duty.

But, the pain is still there, the fear that the 12-year old felt is still there ,the betrayal is still feels fresh when I see my granny.

I grew up in those 2 months, chopped off my hair because I had long hair and my granny wouldn’t help manage them.

I hardened, realized I only have my parents and my sisters who will stand by me, and I will stand by them till I die.

I realised the world is cruel, looking at my relatives’ behaviour in that period.

The child in me died.

Why do rich people work even after they become rich? Why don’t they play?

“Dad, when will you retire?” I asked him one day.

“Hector, I retired before you were born,” he laughed.

Confused, I asked again, “Be honest, Dad, I mean, when will you stop working?”

His response was simple, “Working? What’s work? I don’t know what work is.”

“OK, Dad, forget about it,” I said as I assumed he wasn’t willing to talk about this.

“Hector,” he said, “what you know as my job is not work for me. I enjoy architecture so much that I could do this 24/7. This is who I am. Architecture is my life.”

So, to answer your question, why do rich people work even after they become rich? Why don’t they play?

My father lived to be 91 and worked until his body gave up on him. He was a passionate architect who found joy in his work. That’s what kept him active and full of joy every day. His passion for architecture was infectious, and it taught me this valuable lesson about work as a lifestyle.

So, if you ask me about retirement or work-life balance, I’d say it’s better to find what you love and make it a part of your life. When you find that, you’ll stop working and start living. We achieve a balance not by separating work from life but by integrating what you love into your lifestyle.

Today, this is how I see it: It’s not about working less; it’s about loving more what you do.

That’s the secret to a fulfilling life. As my father always said, “The day you find what you love is when you will stop working.”

Heavy Rain forced Mother Cat to Carry her kitten in Streets, but No One Opened the Door for Them!

In the pouring rain, we spotted a soaked cat seeking shelter. Feeling sorry for her, we followed as she led us to her hidden kitten in the woods. We gently petted the mama cat, who had braved the relentless rain. The tiny, wet kitten needed our care, so we wrapped him in a warm blanket. Back at our home, where rescued cat families and foster cats live together happily, we ensured both mother and baby were dry and well-groomed. A vet visit ensured mama cat’s health, and we even gave the kitten a bath, revealing his adorable charm. The heartwarming reunion between mother and kitten was filled with playfulness and bonding, showing the strength of family ties.

https://youtu.be/-xzP2TMSoMQ

What is the best case of “You just picked a fight with the wrong person” that you’ve witnessed?

Here’s one example, regarding myself: I was working as a bouncer at a bar in Erie, Pa one night and some guy, about 24 years old or so was making quite a bit of trouble, harassing customers, pushing some, bullying others, etc.

He was somewhat high, but not drunk, and it seemed he was there just to harass and embarrass/humiliate some who were there with a date. He was pretty big, about 225 pounds and about 6 feet and acting like a real bully. When I was told about some guy doing these things ( He wasn’t near my door, but farther inside ), I went in to see what was up.

When I got there he was harassing some poor kid who was clearly scared and was with his girlfriend. As I approached, a few people pointed at this guy and said, “get him out if here, he’s an asshole.” .

I got up to him and very nicely told him to leave the kid alone and that he’d have to leave because he was causing too much trouble.

He looked at me, stood up as high as he could (I hate when they do that, like it matters), and said, “Who’s going to make me?” I said, simply, “me.”

He told me to get lost or he’d beat the shit out of me.

I said, “Well, let’s go outside and see who comes back in, and, if it’s you, you can stay.” He smiled, said,”I’m gonna enjoy this” and said, “let’s go” and we walked outside. By that time, everyone, including the other bouncer at my door knew what was going to happen.

The other bouncer, Tommy Williams, just stood at the door and smiled while we walked outside. Well, when we got out about 15 feet from the door, the moron suddenly turned and tried to hit me with a roundhouse kick which I not only blocked, but grabbed his leg and picked him up by the leg and threw him to the ground, saying, ”I don’t think karate is going to help you here.”

He jumped up and said, “how about this, asshole? and then tried a double leg takedown, as, apparently, at some time he was a wrestler. I actually laughed and said, “oh, you want to wrestle, huh?” and then as I countered his sad attempt, the other bouncer, who had heard everything, shouted out: “Wrestle? well you picked the right guy, he’s the National wrestling Champion……”

I just said, “You picked the wrong guy you moron,” and, as my friend, Tommy later said to me, I literally swept the parking lot with him.

I never saw him after two of his friends ended up taking either home or to the hospital.

He was a bully.

He got to feel like those he had bullied before.

I was NOT kind to him.

No regrets, but I bet he was kinda surprised when he heard the other bouncer tell him who I was, and he had no escape, as even as he said over and over, “I quit, I give up.”

I told him that it wasn’t up to him, It was my call and I wasn’t done yet.

That is a scary thing to realize, that you can’t quit, that it’s up to the guy beating the crap out of you. But I believe it has led others like that guy to never bully anyone again. Jeff

Have you ever met a dangerous person and not known it at the time?

Sat in a bar in South Pattaya one Sunday afternoon in 1991 I noticed a fairly fit looking bloke dressed only in flip flops and shorts. He suddenly ordered everyone a drink then turned to me and said “I see my friend that you are interested in my tattoos.” I wasn’t that interested but I wasn’t going to argue and let him tell me. One he’d got for some work in the Philippines – the other some thing in the Mekong Delta. A mahout then came by with a large elephant which the man went across to look at saying they’d always fascinated him. So I asked him where he came from – American Samoa he replied. And what did he do? He worked “for the government”.

He then stepped back and ordered another drink for everyone in the bar. I thanked him and he turned and said “Let’s eat and drink for tomorrow we may be dead”. He then looked me in the eye with the coldest eyes I’d ever seen and said “ You know it is very easy. I pick up the gun, I pull the trigger and they are gone.” It was evident he wasn’t bullshitting.

That evening I saw the bar owner – who comes from Texas – and mentioned this guy. “Oh yes that’s so and so – he’s a US Navy SEAL. Bad news when he’s drunk.”

Guess I can be thankful I met him whilst he was sober!

Atheist Overdoses; Shown Soul’s Process Of Pre-Life Planning (NDE)

Her story is powerful. All of her words should have been heard and none bleeped out….

What are your thoughts on the owner of Home Depot saying,” The rise of socialism is making people too lazy, fat, and stupid to work”?

If you are offended by profanity, best skip this response.

I, too, am in the top 1% of wealth holders in this country, albeit, on lowest rung, yet minimum wage at my small Inn is higher than it is at this billionaire cunt’s company. I have no problem finding employees. This piece of shit motherfucker sits on his yacht sipping pina coladas while his employees need a second job to just pay the bills to live their day to day lives.

This asshole supports the Republican Party with massive amounts of money, and as a wealthy person, I can tell you a thing or two about how tax laws work in this country. For those of you who make less than $250k a year but still vote Republican, your economic misery is your own fault. The Democratic Party has LOTS of problems, but one problem they don’t have is trying to make life better for the average person and if you stopped watching your choice of right wing media, you’d soon realize that. It’s people like this cunt who are destroying America and contributing NOTHING to it.

What did this prick do? He built a fucking store, massively exploited his workforce by grabbing all the loot for himself and then whining when ordinary people have had enough and don’t want to work for anymore. Fuck him, and his fellow cunt billionaires.

How do you know you are rich?

When I was doing my B Tech, there was a Professor Talukedar who used to teach us ‘Mechanics’.

His lectures used to be very interesting since he had an interesting way to teach and explain the concepts.

One day, in the class, he asked the following questions,

What is ZERO.
What is INFINITY.
Can ZERO and INFINITY be same.

We all thought that we knew the answers and we replied as following,

ZERO means nothing
INFINITY means a number greater than any countable number
ZERO and INFINITY are opposite and they can never be same

He countered us by first talking about infinity and asked, ‘How can there be any number which is greater than any countable number?’

We had no answers.

He then explained the concept of infinity in a very interesting way, which I remember even after more than 35 years.

He said that imagine that there is an illiterate shepherd who can count only upto 20.

Now, if the number of sheep he has less than 20 and you ask him how many sheep he has, he can tell you the precise number (like 3, 5 14 etc.). However, if the number is more than 20, he is likely to say “TOO MANY”.

He then explained that in science infinity means ‘too many’ (and not uncountable) and in the same way zero means ‘too few’ (and not nothing)

As an example, he said that if we take the diameter of the Earth as compared to distance between Earth and Sun, the diameter of earth can be said to zero since it is too small.

However, when we compare the same diameter of earth with the size of a grain, diameter of earth can be said to be infinite.

Hence, he concluded that the same thing can be ZERO and INFINITE at the same time, depending on the context, or your matrix of comparison.

The relationship between richness and poverty is similar to the relationship between infinity and zero.

It all depends on the scale of comparison with your wants.

If your income is more than your wants, you are rich.
If your wants are more than your income, you are poor.

I consider myself rich because my wants are far lesser than my income.

I have become rich not so much by acquiring lots of money, but by progressively reducing my wants.

If you can reduce your wants, you too can become rich at this very moment.

Ep 9. We just moved to Bulgaria! How is it going?

From the UK to Bulgaria.

Have you ever caught your spouse cheating on you in your own home? How did you deal with it?

I came home very sick with flu one day, went up to my bedroom, my husband was in my bed with the mail lady. I told them both to get the fuck out of my house. He argued that he needed sleep cuz he worked overnights. He needed his clothes and stuff. I told him all his clothes would be alongside the garage by Monday. It’s where the garbage is kept. Take a shirt and stuff he needed for tonight and get lost. Take a shower at her house or work. I packed up his stuff in garbage bags along with the topper to our wedding cake, some mementos from our honeymoon, I was being passive aggressive I agree, but how dare he sleep with her in our bed, in our home. We had a 2 year old and a 6 mos old. He was just wrong. He showed up a month later crying to me that she had broken up with him. I told him too bad, I didn’t feel bad for him in the least. I got the house( and mortgage) in the divorce. It was ok cuz I wanted the kids to stay in their home and school and I made more money, the root cause of the problem. He felt inadequate cuz I was a senior manager and he was doing maintenance work. This was no issue for me, just for him.

What caused you to fall out of love with your past lover?

When I first got married, we would be passionate everywhere, if you know what I mean, bed, floor, couch, where ever. We would do things for each other. And we enjoyed each other’s company. She was from Japan I am white american.

I learned to speak Japanese and we lived in Japan a few years and life was good. We had kids together, but over the years things grew cold between us.

They say that people change and you grow apart. I don’t think either of us changed. I doubt that most people change. What I suspected happened was that I would base my love on how much she loved me and visa versa. If she did something nice for me, I would do something nice for her. Or if I did something nice for her, she would do something nice for me.

That all sounds fine and dandy, but I think in practice, it doesn’t work. When I do something nice for her, I expect something of equal niceness in return. However, often is the case that you don’t perceive what is done in return is as valuable as what you gave him or her. So the next time you do something, you feel less inclined to do something as nice. And so the love kind of fizzles.

You basically stop caring because you perceive your partner as not caring. And chances are your partner feels the same way about you. Neither person has changed. They are both the same person, but the love isn’t there anymore. They let it spiral into nothingness.

That is what my wife and I did. After 20 some odd years of marriage, there was nothing. I really had no desire to do anything for my wife, because she wasn’t going to do anything for me. We didn’t hate each other. We helped each other when needed, but that is about all.

I was unhappy with the marriage. I either wanted out or I wanted it fixed. But after 20 years of marriage, I knew that she wasn’t going to try and fix the marriage. I knew that she thought I would not change so why should she have to do anything special and if I did change, it would only be temporary and things would go back to how they were, so why even try. I knew this would be her mind set.

So I had 3 options. Divorce, stay in the lifeless, sexless marriage, or take a chance and do something about it.

I thought perhaps divorce would be the better way. Start anew. She had given up on me and didn’t care.

But I decided to give it a try anyway. I completely revamped my approach. I decided that I would try for one year to fix this. I would not require her to do anything. I would just do these things on my own. If these things wooed her back then she would be back on her own terms and not mine.

So I did the following.

I committed to get into shape… better diet, exercise
I committed to do something special for her everyday regardless of whether we were getting along or not.
I committed to do at least an additional 30 minutes of house work every day.
I committed to pay her a sincere compliment at least once per day.
I committed not to fight with her and to only have calm arguments with her.
I decided to fix her dinner and breakfast as often as possible.
In essence I decided to love her every day.

As I thought, I got essentially no response from her day after day. I mean she would sometimes say thank you, but that was about it. After about four months she started to change. I kept at it. She continued to change. Ok.. she didn’t change. She was the same person, but she saw that I was trying. She saw that she was important to me. She saw that I wasn’t giving up. She wanted to be loved.

She started doing things for me again. We started talking a lot more and doing a lot more together. We started dating again and going on trips. It was almost like we were newly weds again, but with less passion, but it felt great. Sometimes I would just hold her in my arms for 30 minutes.

Love can be revived. It is not easy. True love takes work. Making the decision above to love her regardless was the second best decision of my life. The first of course was to marry her. Our marriage is not perfect, but I look forward to seeing her every day. She is an awesome woman. She is basically the same person I married. We just let our love die. We were lazy lovers. She asked me one day what got into me and I talked with her about my plan. I think it was a pretty good plan and so did she. And yes, we are still married, but much more happily now.

I knew our love couldn’t be one sided, but I also knew it needed to start somewhere and why not me. Ask yourself, why not you? Do you want the love back? what kind of sacrifice are you willing to make to have the love back? If I had decided that she needed to do something while I was doing something, then we would have been right back to where we started. You can’t base your actions on what the other is doing in return. You need to commit to love regardless of what is done in return. That is the sacrifice and that is where real love will begin.

Edit.

I can’t believe how many people have read and liked this. Someone mentioned the 40 day challenge. I found out about that several months after I started on this path. There is a movie out there along these same lines called fireproof that is worth a watch.

For me things didn’t change around in 40 days. It took quite a bit longer. But you have to ask yourself is divorce really the better way out? Yes, sometimes it is. But infidelity doesn’t have to be the end of life as we know it.

I look back on these events and they seem like a distant memory, the hurt and pain. like a forgotten dream. But it really wasn’t that long ago. I am a better person because of it. She has become a better person as well and we are definitely a better couple.

6 REASONS WHY AMERICANS ARE OBESE. WHAT IS CAUSING THE RISING OBESITY IN THE USA?

It’s no secret that obesity in America has been an ongoing issue and that doesn’t seem to be changing anytime soon.

In fact, according to Harvard University; about 2 in every 3 adults or 69 percent of the population in the US are overweight while1 in 3 adults are obese or 39 percent.

It has to make you wonder how the most powerful and advanced nation in the world can be so obese especially when compared to countries in Europe and Asia, it’s not like we don’t have the means as a nation for healthier lifestyle and better-quality food.

Or maybe Americans are meant to be obese, and they want us to stay that way? Sounds controversial right, well in this video we will expose 8 reasons why Americans are so obese compared to other countries.

Why is Burma so poor?

Our country born with troubles since its independence.

Have you ever heard about the Burma Campaign in World War 2? It is quite thorough and one of the most destructive campaigns largely forgotten by Western Powers and historians. The entire infrastructure of the country was destroyed during the course of the war. By the end of the war, the country was totally in rubbles and a massive number of firearms were widespread even in the village level which was left behind by warring powers. The situation was ripe for armed insurgencies.

The country was never been administered as a whole before British arrival. The region out of central Myanmar was usually administered by local petty chiefs with vassal-high king relationship which never need any direct contact between different cultures (except a few tributary missions and merchants). There is no large-scale internal trade and the transportation was also difficult. Different cultures and ethnic groups suddenly came into contact under British rule. As usual, the British exploited the situation by creating a divide & conquer strategy by favouring ethnic minorities over the Burmese majority. This led to extreme Burmese nationalism.

Due to economic disaster in the 1930s and later devastating war, the country is under very hard economic conditions which was a natural breeding ground for communism. The Burmese Communist Party which never believed in British plan for independence already went rebellion even before independence.

Then, the world’s longest-running civil war began.

In the 1950s and 60s, the civil war lost momentum and Burma came under the spotlight of international relations due to its leading role in third world nations, one of the founders of the non-aligned movement. The country was also the only real democratic nation in Southeast Asia with regular elections. The country largely recovered from the war at the beginning of the 1960s and hopes ran high. A federal system was proposed by the ethnic leaders and the government agreed.

All out of sudden, the coup came. At first, people weren’t serious as they already seen a short 2 years long military rule which stabilized the country and the coup ended with the mostly free and fair elections. By the time they realized that the military is no longer intended to give up the power this time, the civil war gained intensity and all the things we achieved in the last 10 years were gone.

The military junta slowly transformed themselves into businessmen by laying hands on the country’s economy entirely. The Myanmar Economic Corporation (MEC) ran by the military alone control nearly 40–50% of the country’s economy directly or indirectly. With the lack of a proper banking system, the ordinary people have no access to much-needed capital for investments. Small and Medium scale businesses have no chance to grow unless the monopoly of military elites and their relatives were removed.

My daughter hit her younger brother in the groin so he slapped her across the face. I confiscated all his devices and grounded him for a month. Was that a good enough punishment or not?

So he responds in self-defense and you teach him that if the attacker is female he’s supposed to just sit there writhing in pain getting injured? And she got off scott-free?

What’s next? She stabs him and he gets tossed in a closet and fed gruel and water? Because you might as well.

If you knew she attacked first, you should have punished HER. You discipline all parties that have transgressed, not just the ones who have a penis. Having a vagina doesn’t magically bestow immunity on a person.

If you confiscated all his devices, you should have confiscated hers as well. For his month of grounding, she should have received two.

There’s a big difference between a slap in the face (which stings but quickly dissapates) and kicking someone in the jewelies (which could cause irreparable damage).

No. You’re punishment wasn’t good enough. You half-assed it due to sexist reasoning. Go back and discipline your daughter as well.

Who Wants To Be A WARMONGER?!

Inspired by the war hawks that run the West, it’s the game show that always ends badly!

What is the kindest act you have ever witnessed?

Even though this was a relatively small thing, it affected me profoundly.

On my lunch break from work, I went to a fast food place. A homeless man came in. He was absolutely filthy, with long, greasy hair and dirty hands, dressed in raggedy clothes with a piece of blanket wrapped around him. He smelled bad. He didn’t seem able to talk and he went from table to table, sort of chittering at people, like a rat. People were pretty horrified and either gave him a quarter or just ignored him.

There was one table with 4 Mexican day laborers. These are guys who often are in the U.S. “illegally” and who hang around outside home improvement stores, hoping to pick up jobs. They don’t make much money and sometimes people cheat them, knowing the laborers can’t go to the authorities. A lot of these men may live in one house so they can save money and send it back to their families in Mexico.

When this homeless man came up to their table, they asked him, “Are you hungry? Do you want something to eat?” Then they gave him all of their food, packing it up for him so he could carry it away. Then they didn’t go and buy more food themselves (they probably couldn’t afford it), but simply cleared the table and walked out. They knew what it was to suffer, and they very likely would suffer a bit from their generosity. But that didn’t stop them; and they were the best example of kindness I have ever seen. It was over 30 years ago, and it still affects me.

What is an insane coincidence that you’ve experienced?

The night my daughter died in a double hit-and-run in Colorado, a stranger stopped to help her and was witness to the second car that hit her, ending her life. He had been trying to help her though; he called for an ambulance and although it was ultimately unsuccessful, every effort was made to save her life. That stranger is a hero as far as I’m concerned.

The man who tried to help was very traumatized by what he had witnessed and had to change jobs so that he no longer had to daily pass by the place where my daughter died as he went to and from work. Unrelated to the accident, he and his wife got rid of their landline when they moved. I wanted very much to thank him but although I had tried every way I knew, his job had changed, he no longer had a telephone I could call 411 for and he no longer lived in the same place. I finally decided that simply being grateful would have to be enough, even if I couldn’t tell him myself.

Two years later, I’m sitting at the dinner table in a hostel in London and strike up a conversation with a guy also having dinner there. He was from the same area as me. He remembered my daughter’s death not just from it being in the news, but because the husband of one of his co-workers had stopped and tried to help the young lady.

OMG.

To make a long story short, he put me in touch with his co-worker and I was able to email her and express my thanks and gratitude for her husband’s efforts that night. She emailed me back and said that although her husband was desperately sorry he couldn’t save her, he was grateful that she didn’t have to die alone. He is a hero in my eyes and I’m so glad I got to let him know how grateful our family is. May he and his loved ones be abundantly blessed.

China Reveals HUGE Sanctions On US Tech Giants Due A STAGGERING Unpaid $1 Trillion

The direct consequences for the implicated U.S. tech companies are potentially disastrous. China is a significant market for many of these entities, and the sanctions could drastically affect their revenue, stock prices, and global operations. Companies like Apple, which rely on China for both sales and a vast portion of their supply chain, could see significant disruptions. The same goes for firms like Google, Microsoft, and Amazon, which have invested billions in capturing the Chinese market and establishing a supply chain nexus.

Furthermore, these sanctions could also impact hundreds of smaller U.S. tech firms and startups that might not be direct targets but could suffer collateral damage due to the intertwined nature of the tech ecosystem. This isn’t just a bilateral U.S.-China issue; the sanctions have ramifications for the global tech industry. Supply chains across the world are intricately linked, and disruptions in China could lead to ripple effects impacting tech manufacturing globally. Countries and businesses that rely on these tech giants for critical infrastructure, software, and hardware might find themselves caught in the crossfire.

The European Union, India, Japan, and South Korea, among others, will be closely watching the developments. Any prolonged conflict could force these nations to recalibrate their tech dependencies and alliances. On the diplomatic front, this escalation further strains an already tense U.S.-China relationship. The last few years have witnessed a hardening of stances on both sides, with trade wars, tech bans, and territorial disputes. This new development might just push the diplomatic ties to a new low.

As the news of China’s unprecedented sanctions reverberated across the globe, key stakeholders began weighing in, highlighting the vast complexities of the issue. Major international business councils, traditionally silent on political matters, expressed deep concern over the possible long-term disruptions to global trade. Wall Street responded predictably, with significant declines in tech stock prices. Investor sentiments seem to mirror the broader fears. If China and the U.S., two of the world’s largest economies, can’t resolve their differences amicably, what hope is there for the stability of the global economic order?

Moreover, experts in international relations also sounded the alarm. The escalation of this magnitude in the U.S.-China tech conflict marks a deviation from conventional trade disagreements. The integration of geopolitics with business is not new, but the scale of this rift indicates a deep-seated power struggle reflecting ambitions, fears, and strategies beyond mere economic interests.

One of the most pressing concerns for the sanctioned tech companies and the international community is the verification of China’s claim. How is this enormous one trillion dollars figure reached without transparent documentation and a clear breakdown? Suspicions linger over the validity of such a vast sum. The call for a neutral third-party audit has gained traction in various quarters. International bodies like the World Trade Organization could potentially mediate, ensuring that claims and counterclaims are examined impartially.

While the U.S. government has not yet announced any countermeasures, there’s widespread speculation about potential retaliation. Would the U.S. respond with equivalent sanctions on Chinese tech companies? Could there be a broader economic response that targets other sectors of the Chinese economy? Such a move would undoubtedly lead to further escalation, intensifying the trade war and potentially causing harm to global economic stability.

https://youtu.be/0HdX5XhiMMQ

Date Pudding Cobbler

Yield: 9 servings

Ingredients

1 cup all-purpose flour
1 1/2 cups brown sugar, packed, divided
2 teaspoons baking powder
1 tablespoon cold butter
1/2 cup milk
3/4 cup chopped dates
3/4 cup chopped walnuts
1 cup water
Whipped cream, for garnish
Ground cinnamon, for garnish

Instructions

In a bowl, combine flour, 1/2 cup brown sugar and baking powder.
Cut in butter until crumbly.
Gradually add the milk, dates and walnuts.
In saucepan, combine water and remaining brown sugar; bring to a boil. Remove from heat; add the date mixture and mix well.
Transfer to a greased 8 inch square baking pan.
Bake at 350 degrees F for 30 minutes or until golden brown.
If desired, top each serving with a dollop of whipped cream and a sprinkling of cinnamon.

What are the cleverest scams you have come across?

As an immigrant, one thing that always spooks me is paperwork and all related things to immigration process.

One day, I was outside working on my garden, when I came back inside, there were four missed calls. Just like a habit, I copied and pasted the phone number to Google search, and U.S. Customs and Border Protection – Corpus Christi Border Patrol Station popped up.

I started panicking. Why? Why they called me?!?? So, when the phone number appeared again a few minutes after that, I picked it up.

A woman on the phone let me know that there was someone used my identity to cross the border, tried to traffic drugs into the country. She told me that this could happen because I traveled outside of the country recently (which was correct). I was nervous. Then the woman proceeded to tell me she ‘would help me to verify and straighten things up’. Then she asked me my full name, DoB and Social Number.

At this point, I started smelling B.S. I told her, wasn’t it an identity thief case? Shouldn’t she have those information already? She got furious and told me, she was ‘trying to help’ and I needed to ‘cooperate’ or else I would ‘end up in jail’.

I decided to cut off the call, told her I would contact my lawyer and said goodbye then hung up.

I did some searching, then I decided to call back the phone number. It went to the U.S. Customs and Border Protection – Corpus Christi Border Patrol Station for real. I talked to an officer. He told me I was right hanging up the call and told me scammers nowadays gets really aggressive. They can hi-jack the phone number line like that, so the Caller ID looks like it’s legitimate from government offices. He also told me: If the government wants anything from you, they will send snail mails, they don’t call.

It was a very interesting experience.

Star Trek – Parallel Universe

Safety Glasses

My father was an engineer. He was a metallurgical engineer. Which was a guy that tests the composition of steel. He made sure that it was pure and the alloying elements were in the right percentages. It was a very important job.

You need this, you know.

No one would buy a cake if pickles were substituted for eggs, and salt was substituted for sugar. Right?

Anyways, being older than me, he had his old work clothes that I inherited, and throughout the 1980’s and 1990’s, I used his old safety glasses at work.

LOL.

They were God-awful! Horned rimmed, ugly. Like a scene from the movie “falling down”.

Now…

The funny thing was that EVERYONE knew that those were MY glasses. Everyone wore contemporaneous safety glasses, and not those old things.

So, sure as shit, if I misplaced my glasses, after an hour or so, I would find them on my desk at work. They would magically appear out of nowhere.

Not only once.

Not twice…

But every single time! I couldn’t give them away.

i even threw them into the trash bin…

Sure as shit, they walked back to my desk. I’ll tell you what!

…

What do you know?

Life is funny sometimes.

Today…

Thought considerations…

War as desirable outcome

The Army War College’s John Deni (Wall Street Journal, 12/22/21) urged the US to take “a hard-line stance in diplomatic discussions,” because “if Mr. Putin’s forces invade, Russia is likely to suffer long-term, serious and even debilitating strategic costs.”

The fact that US officials pushed for a Ukrainian counteroffensive that all but expected would fail raises an important question: Why would they do this? Sending thousands of young people to be maimed and killed does nothing to advance Ukrainian territorial integrity, and actively hinders the war effort.

The answer has been clear since before the war. Despite the high-minded rhetoric about support for democracy, this has never been the goal of pushing for war in Ukraine. Though it often goes unacknowledged in the US press, policymakers saw a war in Ukraine as a desirable outcome.

One 2019 study from the RAND Corporation—a think tank with close ties to the Pentagon—suggested that an effective way to overextend and unbalance Russia would be to increase military support for Ukraine, arguing that this could lead to a Russian invasion.

In December 2021, as Russian President Vladimir Putin began to mass troops at Ukraine’s border while demanding negotiations, John Deni of the Atlantic Council published an op-ed in the Wall Street Journal (12/22/21) headlined “The Strategic Case for Risking War in Ukraine,” which laid out the US logic explicitly:

Provoking a war would allow the US to impose sanctions and fight a proxy war that would grind Russia down. Additionally, the anti-Russian sentiment that resulted from a war would strengthen NATO’s resolve.

All of this came to pass as Washington’s stance of non-negotiation successfully provoked a Russian invasion.

Even as Ukraine and Russia sat at the negotiation table early in the war, the US made it clear that it wanted the war to continue and escalate.

The US’s objective was, in the words of Raytheon boardmember–turned–Defense Secretary Lloyd Austin, “to see Russia weakened.” Despite stated commitments to Ukrainian democracy, US policies have instead severely damaged it.”

OLIVER ANTHONY – 90 SOME CHEVY REACTION

Again, any postings of Oliver Anthony is not about his music. It is about the reactions to his music. It appears that for many Americans, they have a voice. Finally.

Todays reaction REALLY BROKE ME! Anthony’s “90 Some Chevy” really hit home for me!

Since Huawei is also a network equipment maker, does that mean Huawei phones are likely to be superior for network communications such as satellite?

It certainly gives Huawei advantages.

Their phones are likely to work better with the network equipment than other phones on their network.

But for satellites, they don’t make satellites but they do make network base station equipment. So they might have better knowledge than building to a spec on paper.

You can see with Apple trying to build their own 5G modems and failing. Apple’s 5G modem won’t debut again until 2025. They need time and experts and a lot of testing to make sure that it is going to work in all situations instead of just in the lab. Which was what happened when their modems didn’t work right.

So I would guess yes. But any company can hire experts who have experience to make sure that their equipment works well.

Southern Karo Syrup Chicken

Ingredients

1 broiler-fryer chicken
2 tablespoons butter
1/2 cup Karo corn syrup
1/2 cup orange juice
3 tablespoons lemon juice

Instructions

Cut up chicken.
In skillet over medium heat, cook chicken in butter about 30 minutes or until tender. Drain off fat.
Mix remaining ingredients and pour over chicken. Cook over medium heat, turning often, for 5 to 10 minutes or until glazed.

What is the most messed up thing you have seen a nurse/doctor do to a patient?

I didn’t ‘see’ a doctor do this… I was the doctor doing this to a father in a pediatrics emergency room.

Many staff reported this as terrifying, horrifying and other descriptions. I went to many meetings following my actions. If I had to do it over again, with my experience and age, I would have chosen different actions that day and we are outside the statute of limitations for assault and battery.

I’ve never written this one down, so here it goes:

I was the on-call anesthesia provider at the hospital, a children’s hospital. I was moonlighting and doing routine things when I was called to the emergency room to consult. (Moonlighting is when a doctor does his regular job or a lesser medical job, for an hourly wage but usually not at his normal hospital or setting.)

When I came out of the elevator they asked me if I was anesthesia?

I nodded and I was led quickly to a trauma room. There was no trauma but a bunch of people in hazmat suits! They dressed me quickly. I apparently had no choice in the matter. I then was led to another room where a small five-year-old boy was having visible stress and very labored breathing. They were assisting him with oxygen, a bag and mask but his color was just, off. Blue, maybe a little green grey. I had never seen this color for a human before, at least not one alive.

People were screaming at me through their suits. We could hardly hear one another. Unknown poison. Unknown toxin. They told me this patient’s brother is in the next room and fading fast, as well. They then ask me what drugs I want to give to intubate this child.

Holy oral board question from hell!!!! For those of you who are not inside the anesthesia world, the oral-board exams for an anesthesiologist are notoriously difficult. They boast a high failure rate for first-time takers because they are designed to scare the ever living crap out of you so you will be a perpetual student of anesthesiology for life. When you have three minutes to figure something out, you cannot hit the books or even ask “Watson.”

“I don’t want to give him anything!” I thought and said simultaneously.

I am a large male… so… I chose physically to intubate the child without any drugs. I managed not to break any teeth also… always a bonus in my job. I did reason they are baby teeth and if he lived he would be more grateful to be alive than to have all his baby teeth.

I then proceeded in rapid succession to the 7-year-old’s room. He was bigger, stronger and was spasming much worse than his brother, especially his jaw. They could not open it. I thought about man-handling the intubation. Broken teeth, I could break his jaw, but, no, so I ending up choosing and using an older drug to completely paralyze the child to attempt to undo the spastic jaw. This choice of drug was not as fast as some of the modern drugs in the anesthesia arsenal. It was among the most stressful four minutes of my clinical career!

“Please be right. Please be right. Please be right.” In my mind over and over again. I slid my hand to his wrist and felt for a pulse. It was there. Weak, fast, but there.

His color was off, too. Similar to his brother. Our oximeter was not picking up a signal. I was terrified in that moment I had chosen incorrectly and would kill the child. Utterly terrified. Tube in, first time, done. The boys were moved to the ICU.

Had to get out of the small room. Very hot. Hard to breathe myself. Am I poisoned? Did I get exposed?

I threw up.

I was soaked head to foot in sweat and ripped off the headdress.

Yes, you read that correctly. I threw up and THEN I got the stupid headdress part of my isolation bunny suit ripped off. Cold air felt great!

I heard screaming and commotion from the other room.

I’m now pumped with adrenaline. Really pumped. In retrospect, I should probably have not gone to investigate, but I did. An older anesthesiologist would have likely gone back to his on-call duties or hit the call room and slept. I was young.

Nope. Not me. What is happening?!?

I marched in. My bunny suit flapping. The headdress still attached to the back of my neck pulling uncomfortably on the front zipper at my neck. I reached up with my hand and pulled it down away from my throat.

Once in there, I see two police officers, a half a dozen nurses, a pediatric ER doc who was about 4′11″ in shoes and they are screaming at everyone to just stop it!

I am a large male… so… I bellowed, “What the fuck is going on?” Yes, I am a good doctor. Yes, I am human.

Everyone looked and the ER doc said looking at me in the eyes, “the father just drank the poison.”

WTF. WTF. WTF. WTF. WTF.

Toxicology? Still no hit on what the substance was from the poison center but they had said to someone it was likely not transmitted through touching or breathing.

Good to know. It’s ‘not likely’ I’ve exposed myself to God knows what.

I knew one of the nurses standing there, she was holding a nasogastric (NG) tube and the nurse next to her had a charcoal drink and a funnel.

The NG tube goes from the nose to the stomach and allows the ‘forceful’ introduction of liquids such as charcoal to neutralize things, the poison in this case.

The man, for all his abject fright and stupidity, blurted out at me, “None of them know what it is so I drank it to find out, use me to find out, use me!” He pleaded, tears streaming down his face. He was just being a parent. He was just being human. That’s when I saw the small fasciculations in his facial muscles. Fasciculations are involuntary small portions of muscle that ‘fire’ on their own without neural impulses. Have you ever had just one part of your muscle move, twitch and do it over and over again without you consciously controlling the movements? That is fasciculations and both boys had them all over their tiny bodies when I first saw them.

“Nurse.” I said in my ‘Superman’ voice. When I was an intern, some of the staff, younger females mostly, nursing mostly, referred to me as Superman because I always got everywhere so fast in the hospitals and, oh yeah, I am a large male with dark kind of curly longer hair at the time. I used to get that one thick curl on the forehead naturally.

She did not speak but began moving toward the father of the boys. The other nurse followed lock step behind her.

“Fuck no! You’re not sticking that thing in me!” The man backed away reflexively animal like in speed and suddenness. He ran into the wall behind him. His back to the wall, literally.

Not. My. Finest. Medical. Moment.

I used a somewhat unorthodox medical maneuver. I hit, or struck, or punched with the my full force in the father’s face. I caught him with the hand I punched him with and pinned him up against the wall. He semi-slumped, in shock, I believe more than for the blow. Not too certain though.

“Tube.” I reached out with my left hand but did not take my gaze off the man.

I looked at his nose and the one side began bleeding. Well, there are two cops standing behind me. I sighed loudly, I may even snorted a bit. They can write my statement for me at this point. Definitely, battery, maybe assault and battery, and with many witnesses, great. I wonder what jail is really like?

Blood is a lubricant. The NG tube slid down that bloody side quickly and completely. The man bucked hard at me. I let go of the tube and ‘pushed’ well, perhaps thrust with nearly full force upon his chest with both open hands and very physically slammed him the two inches back onto the wall.

The nurse(s) got the tube and out of my peripheral vision I saw a funnel and charcoal pouring down the tube very quickly.

The man made noises. I interpreted that as him having an Airway, he was obviously Breathing and clearly he was Circulating blood as he was semi-conscious. ABC’s checked off. He’ll live long enough to sue me probably.

As the man made a fast grab for the NG tube, I was slammed into and from behind and on either side forcefully.

The two cops grabbed either arm and held them back, pinned tightly on the wall.

I love cops. Even when they pull me over and give me a speeding ticket. Even then.

I let go and slowly slid back a bit. Maybe I was two feet from the man’s face.

… and he threw up charcoal all over me. Along with the ‘poison’ so…

I froze. Kept my eyes shut and my mouth shut. I was led a bit away and then someone poured water over my head several times. I cleaned off with a towel. Several towels, actually.

The man was a farmer. He had left fertilizer of some sort, or perhaps it was a pesticide/fertilizer combo in a mixing jug, an old white plastic milk jug. Some years later, he poured diesel fuel into this same white jug. Years after that, the boys found the jug in the barn and it had brilliant blue crystals in it and some opaque grey liquid. Stunning, they looked like hard candy. The boys shook the crystals out and put them in their mouths.

The reason I told you this story was that it was horrifying to watch. That word was used in reports describing my actions. ‘Terrible. Terror. Unprofessional. Shocking. Disturbing. Ugly. Dysfunctional. Chaotic.” All used in reports to describe the event.

One of the nurses who knew me told me her heart just ‘throbbed’ at the whole surreal situation. Your wording in your question triggered the whole event for me.

Doctors are people, they are human, they make mistakes. It was a mistake striking that man. I know that, now. I was afraid in the moment. My fear and anxiety got the best of me and the human animal part of me reacted, poorly.

Some of you may say what I did is fine. Others will condemn any physical attack or action, especially from a doctor to a civilian in an ER setting.

Everyone lived. They did finally identify the culprit. It was a semi-paralytic chemical. Onset of symptoms in minutes. Spasticity, followed by slow paralysis and then asphyxiation from breathing ceasing with one to two hours in an adult.

What do you think?

~Chris

Dr. Christopher Yerington

Columbus, Ohio

Bio: Retired from clinical anesthesiology by a disability in 2010, Dr. Yerington has turned his love of teaching and service to others to his family, medical colleagues and community. He speaks and educates medical groups and residency programs about the importance of great disability insurance and having an income protection plan. Having attended law and business schools, Chris is a perpetual student, currently working on his financial certifications.

Russia Uncovers US Plot to Eliminate Niger Coup Leaders

“You may not know what must be done but many people like me do. It’s time to start down the road towards ending all of the theft of Africa’s god given wealth. Nationalize all of Africa’s resources and perform all value adding operations in Africa, unless it truly messes up the environment to do so. Doing this will uplift the lives of the people and in the end make Africa the best place to live on earth.”

What is the one in a million coincidence you have ever had?

Not me, my mother. She is Cuban and when she was on her first year of teaching, she was teaching first grade and had a kid that was held back. The teachers called him a bad kid. He found it hard to sit down and pay attention, so he still could not read. My mother made him her “helper” and whenever there was free time she would sit alone with him to go over lessons. He passed first grade and actually did great!

Later on, after the Castro regime took control, my mother left Cuba. She met my father, had children, and moved on with her life.

Years later we were traveling in Florida and a man and his wife came up to her. It was the student! He said he recognized her right away because he never forgot her. He introduced her to his wife as the teacher that did not give up on him.

She is my inspiration!

Oliver Anthony – Rich Men North Of Richmond | Singer Reacts & Musician Analysis

UK girl reacts. Very interesting.

All over the West, the “people” are seeing just how bad and corrupt the American-style of “democracy” actually is. This is the moment in time when quiet people, in secret back rooms, start planning on how to hang people, and burn down their edifices of power.

What was your “I am surrounded by idiots” moment?

At a family gathering. It was a birthday party for one of my SIL’s kids. It was a nice day and we were all outside while the kids played with all of their friends and cousins, having a great time while we adults caught up and enjoyed the music and weather.

Then we all hear the terrified scream of a small child. One of the kids ran up and said “Sean is hurt!” We all ran over and there he was with blood pouring from a gash on his head. He had stumbled while running and went head first into the fence and an exposed nail.

Every single adult starts freaking out, running around and NOT HELPING this 4-year-old child who was screaming in fear and pain. WTF did they do when their own kids got hurt??!!

Husband and I were surrounded by not only idiots but dithering, panicking, hand-flapping, weak stomached idiots.

Husband and I picked him up and took him in to the bathroom and we were able to calm him down while we cleaned the approximately 1+″ wound and looked for non-existent bandages (really? in a house with four kids?!) and told him how brave he was and that he was going to get stitches but that it would only hurt a little bit, etc. and that sweet little boy just nodded and said “I’m brave.” We just wanted to adopt him on the spot.

When we brought him out he would not let go of me so husband and I just held him and some paper towels to his wound until his grandmother picked him up to take him to urgent care. Then MIL and BILs start freaking out about all the blood on our clothes (yes, head wounds bleed like stuck pigs) and their biggest concern was that it wouldn’t come out in the wash. IDIOTS!

The next time we saw Sean he showed us his scar and said “I was brave!” Yes he was and much more so than about 12 grown ass adults.

Oh SH*T, America Moves To Counter China!

The US has no (real) money and no railways to speak of…and yet they want to build and finance a new multicountry rail network 10,000 km away from home.

How is the USA going to cough up the money?

Five Russian “Doomsday Planes” in the air 0300 Russia time- Shut Off Transponders mid-flight

Five Russian “Doomsday” aircraft are in the air over Russia or have landed after shutting off transponders near the Ural Mountains, including Aircraft PA-96024, ID RSD309, which is the Presidential plane.

While no one can be sure who – if anyone – is actually on these government evacuation aircraft which took off out of Moscow, and having shut their transponders off, we cannot know the exact landing site, it is very disconcerting to see this type of military aircraft activity inside Russia at this ungodly hour.

In particular, the Presidential aircraft shut its transponder off after crossing over the Ural Mountains.

Did they then make a U-turn to land at Mount Yamantau?

MOUNT YAMANTAU

Mount Yamantau, along with Kosvinsky Mountain (600 km to the north), are claimed by the United States of being home to a large secret nuclear facility or bunker, or both. Large excavation projects have been observed by U.S. satellite imagery after the fall of the Soviet Union, as recently as the late 1990s during the government of Boris Yeltsin.

During the Soviet era two military garrisons, Beloretsk-15 and Beloretsk-16, and possibly a third, Alkino-2, were built on the site. These garrisons were unified into the closed town of Mezhgorye (Russian: Межгорье) in 1995, and the garrisons are said to house 30,000 workers each, served by large rail lines.

Repeated U.S. questions have yielded several different responses from the Russian government regarding Yamantau, including it is a mining site, a repository for Russian treasures, a food storage area, and a bunker for leaders in case of nuclear war.

Responding to questions regarding Yamantau in 1996, Russia’s Defense Ministry stated: “The practice does not exist in the Defense Ministry of Russia of informing foreign mass media about facilities, whatever they are, that are under construction in the interests of strengthening the security of Russia.”

In 1997, a United States Congressional finding, related to the country’s National Defense Authorization Act for 1998, stated that the Russian Federation kept up a “deception and denial policy” about the mountain complex after U.S. officials had given Cheyenne Mountain Complex tours to Russian diplomats, which the finding stated “… does not appear to be consistent with the lowering of strategic threats, openness, and cooperation that is the basis of the post-Cold War strategic partnership between the United States and Russia.”

So why are these Russian military Government evacuation aircraft in the air over Russia at this strange hour? Why have they shut off their transponders mid-flight?

MEDVEDEV MAKES OMINOUS REMARKS “Nuclear 9/11”

On Sunday, Dmitry Medvedev, Deputy Chairman of Russia’s Federation Council (Senate), made a post to his official Telegram account, calling it “a few words on the eve of [9/11].” In it, he derided the U.S. for what he called its “arrogance and disgusting narcissism” among Western nations and its “universal arrogance on any issue.” Near the end of the post, he also made the ominous prediction that the U.S. would suffer “another 11/09/2001-style attack, but with a nuclear or biological component,” without suggesting outright that Russia would be the nation to launch the attack.

…

This sequence of events happened simultaneously when President of China Xi Peng addressed his military and told them to urgently get ready for conflict.

The American public overwhelmingly thinks war is the only way to stop China. How is China going to respond to this eventuality?

This “mindset” is a direct result of of the “organ of misinformation” funded intentionally to “drum up” anti-China sentiment. This effort is funded in the many billions of US dollars. And it is working.

So…

The question is (better worded) …

“With the American people ripe with rage against China and ready for war… how is China going to respond?”

Oh…

You haven’t noticed?

The value of the USD is approaching that of toilet paper.
The American economy is in tatters, and it is only going to get worse; much worse.
Geo-politically, the “friends” of the United States are slithering away and making arrangments in favor of China.
The American people; uneducated with lofty degrees, a work ethic that resembles a lazy hound-dog on a hot August day, legalized looting at every level, and a media of crazy disinformation are about to ignite a civil war.
Organized crime, mental illnesses, collapsing infrastructure, and crazy levels of inflation, all aggravated with massive drug abuse…

And you (the questioner) somehow thinks that China is worried about the United States and what the American people think?

It’s not even on “the radar screen”.

…

The United States is in CHECK MATE.

Everything that it does; any action it takes, any movement in any direction is a lose move for the nation.

In the slight chance that the United States actually makes a military move against a united China-Russia-North Korean-Iran-BRICS+ axis, the result would be very bad.

Bad as in nuclear bad.

…

Do not go there.

Accept your life and do the best you can for you and yours. Do not worry about things that you have no control over.

I am optimistic about the future.

I really am, but there are many in the West that will have to adjust to a much lower standard of living than they have become accustomed to.

Merkules – ”Rich Men North Of Richmond” Remix (Veteran Reaction)

Here I am doing a reaction to Merkules – ”Rich Men North Of Richmond” Remix. Thank you for taking the time to watch this and for helping me on my journey to 50k subscribers.

Again.

Small Americans are getting a voice. This is the point in time when pitchforks and torches start to get lit.

Was the public lied to about the Vietnam war?

Yes. Big time.

In fact Francis Ford Coppola deleted a key scene in the movie Apocalypse Now which explains in two minutes what the New York Times couldn’t explain in millions of words in their twelve years of biased reporting.

The United States Office of Strategic Services- the OSS, the precursor to the CIA- invented the Viet Minh to fight the Japanese in wwii. The Viet Minh moved south after the first Indochina war against the French and became known as the Viet Cong. The fact was the U.S. was aware of Ho Chi Minh since he tried to get a meeting with Woodrow Wilson while he was president to elicit U.S. help in his opposition to French colonialism. When war broke out U.S. intelligence agents picked Ho to organize armed resistance against the Japanese and their Vichy French allies in Indochina.

After the Japanese left Indochina in 1945 the British and the French decided that they wanted their respective empires back and instead of holding elections the next year to settle the political situation in Indochina the French battled Ho and General Vo Nguyen Giap for eight years until their ignominious defeat in May, 1954 at a remote valley named Dien Bien Phu.

The United States, which had been bankrolling the French in their losing war at a cost of a million dollars a day continued the war against what was now communist North Vietnam. The United States began it’s war slowly by first setting up military advisory groups in Saigon. Commando missions were initiated from ships at sea to destroy coastal military objectives in the north and naval batteries were used to shell targets up to ten miles inland from the coast. In 1964 the U.S. started launching sorties from aircraft carriers in the Tonkin Gulf to destroy power plants and other targets of high value in the north. The U.S. landed a marine expeditionary brigade (MEB) on the coast of South Vietnam in March of 1965 to provide additional security around the U.S. air base at Da Nang. The marine landing was followed in the next two years by the largest military build up in history with an occupation force eventually totaling over half a million U.S. army troops.

Coppola had to delete the scene at the French plantation because in 1979, four years after the war ended, the truth about the war in Vietnam and how the United States created the conflict and had at various times assisted, armed and bankrolled each side would have been just too much for the American public. Ironically characters in the movie telling the truth about the war in Vietnam would have removed any perceived veracity from Coppola’s film. It was far easier getting the American public to swallow lies about an imaginary ‘Gulf of Tonkin Incident’ or a fictional ‘Domino Theory’ or even that Vietnam was a ‘winnable’ war then it was to get the public to believe actual facts about a long running conflict.

We Have Never Seen Anything Like This Before!

These insane people have got to stop!

https://youtu.be/IogGVqbf6tE

What is something your neighbor did that you couldn’t believe?

I was going through treatment for cancer back in 2005, and in addition to a surgery I was receiving radiation treatments. There are restrictions on people who receive internal radiation treatments (in my case, it was a large dose of radioactive Iodine 131) and then being sent home after taking the dosage. In the past, I had been kept in the hospital for the treatment in a special hospital room that was lined with lead panels, and the toilet sewer system was sent to a specific tank, where it was kept before being sent to the public sewage system.

At any rate, after taking the treatment I was told to spend three days in isolation, and a few extra days staying away from small children and pregnant women. (It was a a different time, and perspectives on cancer treatments and radiation.)

Anyway, I came home and met my pregnant neighbor near the front door to the building. I stepped away from her and told her I was going through radiation treatment and that I didn’t want to harm her or her baby. She smiled, went in, and a few minutes later I went to my apartment.

About 2 hours later, I heard a knock at my door. It was around 5 o’clock in the afternoon, and I went to the door and asked who is it, but got no answer. I opened the door, and on a tray was a meal of beef tips and noodles, some home baked bread, a single flower in a vase, and a note. The note was from my pregnant neighbor, and she had written something like my mom had cancer and I wanted you to know that I am available to talk if you need anything.

Nicest response I got from anyone who ever found out that I was a cancer patient.

China STRIKES BACK at Neocons as Biden ‘Disappointed’ Xi Skips G20 w/ Carlos Martinez & Ken Hammond

This conversation is so good, unbiased and informative.

Southern Shrimp and Grits

Southern Shrimp and Grits is a cheesy delight, and the bacon and green onions add a ton of flavor!

Yield: 4 servings

Ingredients

2 slices bacon, chopped
3 cups water
1/2 teaspoon salt
3/4 cup instant grits
1 cup shredded Cheddar cheese
1 pound medium shrimp, peeled, deveined
4 green onions, thinly sliced (about 1/3 cup)
1 clove garlic, minced
2 tablespoons chopped parsley
1 tablespoon lemon juice

Instructions

Cook bacon in large skillet over medium-heat heat until crisp.
Drain on paper towels; set aside.
Bring water and salt to boil in medium saucepan.
Slowly stir in grits. Reduce heat to medium-low; cover. Cook for 7 minutes or until thickened. Stir in cheese; set aside.
Add shrimp, onions and garlic to skillet; cook and stir 3 minutes or until shrimp turn pink.
Add bacon, parsley and lemon juice; mix well.
Serve shrimp mixture over grits.
Serve with a mixed green salad.

It is a critical moment

During every “generational turning” certain things happen. For instance, we had the “black knight” in Donald Trump, and the regression of the ruling class. Here, this song and what is happening is one such event contributor. ..

…

Uh oh. I am worried.

Look at this…

Yes. I am obese, and it is so DISTURBING.

Whoa!

I absolutely must lose weight, and God Damn it! I am going to make it happen. Starting right now. All food portions are “jail standards”.

One spoon full of corn. Three pieces of lettuce, and a few slices of meat for a meal.

Stand by as I fill you all on my progress.

…

How far can a nation go saving and protecting its pride?

A group of guys (Italian) had a sumptuous meal in an Albanian restaurant.

After the meal the guys stepped out of the restaurant for a smoke. And in the blink of an eye, they disappeared in the dark of the night. They ran away without paying…..the tourists “dined and dashed.”

The restaurant manager came looking for them, but it was too late. Dismayed, the manager wrote an email to the Italian Embassy in Albania. He cited the details of the four men who ate at the restaurant and ran away without paying the bill. Adding that the four Italians even complimented the food.

Such a small incident of some 100 euros, it happens everywhere…big deal!

What Next?

The matter was escalated to the Italian Prime Minister Giorgia Meloni.

Next, came the orders from the — PM of Italy. Meloni instructed the Italian ambassador to pay the bill for the tourists, stating, “Go and pay the bill for these idiots,

Italy’s embassy in Albania paid the bill on behalf of its citizens and wrote an apology note along with it. The amount totaled around €80 or Rs 7,245.

Francesco Lollobrigida, Italy’s agriculture minister:

“Paying the bill was a matter of pride.” “A few dishonest individuals cannot embarrass a nation of decent people.”

Black Americans React To Viral Off-The-Grid Farmer Oliver Anthony Protest Song | BREAKS INTERNET🔥

They want to divide us, but this country is uniting us. God bless Oliver Anthony

A must watch!

What is the most heartwarming television episode or a moment you’ve ever seen?

1988. BBC television show That’s Life arranged for a certain Nicholas Winton to attend a presentation about the Holocaust.

The host brought the attention to a woman beside him, who revealed that he had saved her life when she was a child.

The host asked the audience if there’s any more people Winton had saved, and practically everyone around him stood up.

Winton hadn’t known they were going to be there. Surprised, he stood up and took in the happy, grateful faces around him.

It brought tears to his eyes.

1938. Winton, a 29-year-old British stockbroker, used his vacation time to travel to Czechoslovakia. There he learned of Jews who were trying to get their children out because war was brewing.

He returned to London and with the help of others, organised Kindertransports – trains to carry the children to safety in Britain.

He negotiated with Nazi officials to allow the children to depart with just a single document.

He persuaded British officials to accept the children, found foster families, and arranged for Jewish humanitarian organizations to pay fees and support the operation.

Parents of the children assembled at train stations in Prague and Vienna to say emotional goodbyes, knowing they would never see their children again.

Over 10 months, Winton and his associates oversaw eight Kindertransports that carried 669 children to safety.

When WWII broke out, his office was closed down. Sadly, one last train of 250 children was trapped and unable to depart. None of those children left behind were reported to have survived.

He didn’t tell his family about what he had done, until his wife found his scrapbook in 1988 with all the children’s names and photos.

Winton with one of the children he saved

Winton with a grandchild of one of the people he had saved

He was knighted by the Queen in 2003

And passed away in 2015, at the age of 106.

Oliver Anthony Speaks Out and You’ll Love It

How do I not take life too seriously?

Have you ever thought about this?

In a hundred years, in 2123, there will be none of us, not even our relatives and friends.

Strangers will live in our homes that we built with a lot of effort and failure. They will have all the stuff we have or throw it in the dumpster. Even the car, for which we spent a fortune, will be lying somewhere in a dump, Our descendants will not remember us and only a few will know who we were. Who among us knows their great-grandfather?

After death, they will remember us for a few more years, then we will be just a portrait on someone’s bookshelf (if at all). A few years later our photos and actions will be forgotten. We will not live in the memories of anyone anymore. If you just stopped to think about it one day, you might understand how pointless it is to walk for more and more.

If we thought and understood that we are just a dot in the history of mankind, let alone the earth or the universe, we would certainly look at our lives and other people differently.

We always striving for more and more and no time for what really matters…. the moments and the relationships. If we thought about and spent more time HERE AND NOW, we would really enjoy life.

We would enjoy walks we never had time for. We would love a hug. We would enjoy kisses from our children. In the moments that really count, but we ran out of time. Those would certainly be the most beautiful and best moments to remember and imprinted deep within ourselves. This is how we would fill our lives with joy. And now we fill it with greed, intolerance and hate.

There is still time. Think about it.

Corrupt Politician Responds to Viral Song

What are some shocking facts about celebrities?

After Robins Williams’s death from suicide after years of battling depression was reported, it drove a 200% spike in the number of calls to the Suicide Prevention Hotline. The day after his death, 13,000 calls were made to the hotline, numbers never before seen. Due to the increase only 53% of those calls were able to be answered, which also drove up the number of suicides to an above-average rate.

In 2010, Ozzy Osborn had his genome sequenced to try and understand how it was possible to be still living after decades of abusing his body. He had abused his body beyond any measurable scale it was always a wonder to him how he managed it. Researchers found that he had mutations related to addiction, and metabolism, from his Neanderthal ancestors.

The researchers also discovered he had several hundred thousand genetic variants that have never been seen before. These mutations were also one of the reasons he never woke up hungover or sick after heavy weeks of drinking and taking drugs. If Ozzy wasn’t such a freak of nature he probably would have died years ago.

“It’s Not Natural” – Why Are 20% of Kids Suddenly LGBTQ?

What’s the most questionable cost-cutting move you’ve seen an employer make?

I worked for a tech company a few years ago that had the most questionable cost-cutting strategy I have ever seen. Their policy, was simply to remove all purchasing restrictions, and give employees whatever they wanted. Essentially any work related purchase we wanted under $10,000 was self-approved: no asking our supervisor or manager — no approval process at all!

If we wanted a new desk, or an executive chair; we called facilities and it appeared. If we wanted a fast computer with three monitors, we called IT, and it appeared. Software, supplies, whatever – we got it. We got exactly what we wanted, the model/brand we specifically requested.

This seemed like the most insane policy I ever heard of, and looking around the office one could find a few examples of people that appeared to take advantage of it.

The company also had an interesting coffee room policy: gourmet coffee, tea, and cappuccino free. Soda machine had all sodas and energy drinks for 5 cents, and there was a cup full of nickels at the side of the machine – so essentially everything was free.

So what was the effect of this? Well first of all the company had the happiest employees I have ever seen! Morale and loyalty was through the roof. People loved working there. People worked harder, and enjoyed coming to work.

One day during a company outing I cornered the CEO and asked him about the policies, he said this…

When we implemented the purchase policy, we instantly saved $500,000 a year in labor costs, since we no longer had to pay all the people to manage and maintain purchasing approvals. We saved even more in indirect man-hours, as individual department heads didn’t use any time on them either. Half a million a year buys a lot of extra equipment.

We tracked expenditures, and for the first three years we lost a little, but not much. The next five years, we actually spent less than we saved in reduced labor. Over all it saves the company money, and gives employees whatever they think they need to be most productive. Win/Win

Then I asked him about the cafeteria, and he smiled and said “the more caffeine people drink, the more productive they are. It pays for itself a hundred times over”

This was the most brilliant, and out of the box thinking I have ever seen in Management.

Years later the company had some hard times, like many tech companies, and they only needed to ask employees to help – not change the policy. People loved the company, and when belt-tightening was needed, they self-sacrificed.

I don’t work there anymore, but it’s still a brilliant business model.

HOLY MOLY!!! Country artist BREAKS THE INTERNET with powerful song!

Why did Microsoft go to compete with Java, instead of joining hands and improving an already established Java? Is this the horror of capitalism and ego?

It’s complicated, but I’ll try to make it brief:

Sun came out with Java, a language that was “compile once, run anywhere!”
Microsoft thought that sounded good, so they jumped on board and even came out with an IDE just for Java.
Microsoft made the Windows Java Virtual Machine (JVM), but it didn’t support remote method invocation (RMI) or Java Native Interface (JNI). They also made changes so Java programs would run faster on Windows and added platform-specific commands for Windows.
Sun cried “foul!” and said Microsoft was ruining the whole concept of Java—”compile once, run anywhere!”
Sun sued Microsoft.
Microsoft got mad, took its toys and went home (they stopped supporting Java out of the box).
Microsoft still liked the idea of “compile once, run anywhere!” so they got Anders Hejlsberg to create a new language to compete with it.
Hejlsberg gave birth to C#.
Curiously, though Microsoft like the idea of “compile once, run anywhere!”, they only wanted C# to work on Microsoft operating systems. So C# was a Windows-only technology.
Predictably, though C# was superior to Java in some ways, Java became the cross-platform King (Java still ran on Windows, but users to install the JRE themselves).
Satya Nadella, now head of Microsoft, isn’t a dummy and knew C# had to be available on all operating systems to be successful. He started a movement to create compatible Common Language Runtimes (the thing that makes C# programs work) for all major operating systems. You know, like Java did.
The CLR is available for nearly all operating systems now, though Windows generally gets new improvements first.
Java is still the cross-platform King. It’s unlikely that C# will ever catch up.

Clear?

First time hearing Oliver Anthony- “Rich Men North Of Richmond” REACTION

Why does China choose to lower interest rates when the US dollar raises interest rates?

All these hikes from the FED is to absorb USD from the market, in order to control the inflation and support US treasury.

10 year US treasury is now 4.7% interest rate, which is already higher than at least half of the ways to invest, and it’s much more safe.

By having less money freely in the market, the commodity prices will decline, and causing the products in terminal market to become lower.

main qimg 0440f304b9f4110b1bc91d6ef75d0d33

Because of the theory of impossible trinity, no country can achive free capital flows, independent monetary policy, and fixed exchange rate at the same time.

2 out of 3 is the best.

To most of the US allies, they have to at least choose free capital flows.

It means that when the FED decided to raise the interest rate, they have to raise it too. Otherwise, capitals within their territory would flee out to the US, because there is a higher return in the US.

Usually, capital exists in the form of properties, such as real estate. When the investors withdrawing their capital from a country, it means a mass selling of properties, which will cause:

property price to go down, which causes the market panic.
foreign reserves got drained.

FDI should always be exchanged into local currency first. When investors want to leave, they would have to exchange their local currency back into USD.

The government must have enough USD in reserve, or else the exchange rate of local currency would crush.

It’s also how the 97 Financial Crisis began and how the US usual harvest the world.

Hong Kong got away from sniping, because Beijing spread the words that it will back HK up with its USD reserve if necessary. Eventually Beijing didn’t do that, but the market got appeased when hearing Beijing said so.

Back to the trinity, China chooses to give up on free capital flows.

It may cause troubles for certain possible investors, because they may be worried to not getting their investment back, but it also limits the abilities of international bankers to harvest China.

Along the years, large corporations know that they can move in or out their money responsibly, which means with proper reasons. So they are not worried about their properties got confiscated by Chinese government.

Some investors choose HK as intermedia to invest in China, because it’s common law in HK and everything they care about remains the same as before 1997.

So Beijing has full control within China’s territory, and is not worried about capital fleeing out.

The top priority of Biden Administration is to get the inflation under control.

It doesn’t matter of peoples’ living standard got improved, but the inflation number directly effects voters stance next year. However, high interest rate suppresses market activities, since it drains money from the market, and companies wouldn’t be able to finance.

Meanwhile in China, the top priority is to stimulate the market.

Lower interest would encourage more people to invest, since there is cheap money in the market, which is good for entrepreneurs or cooperations to expand their production.

Still, this can be interpreted very differently, based on different political stance and/or financial/economical knowledge.

China may be showing the world about its confidence, or it could well be that China is bluffing.

Still, people lie, but capital doesn’t.

We will see which this is by monitoring the investors’ moves.

What do I mean when I say “sending to the cornfield”

This little article is for those who are not clear on what this statement means or what it implies.

Fundamentally, this is an American Idiom. It comes from the spoiled kid in the famous “Twilight Zone” episode, “It’s A Good Life.”

In that episode, a six-year-old kid prone to temper tantrums and getting his own way rules with absolute power over his parents and the townfolk of “Peaksville.”. You see this boy has the power to change reality. He can change people into anything he wants, and being a young six year old, what he wants is quite capricious.

And everyone goes along with it.

If they do not, well, then, bad things happen to them.

Since this kid has the ability to bend reality, he can change them into hideous beasts, monsters, retarded brainless oafs or anything that a six year old that watches cartoons can dream of.

And in every case, when this affects others, the results are not pleasant.

There is a cornfield at the edge of his town, and when there is someone who he does not like, the teleports them into that cornfield where very bad things happen to them.

In most conversation, when you use this idiom, it is assumed that you mean that you will do something very bad to the person. Such as firing a person, hurting them in some way, or damaging them to the point of death. And this is how most people understand this idiom.

However, this is NOT how MM uses this idiom.

MM has a skill. It is a very strong and powerful skill. It is a skill that is so advanced that most humans are unaware that it exists. MM’s role in MAJestic was to anchor world-lines. MM can target a person, and alter their world-line, anchor it to that alteration, and force a person to live the life so created.

This skill has been used for benevolent purposes. However, there are those that which to hurt, disparage or just be a trolling pest to MM and the work herein.

In these instances, MM actually DOES send the person to “the cornfield”.

It is a lot of work, and it is a hassle, but for those deserving of it (as determined by MM) time and effort will be allocated to send this targeted individual “to the cornfield” for the rest of their physical life. It IS a life sentence.

How this is accomplished…

Technique 1

MM takes your pre-birth world-line template. Then, amplifies the Y coordinate that refers to heights of the mountains. Inserts the target individual back on that template, and then locks it in place; or to use MM parlance… anchors it in place.

The end result is that everything would appear to be the same for that person, but everything will be much harder to accomplish.

As an example; When once it was easy to drive to a gas station and fill your car up with gas, now your car would run out of gas in the middle of a busy intersection with everyone directing hate at you and honking their horns. When you walk the 15 Km to the gas station, you would find out that it was being robbed and the police tell you to walk another 30 Km to the next nearest station. There, while you are filling up the tank, the hose springs a leak and the police come and arrest you for vandalism…

…and so on and so forth.

Technique 2

Here, MM switches your template completely.

You get sent on a nice long slide to a very different world-line template, and there it is locked into place.

This template, is of course, not a pleasant one.

A very busy and difficult terrain to live upon.

And the person so locked in will find that everything is bad luck (compared to their previous world-line template), and all sorts of *new* and disturbing experiences will manifest in their life.

Not sent to the cornfield, but might well have been.

Technique 3

Here, the world-line template itself does not change. Just the skin-suit that occupies that reality.

So everything else would stay the same, but the skin-suit would change.

Maybe the person would end up with AIDS, or discover that they no longer had arms and legs, or perhaps they could not see. Maybe they would end up in the body of the different sex, or even different species. Maybe they might be of a different skin color, or have a different head of hair.

But more often than not, the easiest thing to do is change the size of various portions of the body. To make them colossal, or extra tiny, tiny, tiny.

What a discovery! Such a nice little tiny thing!

You know, anything is possible in the MWI.

It’s goes without saying that when I say that trolls to MM have small dicks, I am being literal and not figurative.

Do you want more?

You can find more articles related to this in my MAJestic Index;

MAJestic

Articles & Links

Master Index

You can start reading the articles by going HERE.
You can visit the Index Page HERE to explore by article subject.
You can also ask the author some questions. You can go HERE to find out how to go about this.
You can find out more about the author HERE.
If you have concerns or complaints, you can go HERE.
If you want to make a donation, you can go HERE.

The Number of the Beast (full text) by Robert Heinlein

This is the full text of a very long full length novel by Robert Heinlein. It is about a “mad scientist” that builds a machine that can enter and leave different world-lines at will. The scientist meets up with a girl and they both go out exploring all the very many different world lines at their leasure. As they fiddle with the controls they start to enter some very strange world-lines. Some of which resemble other science fiction novels, and some that resemble childhood stories…

This novel was one of the last Heinlein stores. It tends to be confusing if you have never read Heinlein before. As he refers to other stories that he wrote and the events that transpire tends to be confusing if you are not paying attention to it. Further, this (as one of his last major works) is jam packed with “farwells” to his friends, family and associates, as well as chock full of literiary “Easter Eggs”. He also includes answers to some “Hanging” mysteries and unanswered situations in some of his other works.

I enjoyed it, and perhaps you will as well.

CONTENTS

PART 1 – The Vale
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18

PART 2 – The Apostate
19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38

PART 3 – The Time Of Woe
39 40 41 42 43 44 45 46 47 48

PART ONE – The Mandarin’s Butterfly

Chapter I

” – it is better to marry than to burn.” – Saul of Tarsus

Zeb:
“He’s a Mad Scientist and I’m his Beautiful Daughter.”
That’s what she said: the oldest cliché in pulp fiction. She wasn’t old enough to remember the pulps.
The thing to do with a silly remark is to fail to hear it. I went on waltzing while taking another look down her evening formal. Nice view. Not foam rubber.
She waltzed well. Today most girls who even attempt ballroom dancing drape themselves around your neck and expect you to shove them around the floor. She kept her weight on her own feet, danced close without snuggling, and knew what I was going to do a split second before I led it. A perfect partner as long as she didn’t talk.
“Well?” she persisted.
My paternal grandfather – an unsavory old reactionary; the FemLibbers would have lynched him – used to say, “Zebadiah, the mistake we made was not in putting shoes on them or in teaching them to read – we should never have taught them to talk!”
I signaled a twirl by pressure; she floated into it and back into my arms right on the beat. I inspected her hands and the outer corners of her eyes. Yes, she really was young – minimum eighteen (Hilda Corners never permitted legal “infants” at her parties), maximum twenty-five, first approximation twenty-two. Yet she danced like her grandmother’s generation.
“Well?” she repeated more firmly.
This time I openly stared. “Is that cantilevering natural? Or is there an invisible bra, you being in fact the sole support of two dependents?”
She glanced down, looked up and grinned. “They do stick out, don’t they? Your comment is rude, crude, unrefined, and designed to change the subject.”
“What subject? I made a polite inquiry; you parried it with amphigory.”
“‘Amphigory’ my tired feet! I answered precisely.”
“‘Amphigory,'” I repeated. “The operative symbols were ‘mad,’ ‘scientist,’ ‘beautiful,’ and ‘daughter.’ The first has several meanings – the others denote opinions. Semantic content: zero.”
She looked thoughtful rather than angry. “Pop isn’t rabid… although I did use ‘mad’ in ambivalent mode. ‘Scientist’ and ‘beautiful’ each contain descriptive opinions, I stipulate. But are you in doubt as to my sex? If so, are you qualified to check my twenty-third chromosome pair? With transsexual surgery so common I assume that anything less would not satisfy you.”
“I prefer a field test.”
“On the dance floor?”
“No, the bushes back of the pool. Yes, I’m qualified – laboratory or field. But it was not your sex that lay in the area of opinion; that is a fact that can be established… although the gross evidence is convincing. I -“
“Ninety-five centimeters isn’t gross! Not for my height. One hundred seventy bare-footed, one eighty in these heels. It’s just that I’m wasp-waisted for my mass – forty-eight centimeters versus fifty-nine kilos.”
“And your teeth are your own and you don’t have dandruff. Take it easy, Deedee; I didn’t mean to shake your aplomb” – or those twin glands that are not gross but delicious. I have an infantile bias and have known it since I was six – six months, that is. “But the symbol ‘daughter’ encompasses two statements, one factual – sex – and the other a matter of opinion even when stated by a forensic genetohematologist.”
“Gosh, what big words you know, Mister. I mean ‘Doctor’.”
“‘Mister’ is correct. On this campus it is swank to assume that everyone holds a doctorate. Even I have one, Ph.D. Do you know what that stands for?”
“Doesn’t everybody? I have a Ph.D., too. ‘Piled Higher and Deeper.'”
I raised that maximum to twenty-six and assigned it as second approximation. “Phys. ed.?”
“Mister Doctor, you are trying to get my goat. Won’t work. I had an undergraduate double major, one being phys. ed. with teacher’s credentials in case I needed a job. But my real major was math – which I continued in graduate school.”
“And here I had been assuming that ‘Deedee’ meant ‘Doctor of Divinity.'”
“Go wash out your mouth with soap. My nickname is my initials – Dee Tee. Or Deety. Doctor D. T. Burroughs if being formal, as I can’t be ‘Mister’ and refuse to be ‘Miz’ or ‘Miss.’ See here, Mister; I’m supposed to be luring you with my radiant beauty, then hooking you with my feminine charm… and not getting anywhere. Let’s try another tack. Tell me what you piled higher and deeper.”
“Let me think. Flycasting? Or was it basketweaving? It was one of those transdisciplinary things in which the committee simply weighs the dissertation. Tell you what. I’ve got a copy around my digs. I’ll find it and see what title the researcher who wrote it put on it.”
“Don’t bother. The title is ‘Some Implications of a Six-Dimensional Non-Newtonian Continuum.’ Pop wants to discuss it.”
I stopped waltzing. “Huh? He’d better discuss that paper with the bloke who wrote it.”
“Nonsense; I saw you blink – I’ve hooked you. Pop wants to discuss it, then offer you a job.”
“‘Job’! I just slipped off the hook.”
“Oh, dear! Pop will be really mad. Please? Please, sir!”
“You said that you had used ‘mad’ in ambivalent mode. How?”
“Oh. Mad-angry because his colleagues won’t listen to him. Mad-psychotic in the opinions of some colleagues. They say his papers don’t make sense.”
“Do they make sense?”
“I’m not that good a mathematician, sir. My work is usually simplifying software. Child’s play compared with n-dimensional spaces.”
I wasn’t required to express an opinion; the trio started Blue Tango, Deety melted into my arms. You don’t talk if you know tango.
Deety knew. After an eternity of sensual bliss, I swung her out into position precisely on coda; she answered my bow and scrape with a deep curtsy. “Thank you, sir.”
“Whew! After a tango like that the couple ought to get married.”
“All right. I’ll find our hostess and tell Pop. Five minutes? Front door, or side?”
She looked serenely happy. I said, “Deety, do you mean what you appear to mean? That you intend to marry me? A total stranger?”
Her face remained calm but the light went out – and her nipples went down. She answered steadily. “After that tango we are no longer strangers. I construed your statement as a proposal – no, a willingness – to marry me. Was I mistaken?”
My mind went into emergency, reviewing the past years the way a drowning man’s life is supposed to flash before his eyes (how could anyone know that?): a rainy afternoon when my chum’s older sister had initiated me into the mysteries; the curious effect caused by the first time strangers had shot back at me; a twelve-month cohabitation contract that had started with a bang and had ended without a whimper; countless events which had left me determined never to marry.
I answered instantly, “I meant what I implied – marriage, in its older meaning. I’m willing. But why are you willing? I’m no prize.”
She took a deep breath, straining the fabric, and – thank Allah! – her nipples came up. “Sir, you are the prize I was sent to fetch, and, when you said that we really ought to get married – hyperbole and I knew it – I suddenly realized, with a deep burst of happiness, that this was the means of fetching you that I wanted above all!”
She went on, “But I will not trap you through misconstruing a gallantry. If you wish, you may take me into those bushes back of the pool… and not marry me.” She went on firmly, “But for that… whoring… my fee is for you to talk with my father and to let him show you something.”
“Deety, you’re an idiot! You would ruin that pretty gown.”
“Mussing a dress is irrelevant but I can take it off. I will. There’s nothing under it.”
“There’s a great deal under it!”
That fetched a grin, instantly wiped away. “Thank you. Shall we head for the bushes?”
“Wait a half! I’m about to be noble and regret it the rest of my life. You’ve made a mistake. Your father doesn’t want to talk to me; I don’t know anything about n-dimensional geometry.” (Why do I get these attacks of honesty? I’ve never done anything to deserve them.)
“Pop thinks you do; that is sufficient. Shall we go? I want to get Pop out of here before he busts somebody in the mouth.”
“Don’t rush me; I didn’t ask you to rassle on the grass; I said I wanted to marry you – but wanted to know why you were willing to marry me. Your answer concerned what your father wants. I’m not trying to marry your father; he’s not my type. Speak for yourself, Deety. Or drop it.” (Am I a masochist? There’s a sunbathing couch back of those bushes.)
Solemnly she looked me over, from my formal tights to my crooked bow tie and on up to my thinning brush cut – a hundred and ninety-four centimeters of big ugly galoot. “I like your firm lead in dancing. I like the way you look. I like the way your voice rumbles. I like your hair-splitting games with words – you sound like Whorf debating Korzybski with Shannon as referee.” She took another deep breath, finished almost sadly: “Most of all, I like the way you smell.”
It would have taken a sharp nose to whiff me. I had been squeaky clean ninety minutes earlier, and it takes more than one waltz and a tango to make me sweat. But her remark had that skid in it that Deety put into almost anything. Most girls, when they want to ruin a man’s judgment, squeeze his biceps and say, “Goodness, you’re strong!”
I grinned down at her. “You smell good too. Your perfume could rouse a corpse.”
“I’m not wearing perfume.”
“Oh. Correction: your natural pheromone. Enchanting. Get your wrap, Side door. Five minutes.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Tell your father we’re getting married. He gets that talk, free. I decided that before you started to argue. It won’t take him long to decide that I’m not Lobachevski.”
“That’s Pop’s problem,” she answered, moving. “Will you let him show you this thing he’s built in our basement?”
“Sure, why not? What is it?”

“A time machine.”

Chapter II

“This Universe never did make sense – “

Zeb:
Tomorrow I will seven eagles see, a great comet will appear, and voices will speak from whirlwinds foretelling monstrous and fearful things – This Universe never did make sense; I suspect that it was built on government contract.
“Big basement?”
“Medium. Nine by twelve. But cluttered. Work benches and power tools.”
A hundred and eight square meters – Ceiling height probably two and a half – Had Pop made the mistake of the man who built a boat in his basement?
My musing was interrupted by a male voice in a high scream: “You overeducated, obstipated, pedantic ignoramus! Your mathematical intuition froze solid the day you matriculated!”
I didn’t recognize the screamer but did know the stuffed shirt he addressed: Professor Neil O’Heret Brain, head of the department of mathematics – and God help the student who addressed a note to “Professor N.O. Brain” or even “N. O’H. Brain.” “Brainy” had spent his life in search of The Truth – intending to place it under house arrest.
He was puffed up like a pouter pigeon with is professional pontifical pomposity reeling. His expression suggested that he was giving birth to a porcupine.
Deety gasped, “It’s started,” and dashed toward the row. Me, I stay out of rows; I’m a coward by trade and wear fake zero-prescription glasses as a buffer – when some oaf snarls, “Take off your glasses!” that gives me time to retreat.
I headed straight for the row.
Deety had placed herself between the two, facing the screamer, and was saying in a low but forceful voice, “Pop, don’t you dare! – I won’t bail you out!” She was reaching for his glasses with evident intent to put them back on his face. It was clear that he had taken them off for combat; he was holding them out of her reach.
I reached over their heads, plucked them out of his hand, gave them to Deety. She flashed me a smile and put them back on her father. He gave up and let her. She then took his arm firmly. “Aunt Hilda!”
Our hostess converged on the row. “Yes, Deety? Why did you stop them, darling? You didn’t give us time to get bets down.” Fights were no novelty at “Sharp” Corners’ parties. Her food and liquor were lavish, the music always live; her guests were often eccentric but never dull – I had been surprised at the presence of N. O. Brain.
I now felt that I understood it: a planned hypergolic mixture.
Deety ignored her questions. “Will you excuse Pop and me and Mr. Carter? Something urgent has come up.”
“You and Jake may leave if you must. But you can’t drag Zebbie away. Deety, that’s cheating.”
Deety looked at me. “May I tell?”
“Eh? Certainly!”
That bliffy “Brainy” picked this moment to interrupt. “Mrs. Corners, Doctor Burroughs can’t leave until he apologizes! I insist. My privilege!”
Our hostess looked at him with scorn. “Merde, Professor. I’m not one of your teaching fellows. Shout right back at Jake Burroughs if you like. If your command of invective equals his, we’ll enjoy hearing it. But just one more wordthat sounds like an order to me or to one of my guests – and out you go! Then you had best go straight home; the Chancellor will be trying to reach you.” She turned her back on him. “Deety, you started to add something?”
“Sharp” Corners can intimidate Internal Revenue agents. She hadn’t cut loose on “Brainy” – just a warning shot across his bow. But from his face one would have thought she had hulled him. However, her remark to Deety left me no time to see whether he would have a stroke.
“Not Deety, Hilda. Me. Zeb.”
“Quiet, Zebbie. Whatever it is, the answer is No. Deety? Go ahead, dear.”
Hilda Corners is related to that famous mule. I did not use a baseball bat because she comes only up to my armpits and grosses forty-odd kilos. I picked her up by her elbows and turned her around, facing me. “Hilda, we’re going to get married.”
“Zebbie darling! I thought you would never ask.”
“Not you, you old harridan. Deety. I proposed, she accepted; I’m going to nail it down before the anesthetic wears off.”
Hilda looked thoughtfully interested. “That’s reasonable.” She craned her neck to look at Deety. “Did he mention his wife in Boston, Deety? Or the twins?”
I set her back on her feet. “Pipe down, Sharpie; this is serious. Doctor Burroughs, I am unmarried, in good health, solvent, and able to support a family. I hope this meets with your approval.”
“Pop says Yes,” Deety answered. “I hold his power of attorney.”
“You pipe down, too. My name is Carter, sir – Zeb Carter. I’m on campus; you can check my record. But I intend to marry Deety at once, if she will have me.”
“I know your name and record, sir. It doesn’t require my approval; Deety is of age. But you have it anyhow.” He looked thoughtful. “If you two are getting married at once, you’ll be too busy for shop talk. Or would you be?”
“Pop – let it be; it’s all set.”
“So? Thank you, Hilda, for a pleasant evening. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
“You’ll do no such thing; you’ll come straight back and give me a full report. Jake, you are not going on their honeymoon – I heard you.”
“Aunt Hilda – please! I’ll manage everything.”
We were out the side door close on schedule. At the parking lot there was a bobble: which heap, mine or theirs. Mine is intended for two but can take four. The rear seats are okay for two for short trips. Theirs was a four-passenger family saloon, not fast but roomy – and their luggage was in it. “How much luggage?” I asked Deety, while I visualized two overnight bags strapped into one back seat with my prospective father-in-law stashed in the other.
“I don’t have much, but Pop has two big bags and a fat briefcase. I had better show you.”
(Damn.) “Perhaps you had better.” I like my own rig, I don’t like to drive other people’s cars, and, while Deety probably handled controls as smoothly as she danced, I did not know that she did – and I’m chicken. I didn’t figure her father into the equation; trusting my skin to his temper did not appeal. Maybe Deety would settle for letting him trail us – but my bride-to-be was going to ride with me! “Where?”
“Over in the far corner. I’ll unlock it and turn on the lights.” She reached into her father’s inside jacket pocket, took out a Magic Wand.
“Wait for baby!”
The shout was from our hostess. Hilda was running down the path from her house, purse clutched in one hand and about eight thousand newdollars of sunset mink flying like a flag from the other.
So the discussion started over. Seems Sharpie had decided to come along to make certain that Jake behaved himself and had taken just long enough to tell Max (her bouncer-butler-driver) when to throw the drunks out or cover them with blankets, as needed.
She listened to Deety’s summary, then nodded. “Got it. I can handle yours, Deety; Jake and I will go in it. You ride with Zebbie, dear.” She turned to me. “Hold down the speed, Zebbie, so that I can follow. No tricks, Buster. Don’t try to lose us or you’ll have cops busting out of your ears.”
I turned my sweet innocent eyes toward her. “Why, Sharpie darling, you know I wouldn’t do anything like that.”
“You’d steal city hall if you could figure a way to carry it. Who dumped that load of lime Jello into my swimming pool?”
“I was in Africa at that time, as you know.”
“So you say. Deety darling, keep him on a short leash and don’t feed him meat. But marry him; he’s loaded. Now where’s that radio link? And your car.”
“Here,” said Deety, pointed the Magic Wand and pressed the switch.
I gathered all three into my arms and dived. We hit the ground as the blast hit everything else. But not us. The blast shadow of other cars protected us.

Chapter III

” – Professor Moriarty isn’t fooled – “

Zeb:
Don’t ask me how. Ask a trapeze artist how he does a triple ‘sault. Ask a crapshooter how he knows when he’s “hot.” But don’t ask me how I know it’s going to happen just before it hits the fan.
It doesn’t tell me anything I don’t need to know. I don’t know what’s in a letter until I open it (except the time it was a letter bomb). I have no precognition for harmless events. But this split-second knowledge when I need it has kept me alive and relatively unscarred in an era when homicide kills more people than does cancer and the favorite form of suicide is to take a rifle up some tower and keep shooting until the riot squad settles it.
I don’t see the car around the curve on the wrong side; I automatically hit the ditch. When the San Andreas Fault cut loose, I jumped out a window and was in the open when the shock arrived – and didn’t know why I had jumped.
Aside from this, my E.S.P. is erratic; I bought it cheap from a war-surplus outlet.
I sprawled with three under me. I got up fast, trying to avoid crushing them. I gave a hand to each woman, then dragged Pop to his feet. No one seemed damaged. Deety stared at the fire blazing where their car had been, face impassive. Her father was looking at the ground, searching. Deety stopped him. “Here, Pop.” She put his glasses back on him.
“Thank you, my dear.” He started toward the fire.
I grabbed his shoulder. “No! Into my car – fast!”
“Eh? My briefcase – could have blown clear.”
“Shut up and move! All of you!”
“Do it, Pop!” Deety grabbed Hilda’s arm. We stuffed the older ones into the after space; I shoved Deety into the front passenger seat and snapped: “Seat belts!” as I slammed the door – then was around to the left so fast that I should have caused a sonic boom. “Seat belts fastened?” I demanded as I fastened my own and locked the door.
“Jake’s is fastened and so is mine, Zebbie dear,” Hilda said cheerfully.
“Belt tight, door locked,” Deety reported.
The heap was hot; I had left it on trickle – what use is a fast car that won’t go scat? I switched from trickle to full, did not turn on lights, glanced at the board and released the brake.
It says here that duos must stay grounded inside city limits – so I was lifting her nose before she had rolled a meter and she was pointed straight up as we were clearing the parking lot.
Half a klick straight up while the gee meter climbed – two, three, four – I let it reach five and held it, not being sure what Pop’s heart would take. When the altimeter read four klicks, I cut everything – power, transponder, the works – while hitting a button that dropped chaff, and let her go ballistic. I didn’t know that anyone was tracking us – I didn’t want to find out.
When the altimeter showed that we had topped out, I let the wings open a trifle. When I felt them bite air, I snap-rolled onto her belly, let wings crawl out to subsonic aspect and let her glide. “Everybody okay?”
Hilda giggled. “Whoops, dear! Do that again! This time, somebody kiss me.”
“Pipe down, you shameless old strumpet. Pop?”
“I’m okay, son.”
“Deety?”
“Okay here.”
“Did that fall in the parking lot hurt you?”
“No, sir. I twisted in the air and took it on one buttock while getting Pop’s glasses. But next time put a bed under me, please. Or a wrestling mat.”
“I’ll remember.” I switched on radio but not transponder, tried all police frequencies. If anyone had noticed our didoes, they weren’t discussing it on the air. We were down to two klicks; I made an abrupt wingover to the right, then switched on power. “Deety, where do you and your Pop live?”
“Logan, Utah.”
“How long does it take to get married there?”
“Zebbie,” Hilda cut in, “Utah has no waiting time -“
“So we go to Logan.”
” – but does require blood test. Deety, do you know Zebbie’s nickname around campus? The Wasp. For ‘Wassermann Positive.’ Zebbie, everybody knows that Nevada is the only state that offers twenty-four-hour service, no waiting time, no blood test. So point this bomb at Reno and sign off.”
“Sharpie darling,” I said gently, “would you like to walk home from two thousand meters?”
“I don’t know; I’ve never tried it.”
“That’s an ejection seat… but no parachutes.”
“Oh, how romantic! Jake darling, we’ll sing the Liebestod on the way down – you sing tenor, I’ll force a soprano and we’ll die in each other’s arms. Zebbie, could we have more altitude? For the timing.”
“Doctor Burroughs, gag that hitchhiker. Sharpie, Liebestod is a solo.”
“Picky, picky! Isn’t dead-on-arrival enough? Jealous because you can’t carry a tune? I told Dicky Boy that should be a duet and Cosima agreed with me -“
“Sharpie, button your frimpin’ lip while I explain. One: Everybody at your party knows why we left and will assume that we headed for Reno. You probably called out something to that effect as you left -“
“I believe I did. Yes, I did.”
“Shut up. Somebody made a professional effort to kill Doctor Burroughs. Not just kill but overkill; that combo of high explosive and Thermit was intended to leave nothing to analyze. But it is possible that no one saw us lift. We were into this go-wagon and I was goosing it less than thirty seconds after that booby trap exploded. Innocent bystanders would look at the fire, not at us. Guilty bystanders – There wouldn’t be any. A professional who booby-traps a car either holes up or crosses a state line and gets lost. The party or parties who paid for the contract may be nearby, but if they are, Hilda, they’re in your house.”
“One of my guests?”
“Oh, shut it, Sharpie; you are never interested in the morals of your guests. If they can be depended on to throw custard pies or do impromptu strips or some other prank that will keep your party from growing dull, that qualifies them. However, I am not assuming that the boss villain was at your party; I am saying that he would not be lurking where the Man might put the arm on him. Your house would be the best place to hide and watch the plot develop.
“But, guest or not, he was someone who knew that Doctor Burroughs would be at your party. Hilda, who knew that key fact?”
She answered with uncustomary seriousness. “I don’t know, Zebbie. I would have to think.”
“Think hard.”
“Mmm, not many. Several were invited because Jake was coming – you, for example -“
“I became aware of that.”
” – but you weren’t told that Jake would be present. Some were told – ‘No Brain,’ for example – but I can’t imagine that old fool booby-trapping a car.”
“I can’t either, but killers don’t look like killers; they look like people. How long before the party did you tell ‘Brainy’ that Pop would be present?”
“I told him when I invited him. Mmm, eight days ago.”
I sighed. “The possibles include not only the campus but the entire globe. So we must try to figure probables. Doctor Burroughs, can you think of anyone who would like to see you dead?”
“Several!”
“Let me rephrase it. Who hates your guts so bitterly that he would not hesitate to kill your daughter as long as he got you? And also bystanders such as Hilda and me. Not that we figure, save to show that he didn’t give a hoot who caught it. A deficient personality. Amoral. Who is he?”
Pop Burroughs hesitated. “Doctor Carter, disagreement between mathematicians can be extremely heated… and I am not without fault.” (You’re telling me, Pop!) “But these quarrels rarely result in violence. Even the death of Archimedes was only indirectly related to his – our – profession. To encompass my daughter as well – no, even Doctor Brain, much as I despise him, does not fit the picture.”
Deety said, “Zeb, could it have been me they were shooting at?”
“You tell me. Whose dolly have you busted?”
“Hmm – I can’t think of anyone who dislikes me even enough to snub me. Sounds silly but it’s true.”
“It’s the truth,” put in Sharpie. “Deety is just like her mother was. When Jane – Deety’s mother, and my best friend until we lost her-when Jane and I were roommates in college, I was always getting into jams and Jane was always getting me out-and never got into one herself. A peacemaker. So is Deety.”
“Okay, Deety, you’re out of it. So is Hilda and so am I, as whoever placed that booby trap could not predict that either Hilda or I would be in blast range. So it’s Pop they’re gunning for. Who we don’t know, why we don’t know. When we figure out why, we’ll know who. Meantime we’ve got to keep Pop out of range. I’m going to marry you as fast as possible, not only because you smell good but to give me a legitimate interest in this fight.”
“So we go first to Reno.”
“Shut up, Sharpie. We’ve been on course for Reno since we leveled off.” I flipped on the transponder, but to the left, not right. It would now answer with a registered, legal signal… but not one registered to my name. This cost me some shekels I did not need but were appreciated by a tight – lipped family man in Indio. Sometimes it is convenient not to be identified by sky cops every time one crosses a state line.
“But we aren’t going to Reno. Those cowboy maneuvers were intended to deceive the eye, radar, and heat seekers. The evasion against the heat seekers – that rough turn while we were still in glide – either worked or was not needed, as we haven’t had a missile up the tail. Probably wasn’t needed; people who booby-trap cars aren’t likely to be prepared to shoot a duo out of the sky. But I couldn’t be certain, so I ducked. We may be assumed to be dead in the blast and fire, and that assumption may stand up until the mess has cooled down and there is daylight to work by. Even later it may stand up, as the cops may not tell anyone that they were unable to find organic remains. But I must assume that Professor Moriarty isn’t fooled, that he is watching by repeater scope in his secret HQ, that he knows we are headed for Reno, and that hostiles will greet us there. So we won’t go there. Now quiet, please; I must tell this baby what to do.”
The computer-pilot of my car can’t cook but what she can do, she does well. I called for display map, changed scale to include Utah, used the light pen to trace route – complex as it curved around Reno to the south, back north again, made easting over some very empty country, and passed north of Hill Air Force Range in approaching Logan. I fed in height-above-ground while giving her leeway to smooth out bumps, and added one change in speed-over-ground once we were clear of Reno radar. “Got it, girl?” I asked her.
“Got it, Zeb.”
“Ten-minute call, please.”
“Call you ten minutes before end of routing – right!”
“You’re a smart girl, Gay.”
“Boss, I bet you tell that to all the girls. Over.”
“Roger and out, Gay.” The display faded.
Certainly I could have programmed my autopilot to accept a plan in response to a punched “Execute.” But isn’t it pleasanter to be answered by a warm contralto? But the “smart girl” aspect lay in the fact that it took my voice to make a flight plan operative. A skilled electron pusher might find a way to override my lock, then drive her manually. But the first time he attempted to use autopilot, the car would not only not accept the program but would scream for help on all police frequencies. This causes car thieves to feel maladjusted.
I looked up and saw that Deety had been following this intently. I waited for some question. Instead Deety said, “She has a very pleasant voice, Zeb.”
“Gay Deceiver is a very nice girl, Deety.”
“And talented. Zeb, I have never before been in a Ford that can do the things this car – Gay Deceiver? – can do.”
“After we’re married I’ll introduce you to her more formally. It will require reprogramming.”
“I look forward to knowing her better.”
“You will. Gay is not exactly all Ford. Her external appearance was made by Ford of Canada. Most of the rest of her once belonged to Australian Defense Forces. But I added a few doodads. The bowling alley. The powder room. The veranda. Little homey touches.”
“I’m sure she appreciates them, Zeb. I know I do. I suspect that, had she not had them, we would all be as dead as canasta.”
“You may be right. If so, it would not be the first time Gay has kept me alive. You have not seen all her talents.”
“I’m beyond being surprised. So far as I could see you didn’t tell her to land at Logan.”
“Logan seems to be the next most likely place for a reception committee. Who in Logan knows that you and your father were going to visit Hilda?”
“No one, through me.”
“Mail? Milk cartons? Newspapers?”
“No deliveries to the house, Zeb.” She turned her head, “Pop, does anyone in Logan know where we went?”
“Doctor Carter, to the best of my knowledge, no one in Logan knows that We left. Having lived many years in the buzzing gossip of Academe, I have learned to keep my life as private as possible.”
“Then I suggest that you all ease your belts and sleep. Until ten minutes before reaching Logan there is little to do.”
“Doctor Carter -“
“Better call me Zeb, Pop. Get used to it.”
“‘Zeb’ it is, son. On page eighty-seven of your monograph, after the equation numbered one-twenty-one in your discussion of the rotation of six-dimensional spaces of positive curvature, you said, ‘From this it is evident that – ‘ and immediately write your equation one-twenty-two. How did you do it? I’m not disagreeing, sir – on the contrary! But in an unpublished paper of my own I used a dozen pages to arrive at the same transformation. Did you have a direct intuition? Or did you simply omit publishing details? No criticism, I am impressed either way. Sheer curiosity.”
“Doctor, I did not write that paper. I told Deety so.”
“That is what he claimed, Pop.”
“Oh, come now! Two Doctors Zebulon E. Carter on one campus?”
“No. But that’s not my name. I’m Zebadiah J. Carter. Zebulon E.-for-Edward Carter and called ‘Ed’ is my cousin. While he is probably listed as being on campus, in fact he is doing an exchange year in Singapore. It’s not as improbable as it sounds; all male members of my family have first names starting with ‘Z.’ It has to do with money and a will and a trust fund and the fact that my grandfather and his father were somewhat eccentric.”
“Whereas you aren’t,” Hilda said sweetly.
“Quiet, dear.” I turned toward Deety. “Deety, do you want to be released from our engagement? I did try to tell you that you had trapped the wrong bird.”
“Zebadiah – “
“Yes, Deety?”
“I intend to marry you before this night is over. But you haven’t kissed me. I want to be kissed.”
I unfastened my seat belt, started to unfasten hers, found that she had done so.
Deety kisses even better than she tangos.
During a break for oxygen, I asked her in a whisper: “Deety, what do your initials stand for?”
“Well… please don’t laugh.”
“I won’t. But I have to know them for the ceremony.”
“I know. All right, Dee Tee stands for Dejah Thoris.”
Dejah Thoris – Dejah Thoris Burroughs – Dejah Thoris Carter! I cracked up.
I got it under control after two whoops. Too many. Deety said sadly, “You said you wouldn’t laugh.”
“Deety darling, I wasn’t laughing at your name; I was laughing at mine.”
“I don’t think ‘Zebadiah’ is a funny name. I like it.”
“So do I. It keeps me from being mixed up with the endless Bobs and Eds and Toms. But I didn’t tell my middle name. What’s a funny name starting with ‘J’?”
“I won’t guess.”
“Let me lead up to it. I was born near the campus of the university Thomas Jefferson founded. The day I graduated from college I was commissioned a second looie Aerospace Reserve. I’ve been promoted twice. My middle initial stands for ‘John.'”
It took not quite a second for her to add it up. “Captain… John… Carter – of Virginia.”
“‘A clean-limbed fighting man,'” I agreed. “Kaor, Dejah Thoris. At your service, my princess. Now and forever!”
“Kaor, Captain John Carter. Helium is proud to accept.”
We fell on each other’s shoulders, howling. After a bit the howling died down and turned into another kiss.
When we came up for air, Hilda tapped me on a shoulder. “Would you let us in on the joke?”
“Do we tell her, Deety?”
“I’m not sure. Aunt Hilda talks.”
“Oh, nonsense! I know your full name and I’ve never told anyone – I held you at your christening. You were wet, too. At both ends. Now give!”
“All right. We don’t have to get married – we already are. For years. More than a century.”
Pop spoke up. “Eh? What’s this?” I explained to him. He looked thoughtful, then nodded. “Logical.” He went back to figuring he was doing in a notebook, then looked up. “Your cousin Zebulon – Is he on the telephone?”
“Probably not but he lives at the New Raffles.”
“Excellent. I’ll try both the hotel and the university. Doctor – Son – Zeb, would you be so kind as to place the call? My comcredit code is Nero Aleph eight zero one dash seven five two dash three nine three two Zed Star Zed.” (Zed Star Zed credit rating – I was not going to have to support my prospective father-in-law.)
Deety cut in. “Pop, you must not call Professor Carter – Zebulon Carter – at this hour.”
“But, my dear daughter, it is not late at night in -“
“Of course it isn’t; I can count. You want a favor from him, so don’t interrupt his after-lunch nap. ‘Mad dogs and Englishmen.'”
“It isn’t noon in Singapore; it’s -“
” – siesta time, even hotter than noon. So wait.”
“Deety is right, Pop,” I interrupted, “but for the wrong reasons. It doesn’t seem to be a matter of life and death to call him this minute. Whereas it might be a matter of life and death – ours, I mean – to make a call from this car… especially with your credit code. Until we find out who the Boys in the Black Hats are, I advise that you place calls from the ground and from public phones that you can feed with newdollars instead of your code. Say a phone in Peoria. Or Paducah. Can it wait?”
“Since you put it that way, sir – yes, it can wait. Although I have trouble believing that anyone wishes to kill me.”
“Available data indicate it.”
“Agreed. But I have not yet grasped it emotionally.”
“Takes a baseball bat,” said Hilda. “I had to sit on him while Jane proposed to him.”
“Why, Hilda my dear, that is utterly unfactual. I wrote my late beloved a polite note saying -“
I let them argue while, I tried to add to available data. “Gay Deceiver.”
“Yes, Boss?”
“News, dear.”
“Ready, Boss.”
“Retrieval parameters. Time – since twenty-one hundred. Area – California, Nevada, Utah. Persons – your kindly boss, dear. Doctor Jacob Burroughs, Doctor D. T. Burroughs, Miz Hilda Corners – ” I hesitated. “Professor Neil O’Heret Brain.” I felt silly adding “Brainy” – but there had been a row between Pop and him, and years earlier my best teacher had said, “Never neglect the so-called ‘trivial’ roots of an equation,” and had pointed out that two Nobel prizes had derived from “trivial” roots.
“Parameters complete, Boss?”
Doctor Burroughs touched my shoulder. “Can your computer check the news if any on your cousin?”
“Mmm, maybe. She stores sixty million bytes, then wipes last-in-last-out everything not placed on permanent. But her news storage is weighted sixty-forty in favor of North America. I’ll try. Smart Girl.”
“Holding, Boss.”
“Addendum. First retrieve by parameters given. Then retrieve by new program. Time – backwards from now to wipe time. Area – Singapore. Person – Zebulon Edward Carter aka Ed Carter aka Doctor Z. E. Carter aka Professor Z. E. Carter aka Professor or Doctor Carter of Raffles University.”
“Two retrieval programs in succession. Got it, Zeb.”
“You’re a smart girl, Gay.”
“Boss, I bet you tell that to all the girls. Over.”
“Roger, Gay. Execute!”
“AP San Francisco. A mysterious explosion disturbed the academic quiet of – ” A story ending with the usual claim about an arrest being expected “momentarily” settled several points: All of us were believed dead. Our village top cop claimed to have a theory but was keeping it mum – meaning that he knew even less than we did. Since we were reported as “presumed dead” and since the news said nothing about an illegal lift-off and other capers that annoy sky cops, I assumed tentatively that police radar had not been looking at us until after we had become just one more blip behaving legally. The lack of mention of the absence of Gay Deceiver did not surprise me, as I had roaded in and had been last or nearly last to park – and could have arrived by taxi, public capsule, or on foot. Doctor Brain was not mentioned, nothing about the row. Guests had been questioned and released. Five cars parked near the, explosion had been damaged.
“Nevada – null retrieval. Utah – UPI Salt Lake City. A fire near Utah State, University campus in Logan destroyed – ” “Blokes in Black Hats” again and Deety and her Pop were dead twice over, as they were presumed to have been overcome by smoke, unable to escape. No one else hurt or missing. Fire attributed to faulty wiring. “End of first retrieval, Zeb. Second retrieval starting.” Gay shut up.
I said soberly, “Pop, somebody doesn’t like you.”
He groaned, “Gone! All gone!”
“No copies of your papers elsewhere? And your… gadget?”
“Eh? No, no! – much worse! My irreplaceable collection of pulp magazines. Weird Tales, Argosy, All-Story, the early Gernsbachs, The Shadow, Black Mask – Ooooooh!”
“Pop really does feel bad,” Deety whispered, “and I could manage tears myself. I taught myself to read from that collection. War Aces, Air Wonder, the complete Clayton Astoundings – It was appraised at two hundred and thirteen thousand newdollars. Grandpop started it, Pop continued it – I grew up reading them.”
“I’m sorry, Deety.” I hugged her. “They should have been microfiched.”
“They were. But that’s not having the magazines in your hands.”
“I agree. Uh, how about the… thing in the basement?”
“What ‘Thing in the Basement’?” demanded Sharpie. “Zebbie, you sound like H. P. Lovecraft.”
“Later, Sharpie. Comfort Jake; we’re busy. Gay!”
“Here, Zeb. Where’s the riot?”
“Display map, please.” We were midway over northern Nevada. “Cancel routing and cruise random. Report nearest county seat.”
“Winnemucca and Elko are equidistant to one percent. Elko closer by ETA as I am now vectored eleven degrees north of Elko bearing.”
“Deety, would you like to be married in Elko?”
“Zebadiah, I would love to be married in Elko.”
“Elko it is, but loving may have to wait. Gay, vector for Elko and ground us, normal private cruising speed. Report ETA in elapsed minutes.”
“Roger Wilco, Elko. Nine minutes seventeen seconds.”
Hilda said soothingly, “There, there, Jake darling; Mama is here” – then added in her top sergeant voice, “Quit stalling, Zebbie! What ‘Thing’ in which basement?”
“Sharpie, you’re nosy. It belonged to Pop and now it’s destroyed and that’s all you need to know.”
“Oh, but it wasn’t,” Doctor Burroughs said. “Zeb is speaking of my continua craft, Hilda. It’s safe. Not in Logan.”
“What in the Name of the Dog is a ‘continua craft’?”
“Pop means,” Deety explained, “his time machine.”
“Then why didn’t he say so? Everybody savvies ‘Time Machine.’ George Pal’s ‘Time Machine’ – a classic goodie. I’ve caught it on the late-late-early show more than once.”
“Sharpie,” I asked, “can you read?”
“Certainly I can read! ‘Run, Spot, run See Spot run.’ Smarty.”
“Have you ever heard of H. G. Wells?”
“Heard of him? I’ve had him.”
“You are a boastful old tart, but not that old. When Mr. Wells died, you were still a virgin.”
“Slanderer! Hit him, Jake – he insulted me.”
“Zeb didn’t mean to insult you, I feel sure. Deety won’t permit me to hit people, even when they need it.”
“We’ll change that.”
“Second retrieval complete,” Gay Deceiver reported. “Holding.”
“Report second retrieval, please.”
“Reuters, Singapore. The Marston expedition in Sumatra is still unreported according to authorities at Palembang. The party is thirteen days overdue. Besides Professor Marston and native guides and assistants, the party included Doctor Z.E. Carter, Doctor Cecil Yang, and Mr. Giles Smythe-Belisha. The Minister of Tourism and Culture stated that the search will be pursued assiduously. End of retrieval.”
Poor Ed. We had never been close but he had never caused me grief. I hoped that he was shacked up with something soft and sultry – rather than losing his head to a jungle machete, which seemed more likely. “Pop, a few minutes ago I said that somebody doesn’t like you. I now suspect that somebody doesn’t like n-dimensional geometers.”
“It would seem so, Zeb. I do hope your cousin is safe – a most brilliant mind! He would be a great loss to all mankind.”
(And to himself, I added mentally. And me, since family duty required that I do something about it. When what I had in mind was a honeymoon.) “Gay.”
“Here, Zeb.”
“Addendum. Third news retrieval program. Use all parameters second program. Add Sumatra to area. Add all proper names and titles found in second retrieval. Run until canceled. Place retrievals in permanent memory. Report new items soonest. Start.”
“Running, Boss.”
“You’re a good girl, Gay.”
“Thank you, Zeb. Grounding Elko two minutes seven seconds.”
Deety squeezed my hand harder. “Pop, as soon as I’m legally Mrs. John Carter I think we should all go to Snug Harbor.”
“Eh? Obviously.”
“You, too, Aunt Hilda. It might not be safe for you to go home.”
“Change in plans, dear. It’s going to be a double wedding. Jake. Me.”
Deety looked alert but not displeased. “Pop?”
“Hilda has at last consented to marry me, dear.”
“Rats,” said Sharpie. “Jake has never asked me in the past and didn’t this time; I simply told him. Hit him with it while he was upset over losing his comic books and unable to defend himself. It’s necessary, Deety – I promised Jane I would take care of Jake and I have – through you, up to now. But from here on you’ll be taking care of Zebbie, keeping him out of trouble, wiping his nose… so I’ve got to hogtie Jake into marriage to keep my promise to Jane. Instead of sneaking into his bed from time to time as in the past.”
“Why, Hilda dear, you have never been in my bed!”
“Don’t shame me in front of the children, Jake. I gave you a test run before I let Jane marry you and you don’t dare deny it.”
Jake shrugged helplessly. “As you wish, dear Hilda.”
“Aunt Hilda… do you love Pop?”
“Would I marry him if I didn’t? I could carry out my promise to Jane more simply by having him committed to a shrink factory. Deety, I’ve loved Jake longer than you have. Much! But he loved Jane… which shows that he is basically rational despite his weird ways. I shan’t try to change him, Deety; I’m simply going to see to it that he wears his overshoes and takes his vitamins – as you’ve been doing. I’ll still be ‘Aunt Hilda,’ not ‘Mother.’ Jane was and is your mother.”
“Thank you, Aunt Hilda. I thought I was happy as a woman can be, getting Zebadiah. But you’ve made me still happier. No worries.”
(I had worries. Blokes with Black Hats and no faces. But I didn’t say so, as Deety was snuggling closer and assuring me that it was all right because Aunt Hilda wouldn’t fib about loving Pop… but I should ignore that guff about her sneaking into Pop’s bed – on which I had no opinion and less interest.) “Deety, where and what is ‘Snug Harbor’?”
“It’s… a nowhere place. A hideout. Land Pop leased from the government when he decided to build his time twister instead of just writing equations. But we may have to wait for daylight. Unless – Can Gay Deceiver home on a given latitude and longitude?”
“She certainly can! Precisely.”
“Then it’s all right. I can give it to you in degrees, minutes, and fractions of a second.”
“Grounding,” Gay warned us.
The Elko County Clerk did not object to getting out of bed and seemed pleased with the century note I slipped him. The County Judge was just as accommodating and pocketed her honorarium without glancing at it. I stammered but managed to say, “I, Zebadiah John, take thee, Dejah Thoris – ” Deety went through it as solemnly and perfectly as if she had rehearsed it… while Hilda sniffled throughout.
A good thing that Gay can home on a pin point; I was in no shape to drive even in daylight. I had her plan her route, too, a dogleg for minimum radar and no coverage at all for the last hundred-odd kilometers to this place in the Arizona Strip north of the Grand Canyon. But I had her hover before grounding – I being scared silly until I was certain there was not a third fire there.
A cabin, fireproof, with underground parking for Gay – I relaxed.
We split a bottle of chablis. Pop seemed about to head for the basement. Sharpie tromped on it and Deety ignored it.
I carried Deety over the threshold into her bedroom, put her gently down, faced her. “Dejah Thoris -“
“Yes, John Carter?”
“I did not have time to buy you a wedding present -“
“I need no present from my captain.”
“Hear me out, my princess. My Uncle Zamir did not have as fine a collection as your father had… but may I gift you with a complete set of Clayton Astoundings -“
She suddenly smiled.
” – and first editions of the first six Oz books, quite worn but with the original color plates? And a first in almost mint condition of ‘A Princess of Mars’?”
The smile became a grin and she looked nine years old. “Yes!”
“Would your father accept a complete set of Weird Tales?”
“Would he! Northwest Smithand Jirel of Joiry? I’m going to borrow them – or he can’t look at my Oz books. I’m stubborn, I am. And selfish. And mean!”
“‘Stubborn’ stipulated. The others denied.”
Deety stuck out her tongue. “You’ll find out.” Suddenly her face was solemn. “But I sorrow, my prince, that I have no present for my husband.”
“But you have!”
“I do?”
“Yes. Beautifully wrapped and making me dizzy with heavenly fragrance.”
“Oh.” She looked solemn but serenely happy. “Will my husband unwrap me? Please?”
I did.
That is all anyone is ever going to know about our wedding night.

Chapter IV

Because two things equal to the same thing are never equal to each other.

Deety:
I woke early as I always do at Snug Harbor, wondered why I was ecstatically happy – then remembered, and turned my head. My husband – “husband!” – what a heart-filling word – my husband was sprawled face down beside me, snoring softly and drooling onto his pillow. I held still, thinking how beautiful he was, how gently strong and gallantly tender.
I was tempted to wake him but I knew that my darling needed rest. So I eased out of bed and snuck noiselessly into my bath – our bath – and quietly took care of this and that. I did not risk drawing a tub – although I needed one. I have a strong body odor that calls for at least one sudsy bath a day, two if I am going out that evening – and this morning I was certainly whiff as a polecat.
I made do with a stand-up bath by letting water run in a noiseless trickle into the basin – I would grab that proper bath after my Captain was awake; meanwhile I would stay downwind.
I pulled on briefs, started to tie on a halter – stopped and looked in the mirror. I have a face-shaped face and a muscular body that I keep in top condition. I would never reach semifinals in a beauty contest but my teats are shapely, exceptionally firm, stand out without sagging and look larger than they are because my waist is small for my height, shoulders and hips. I’ve known this since I was twelve, from mirror and from comments by others.
Now I was acutely aware of them from what Zebadiah calls his “infantile bias.” I was awfully glad I had them; my husband liked them so much and had told me so again and again, making me feel warm and tingly inside. Teats get in the way, and I once found out painfully why Amazons are alleged to have removed their starboard ones to make archery easier.
Today I was most pleased that Mama had required me to wear a bra for tennis and horseback and such – no stretch marks, no “Cooper’s droop,” no sag, and my husband called them “wedding presents”! Hooray!
Doubtless they would become baby-chewed and soft – but by then I planned to have Zebadiah steadfastly in love with me for better reasons. You hear that, Deety? Don’t be stubborn, don’t be bossy, don’t be difficult – and above all don’t sulk! Mama never sulked, although Pop wasn’t and isn’t easy to live with. For example he dislikes the word “teat” even though I spell it correctly and pronounce it correctly (as if spelled “tit”). Pop insists that teats are on cows, not women.
After I started symbolic logic and information theory I became acutely conscious of precise nomenclature, and tried to argue with Pop, pointing out that “breast” denoted the upper frontal torso of male and female alike, that “mammary gland” was medical argot, but “teat” was correct English.
He had slammed down a book. “I don’t give a damn what The Oxford English Dictionary says! As long as I am head of this house, language used in it will conform to my notions of propriety!”
I never argued such points with Pop again. Mama and I went on calling them “teats” between ourselves and did not use such words in Pop’s presence. Mama told me gently that logic had little to do with keeping a husband happy and that anyone who “won” a family argument had in fact lost it. Mama never argued and Pop always did what she wanted – if she really wanted it. When at seventeen I had to grow up and try to replace her, I tried to emulate her – not always successfully. I inherited some of Pop’s temper, some of Mama’s calm. I try to suppress the former and cultivate the latter. But I’m not Jane, I’m Deety.
Suddenly I wondered why I was putting on a halter. The day was going to be hot. While Pop is so cubical about some things that he turns up at the corners, skin is not one of them. (Possibly he had been, then Mama had gently gotten her own way.) I like to be naked and usually am at Snug Harbor, weather permitting. Pop is almost as casual. Aunt Hilda was family-by-choice; we had often used her pool and never with suits – screened for the purpose.
That left just my lovely new husband, and if there was a square centimeter of me he had not examined (and praised), I could not recall it. Zebadiah is easy to be with, in bed or out. After our hasty wedding I was slightly tense lest he ask me when and how I had mislaid my virginity… but when the subject could have come up I forgot it and he apparently never thought about it. I was the lusty wench I have always been and he seemed pleased – I know he was.
So why was I tying on this teat hammock? I was – but why?
Because two things equal to the same thing are never equal to each other. Basic mathematics if you select the proper sheaf of postulates. People are not abstract symbols. I could be naked with any one of them but not all three.
I felt a twinge that Pop and Aunt Hilda might be in the way on my honeymoon… then realized that Zebadiah and I were just as much in the way on theirs – and stopped worrying; it would work out.
Took one last look in the mirror, saw that my scrap of halter, like a good evening gown, made me nakeder than skin would. My nipples popped out; I grinned and stuck out my tongue at them. They stayed up; I was happy.
I started to cat-foot through our bedroom when I noticed Zebadiah’s clothes – and stopped. The darling would not want to wear evening dress to breakfast. Deety, you are not being wifely – figure this out. Are any of Pop’s clothes where I can get them without waking the others?
Yep! An old shirt that I had liberated as a house coat, khaki shorts I had been darning the last time we had been down – both in my wardrobe in my – our! – bathroom. I crept back, got them, laid them over my darling’s evening clothes so that he could not miss them.
I went through and closed after me two soundproof doors, then no longer had to keep quiet. Pop does not tolerate anything shoddy – if it doesn’t work properly, he fixes it. Pop’s B.S. was in mechanical engineering, his M.S. in physics, his Ph.D. in mathematics; there isn’t anything he can’t design and build. A second Leonardo da Vinci – or a Paul Dirac.
No one in the everything room. I decided not to head for the kitchen end yet; if the others slept a bit longer I could get in my morning tone-up. No violent exercise this morning, mustn’t get more whiff than I am – just controlled limbering. Stretch high, then palms to the floor without bending knees – ten is enough. Vertical splits, both legs, then the same to the floor with my forehead to my shin, first right, then left.
I was doing a back bend when I heard, “Ghastly. The battered bride. Deety, stop that.”
I continued into a backwards walkover and stood up facing Pop’s bride. “Good morning, Aunt Hillbilly.” I kissed and hugged her. “Not battered. Bartered, maybe.”
“Battered,” she repeated, yawning. “Who gave you those bruises? What’s-his-name? – your husband.”
“Not a bruise on me and you’ve known his name longer than I have. What causes those circles under the bags under the rings under your eyes?”
“Worry, Deety. Your father is very ill.”
“What? How?”
“Satyriasis. Incurable – I hope.”
I let out my breath. “Aunt Hillbilly, you’re a bitchie, bitchie tease.”
“Not a bitch this morning, dear. A nanny goat – who has been topped all night by the most amazing billy goat on the ranch. And him past fifty and me only twenty-nine. Astounding.”
“Pop’s forty-nine, you’re forty-two. You’re complaining?”
“Oh, no! Had I known twenty-four years ago what I know now, I would never have let Jane lay eyes on him.”
” – what you know now – Last night you were claiming to have sneaked into Pop’s bed, over and over again. Doesn’t jibe, Aunt Nanny Goat.”
“Those were quickies. Not a real test.” She yawned again.
“Auntie, you lie in your teeth. You were never in his bed until last night.”
“How do you know, dear? Unless you were in it yourself? Were you? Incest?”
“What have you got against incest, you bawdy old nanny goat? Don’t knock it if you haven’t tried it.”
“Oh, so you have? How fascinating – tell Auntiet!”
“I’ll tell you the truth, Aunt Hilda. Pop has never laid a hand on me. But if he had… I would not have refused. I love him.”
Hilda stopped to kiss me more warmly than before. “So do I, dear one. I honor you for what you just told me. He could have had me, too. But never did. Until last night. Now I’m the happiest woman in America.”
“Nope. Second happiest. You’re looking at the happiest.”
“Mmm, a futile discussion. So my problem child is adequate?”
“Well… he’s not a member of the Ku Klux Klan -“
“I never thought he was! Zebbie isn’t that sort.”
” – but he’s a wizard under a sheet!”
Aunt Hilda looked startled, then guffawed. “I surrender. We’re both the happiest woman in the world.”
“And the luckiest. Aunt Nanny Goat, that robe of Pop’s is too hot. I’ll get something of mine. How about a tie-on fit-anybody bikini?”
“Thanks, dear, but you might wake Zebbie.” Aunt Hilda opened Pop’s robe and held it wide, fanning it. I looked at her with new eyes. She’s had three or four term contracts, no children. At forty-two her face looks thirty-five, but from her collarbones down she could pass for eighteen. Little bitty teats – I had more at twelve. Flat belly and lovely legs. A china doll – makes me feel like a giant.
She added, “If it weren’t for your husband, I would simply wear this old hide. It is hot.”
“If it weren’t for your husband, so would I.”
“Jacob? Deety, he’s changed your diapers. I know how Jane reared you. True modesty, no false modesty.”
“It’s not the same, Aunt Hilda. Not today.”
“No, it’s not. You always did have a wise head, Deety. Women are toughminded, men are not; we have to protect them … while pretending to be fragile ourselves, to build up their fragile egos. But I’ve never been good at it – I like to play with matches.”
“Aunt Hilda, you are very good at it, in your own way. I’m certain Mama knows what you’ve done for Pop and blesses it and is happy for Pop. For all of us – all five of us.”
“Don’t make me cry, Deety. Let’s break out the orange juice; our men will wake any time. First secret of living with a man: Feed him as soon as he wakes.”
“So I know.”
“Yes, of course you know. Ever since we lost Jane. Does Zebbie know how lucky he is?”
“He says so. I’m going to try hard not to disillusion him.”

Chapter V

” – a wedding ring is not a ring in my nose – “

Jake:
I woke in drowsy euphoria, became aware that I was in bed in our cabin that my daughter calls “Snug Harbor” – then woke completely and looked at the other pillow – the dent in it. Not a dream! Euphoric for the best of reasons!
Hilda was not in sight. I closed my eyes and simulated sleep as I had something to do. “Jane?” I said in my mind.
“I hear you, dearest one. It has my blessing. Now we are all happy together.”
“We couldn’t expect Deety to become a sour old maid, just to take care of her crotchety old father. This young man, he’s okay, to the nth power. I felt it at once, and Hilda is certain of it.”
“He is. Don’t worry, Jacob. Our Deety can never be sour and you will never be old. This is exactly as Hilda and I planned it, more than five of your years ago. Predestined. She told you so, last night.”
“Okay, darling.”
“Get up and brush your teeth and take a quick shower. Don’t dawdle, breakfast is waiting. Call me when you need me. Kiss.”
So I got up, feeling like a boy on Christmas morning. Everything was jake with Jake; Jane had put her stamp of approval on it. Let me tell you, you nonexistent reader sitting there with a tolerant sneer: Don’t be smug. Jane is more real than you are.
The spirit of a good woman cannot be coded by nucleic acids arranged in a double helix, and only an overeducated fool could think so. I could prove that mathematically save that mathematics can never prove anything. No mathematics has any content. All any mathematics can do is – sometimes – turn out to be useful in describing some aspects of our so-called “physical universe.” That is a bonus; most forms of mathematics are as meaning-free as chess.
I don’t know any final answers. I’m an all-around mechanic and a competent mathematician… and neither is of any use in unscrewing the inscrutable.
Some people go to church to talk to God, Whoever He is. When I have something on my mind, I talk to Jane. I don’t hear “voices,” but the answers that, come into my mind have as much claim to infallibility, it seems to me, as any handed down by any Pope speaking ex cathedra. If this be blasphemy, make the most of it; I won’t budge. Jane is, was, and ever shall be, worlds without end. I had the priceless privilege of living with her for eighteen years and I can never lose her.
Hilda was not in the bath but my toothbrush was damp. I smiled at this. Logical, as any germs I was harboring, Hilda now had – and Hilda, for all her playfulness, is no-nonsense practical. She faces danger without a qualm (had done so last night) but she would say “Gesundheit!” to an erupting volcano even as she fled from it. Jane is equally brave but would omit the quip. They are alike only in – no, not that way, either. Different but equal. Let it stand that I have been blessed in marriage by two superb women. (And blessed by a daughter whose Pop thinks she is perfect.)
I showered, shaved, and brushed my teeth in nine minutes and dressed in under nine seconds as I simply wrapped around my waist a terry-cloth sarong Deety had bought for me – the day promised to be a scorcher. Even that hip wrap was a concession to propriety, i.e., I did not know my new son-in-law well enough to subject him abruptly to our casual ways; it might offend Deety.
I was last up, and saw that all had made much the same decision. Deety was wearing what amounted to a bikini minimum (indecently “decent”!) and my bride was “dressed” in a tie-on job belonging to Deety. The tie-ties had unusually large bows; Hilda is tiny, my daughter is not. Zeb was the only one fully dressed: an old pair of working shorts, a worn-out denim shirt Deety had confiscated, and his evening shoes. He was dressed for the street in any western town save for one thing: I’m built like a pear, Zeb is built like the Gray Lensman.
My shorts fitted him well enough – a bit loose – but his shoulders were splitting the shirt’s seams. He looked uncomfortable.
I took care of amenities – a good-morning to all, a kiss for my bride, one for my daughter, a handshake for my son-in-law-good hands, calloused. Then I said, “Zeb, take that shirt off. It’s hot and getting hotter. Relax. This is your home.”
“Thanks, Pop.” Zeb peeled off my shirt.
Hilda stood up on her chair, making her about as tall as Zeb. “I’m a militant women’s-rights gal,” she announced, “and a wedding ring is not a ring in my nose – a ring that you have not yet given me, you old goat.”
“When have I had time? You’ll get one, dear – first chance.”
“Excuses, excuses! Don’t interrupt when I’m orating. Sauce for the gander is no excuse for goosing the goose. If you male chauvinist pigs – I mean ‘goats’ – can dress comfortably, Deety and I have the same privilege.” Whereupon my lovely little bride untied that bikini top and threw it aside like a stripper.
“‘”What’s for breakfast?” asked Pooh,'” I misquoted.
I was not answered. Deety made me proud of her for the nth time. For years she had consulted me, at least with her eyes, on “policy decisions.” Now she looked not at me but at her husband. Zeb was doing Old Stone Face, refusing assent or dissent. Deety stared at him, gave a tiny shrug, reached behind her and untied or unsnapped something and discarded her own top.
“I said, ‘What’s for breakfast?'” I repeated.
“Greedy gut,” my daughter answered. “You men have had baths, while Aunt Hilda and I haven’t had a chance to get clean for fear of waking you slugabeds.”
“Is that what it is? I thought a skunk had wandered past. ‘What’s for breakfast?'”
“Aunt Hilda, in only hours Pop has lost all the training I’ve given him for five years. Pop, it’s laid out and ready to go. How about cooking while Hilda and I grab a tub?”
Zeb stood up. “I’ll cook, Deety; I’ve been getting my own breakfast for years.”
“Hold it, Buster!” my bride interrupted. “Sit down, Zebbie. Deety, never encourage a man to cook breakfast; it causes him to wonder if women are necessary. If you always get his breakfast and don’t raise controversial issues until after his second cup of coffee, you can get away with murder the rest of the time. They don’t notice other odors when they smell bacon. I’m going to have to coach you.”
My daughter reversed the field, fast. She turned to her husband and said meekly, “What does my Captain wish for breakfast?”
“My Princess, whatever your lovely hands offer me.”
What we were offered, as fast as Deety could pour batter and Hilda could serve, was a gourmet specialty that would enrage a Cordon Bleu but which, for my taste, is ambrosia: A one-eyed Texas stack – a tall stack of thin, tender buttermilk pancakes to Jane’s recipe, supporting one large egg, up and easy, surrounded by hot sausage, and the edifice drowned in melting butter and hot maple syrup, with a big glass of orange juice and a big mug of coffee on the side.
Zeb ate two stacks. I concluded that my daughter would have a happy marriage.

Chapter VI

Are men and women one race?

Hilda:
Deety and I washed dishes, then soaked in her tub and talked about husbands. We giggled, and talked with the frankness of women who trust each other and are sure that no men can overhear. Do men talk that openly in parallel circumstances? From all I have been able to learn in after-midnight horizontal conversations, all passion spent, men do not. Or not men I would take to bed. Whereas a “perfect lady” (which Jane was, Deety is, and I can simulate) will talk with another “perfect lady” she trusts in a way that would cause her father, husband, or son to faint.
I had better leave out our conversation; this memoir might fall into the hands of one of the weaker sex and I would not want his death on my conscience.
Are men and women one race? I know what biologists say – but history is loaded with “scientists” jumping to conclusions from superficial evidence. It seems to me far more likely that they are symbiotes. I am not speaking from ignorance; I was one trimester short of a B.S. in biology (and a straight-A student) when a “biology experiment” blew up in my face and caused me to leave school abruptly.
Not that I need that degree – I’ve papered my private bath with honorary degrees, mostly doctorates. I hear that there are things no whore will do for money but I have yet to find anything that a university chancellor faced with a deficit will boggle at. The secret is never to set up a permanent fund but to dole it out when need is sharpest, once every academic year. Done that way, you not only own a campus but also the town cops learn that it’s a waste of time to hassle you. A univer$ity alway$ $tand$ $taunchly by it$ $olvent a$$ociate$; that’$ the ba$ic $ecret of $chola$tic $ucce$$.
Forgive my digre$$ion; we were speaking of men and women. I am strong for women’s rights but was never taken in by unisex nonsense. I don’t yearn to be equal; Sharpie is as unequal as possible, with all the perks and bonuses and special privileges that come from being one of the superior sex. If a man fails to hold a door for me, I fail to see him and step on his instep. I feel no shame in making lavish use of the strongest muscles, namely male ones (but my own strongest muscle is dedicated to the service of men – noblesse oblige). I don’t begrudge men one whit of their natural advantages as long as they respect mine. I am not an unhappy pseudomale; I am female and like it that way.
I borrowed makeup that Deety rarely uses, but I carry my own perfume in my purse and used it in the twenty-two classic places. Deety uses only the basic aphrodisiac: soap and water. Perfume on her would be gilding the lily; fresh out of a hot tub she smells like a harem. If I had her natural fragrance, I could have saved at least ten thousand newdollars over the years as well as many hours spent dabbing bait here and there.
She offered me a dress and I told her not to be silly; any dress of hers would fit me like a tent. “You put something bridal and frilly around your hips and lend me your boldest G-string job. Dear, I surprised you when I jockeyed you into taking off your halter, after telling you that you were wise not to rush it. But the chance showed up and I grabbed the ring on the fly. We’ve got our men gentled to nearly naked and we’ll hold that gain. At first opportunity we’ll get pants off all of us, too, without anything as childish as strip poker. Deety, I want us to be a solid family, and relaxed about it. So that skin doesn’t mean sex, it just means we are home, en famille.”
“Your skin is pretty sexy, Nanny Goat.”
“Deety, do you think I’m trying to make a pass at Zebbie?”
“Heavens, no, Aunt Hilda. You would never do that.”
“Piffle, dear. I don’t have morals, just customs. I don’t wait for a man to make a pass; they fumble around and waste time. But when I met him I picked Zebbie for a chum – so I gave him an opening; he made a polite pass, I carefully failed to see it, and that ended it. I’m sure he’s as much fun on the workbench as you tell me he is – but bedmates are easy to find, while worthwhile male friends are scarce. Zebbie is one to whom I can holler for help in the middle of the night and be certain he’ll rally around. I’m not going to let that change merely because a weird concatenation now makes him my son-in-law. Besides, Deety, although your old Aunt Sharpie may seem undignified, I refuse to be the campus widow who seduces younger men. Save for minor exceptions close to my age, I always have bedded older men. When I was your age, I tripped several three times my age. Educational.”
“It certainly is! Aunt Hilda, I got ninety percent of my instruction two years ago – a widower three times my age. I was programming for him and we took shared time when we could get it, often after midnight. I didn’t think anything of it until one night I was startled to find that I was helping him to take off my panties. Then I was still more surprised to learn how little I had learned in seven years. He gave me a tutored seminar, usually three times a week- all the time he was willing to spare me – for the next six months. I’m glad I got tutoring from an expert before last night rolled around – or Zebadiah would have found me a dead arse, willing but clumsy. I didn’t tell this to my darling; I let him think he was teaching me.”
“That’s right, dear. Never tell a man anything he doesn’t need to know, and lie with a straight face rather than hurt his feelings or diminish his pride.”
“Aunt Nanny Goat, I just plain love you.”
We quit yakking and looked for our men. Deety said that they were certain to be in the basement. “Aunt Hilda, I don’t go there without invitation. It’s Pop’s sanctum sanctorum.”
“You’re warning me not to risk a faux pas?”
“I’m his daughter, you’re his wife. Not the same.”
“Well… he hasn’t told me not to – and today he’ll forgive me, if ever. Where do you hide the stairs?”
“That bookcase swings out.”
“Be darned! For a so-called cabin this place is loaded with surprises. A bidet in each bath didn’t startle me; Jane would have required them. Your walk-in freezer startled me only by being big enough for a restaurant. But a bookcase concealing a priest’s hole – as Great-Aunt Nettie used to say, ‘I do declare!'”
“You should see our septic tank – yours, now.”
“I’ve seen septic tanks. Pesky things – always need pumping at the most inconvenient time.”
“This one won’t have to be pumped. Over three hundred meters deep. An even thousand feet.”
“For the love of – Why?”
“It’s an abandoned mine shaft below us that some optimist dug a hundred years back. Here was this big hole, so Pop used it. There is a spring farther up the mountain. Pop cleaned that out, covered it, concealed it, put pipe underground, and we have lavish pure water under pressure. The rest of Snug Harbor Pop designed mostly from prefab catalogs, fireproof and solid and heavily insulated. We have – you have, I mean – this big fireplace and the little ones in the bedrooms, but you won’t need them, other than for homeyness. Radiant heat makes it skin-comfortable even in a blizzard.”
“Where do you get your power? From the nearest town?”
“Oh, no! Snug Harbor is a hideout, nobody but Pop and me – and now you and Zebadiah – knows it’s here. Power packs, Aunt Hilda, and an inverter in a space behind the back wall of the garage. We bring in power packs ourselves, and take them out the same way. Private. Oh, the leasehold record is buried in a computer in Washington or Denver, and the Federal rangers know the leaseholds. But they don’t see us if we see or hear them first. Mostly they cruise on past. Once one came by on horseback. Pop fed him beer out under the trees – and from outside this is just a prefab, a living room and two shedroof bedrooms. Nothing to show that important parts are underground.”
“Deety, I’m beginning to think that this place – this cabin – cost more than my townhouse.”
“Uh, probably.”
“I think I’m disappointed. Sugar Pie, I married your papa because I love him and want to take care of him and promised Jane that I would. I’ve been thinking happily that my wedding present to my bridegroom would be his weight in bullion, so that dear man need never work again.”
“Don’t be disappointed, Aunt Hilda. Pop has to work; it’s his nature. Me, too. Work is necessary to us. Without it, we’re lost.”
“Well… yes. But working because you want to is the best sort of play.”
“Correct!”
“That’s what I thought I could give Jacob. I don’t understand it. Jane wasn’t rich, she was on a scholarship. Jacob had no money – still a teaching fellow, a few months shy of his doctorate. Deety, Jacob’s suit that he wore to be married in was threadbare. I know that he pulled up from that; he made full professor awfully fast. I thought it was that and Jane’s good management.”
“It was both.”
“That doesn’t account for this. Forgive me, Deety, but Utah State doesn’t pay what Harvard pays.”
“Pop doesn’t lack offers. We like Logan. Both the town and the civilized behavior of Mormons. But – Aunt Hilda, I must tell you some things.”
The child looked worried. I said, “Deety, if Jacob wants me to know something he’ll tell me.”
“Oh, but he won’t and I must!”
“No, Deety!”
“Listen, please! When I said, ‘I do,’ I resigned as Pop’s manager. When you said, ‘I do,’ the load landed on you. It has to be that way, Aunt Hilda. Pop won’t do it; he has other things to think about, things that take genius. Mama did it for years, then I learned how, and now it’s your job. Because it can’t be farmed out. Do you understand accountancy?”
“Well, I understand it, I took a course in it. Have to understand it, or the government will skin you alive. But I don’t do it, I have accountants for that – and smart shysters to keep it inside the law.”
“Would it bother you to be outside the law? On taxes?”
“What? Heavens, no! But Sharpie wants to stay outside of jail – I detest an institutional diet.”
“You’ll stay out of jail. Don’t worry, Aunt Hilda – I’ll teach you double-entry bookkeeping they don’t teach in school. Very double. One set for the revenooers and another set for you and Jake.”
“It’s that second set that worries me. That one puts you in the pokey. Fresh air alternate Wednesdays.”
“Nope. The second set is not on paper; it’s in the campus computer at Logan.”
“Worse!”
“Aunt Hilda, please! Certainly my computer address code is in the department’s vault and an I.R.S. agent could get a court order. It wouldn’t do him any good. It would spill out our first set of books while wiping every trace of the second set. Inconvenient but not disastrous. Aunt Hillbilly, I’m not a champion at anything else but I’m the best software artist inthe business. I at your elbow until you are sure of yourself.
“Now about how Pop got rich – All the time he’s been teaching he’s also been inventing gadgets – as automatically as a hen lays eggs. A better can opener. A lawn irrigation system that does a better job, costs less, uses less water. Lots of things. But none has his name on it and royalties trickle back in devious ways.
“But we aren’t freeloaders. Every year Pop and I study the Federal Budget and decide what is useful and what is sheer waste by fat-arsed chairwarmers and pork-barrel raiders. Even before Mama died we were paying more income tax than the total of Pop’s salary, and we’ve paid more each year while I’ve been running it. It does take a bundle to run this country. We don’t begrudge money spent on roads and public health and national defense and truly useful things. But we’ve quit paying for parasites wherever we can identify them.
“It’s your job now, Aunt Hilda. If you decide that it’s dishonest or too risky, I can cause the computer to make it all open and legal so smoothly that hankypanky would never show. It would take me maybe three years, and Pop would pay high capital gains. But you are in charge of Pop now.”
“Deety, don’t talk dirty.”
“Dirty, how? I didn’t even say ‘spit.'”
“Suggesting that I would willingly pay what those clowns in Washington want to squeeze out of us. I would not be supporting so many accountants and shysters if I didn’t think we were being robbed blind. Deety, how about being manager for all of us?”
“No, ma’am! I’m in charge of Zebadiah. I have my own interests to manage, too. Mama wasn’t as poor as you thought. When I was a little girl, she came into a chunk from a trust her grandmother had set up. She and Pop gradually moved it over into my name and again avoided inheritance and estate taxes, all legal as Sunday School. When I was eighteen, I converted it into cash, then caused it to disappear. Besides that, I’ve been paying me a whopping salary as Pop’s manager. I’m not as rich as you are, Aunt Hilda, and certainly not as rich as Pop. But I ain’t hurtin’.”
“Zebbie may be richer than all of us.”
“You said last night that he was loaded but I didn’t pay attention because I had already decided to marry him. But after experiencing what sort of car he drives I realize that you weren’t kidding. Not that it matters. Yes, it did matter – it took both Zebadiah’s courage and Gay Deceiver’s unusual talents to save our lives.”
“You may never find out how loaded Zebbie is, dear. Some people don’t let their left hands know what their right hands are doing. Zebbie doesn’t let his thumb know what his fingers are doing.”
Deety shrugged. “I don’t care. He’s kind and gentle and he’s a storybook hero who saved my life and Pop’s and yours … and last night he proved to me that life is worth living when I’ve been uncertain about it since Mama had to leave us. Let’s go find our men, Aunt Nanny Goat. I’ll risk Pop’s Holy of Holies if you’ll go first.”
“Suits. Lay on your duff and cursed be he who first cries, ‘Nay, enough.”
“I don’t think they’re interested in that now, Nanny Goat.”
“Spoilsport. How do you swing back this bookcase?”
“Switch on the cove lights, then turn on the cold water at the sink. Then switch off the cove lights, then turn off the water – in that order.”
“‘”Curiouser and curiouser,” said Alice.'”
The bookcase closed behind us and was a door with a knob on the upper landing side. The staircase was wide, treads were broad and nonskid, risers gentle, guard rails on both sides – not the legbreaker most houses have as cellar stairs. Deety went down beside me, holding my hand like a child needing reassurance.
The room was beautifully lighted, well ventilated, and did not seem like a basement. Our men were at the far end, bent over a table, and did not appear to notice us. I looked around for a time machine, could not spot it – at least not anything like George Pal’s or any I had ever read about. All around was machinery. A drill press looks the same anywhere and so does a lathe, but others were strange – except that they reminded me of machine shops.
My husband caught sight of us, stood up, and said, “Welcome, ladies!”
Zebbie turned his head and said sharply, “Late to class! Find seats, no whispering during the lecture, take notes; there will be a quiz at eight o’clock tomorrow morning. If you have questions, raise your hands and wait to be called on. Anyone who misbehaves will remain after class and wash the chalk boards.”
Deety stuck out her tongue, sat down quietly. I rubbed his brush cut and whispered an indecency into his ear. Then I kissed my husband and sat down.
My husband resumed talking to Zebbie. “I lost more gyroscopes that way.”
I held up my hand. My husband said, “Yes, Hilda dear?”
“Monkey Ward’s sells gyro tops – I’ll buy you a gross.”
“Thank you, dearest, but these weren’t that sort. They were made by Sperry Division of General Foods.”
“So I’ll get them from Sperry.”
“Sharpie,” put in Zeb, “you’re honing to clean the erasers, too.”
“Just a moment, Son. Hilda may be the perfect case to find out whether or not what I have tried to convey to you – and which really can’t be conveyed save in the equations your cousin Zebulon used, a mathematics you say is unfamiliar to you -“
“It is!”
” – but which you appear to grasp as mechanics. Would you explain the concept to Hilda? If she understands it, we may hypothesize that a continua craft can be designed to be operated by a nontechnical person.”
“Sure,” I said scornfully, “poor little me, with a button for a head. I don’t have to know where the electrons go to use television or holovision. Ijust twist knobs. Go ahead, Zebbie. Take a swing at it, I dare you.”
“I’ll try,” Zebbie agreed. “But, Sharpie, don’t chatter and keep your comments to the point. Or I’ll ask Pop to give you a fat lip.”
“He wouldn’t dast!”
“So? I’m going to give him a horsewhip for a wedding present – besides the Weird Tales, Jake; you get those too. But you need a whip. Attention, Sharpie.”
“Yes, Zebbie. And the same to you doubled.”
“Do you know what ‘precess’ means?”
“Certainly. Precession of the equinoxes. Means that Vega will be the North Star when I’m a great-grandmother. Thirty thousand years or some such.”
“Correct in essence. But you’re not even a mother yet.”
“You don’t know what happened last night. I’m an expectant mother. Jacob doesn’t dare use a whip on me.”
My husband looked startled but pleased – and I felt relieved. Zebbie looked at his own bride. Deety said solemnly, “It is possible, Zebadiah. Neither of us was protected, each was on or close on ovulation. Hilda is blood type B Rhesus positive and my father is AB positive. I am A Rh positive. May I inquire yours, sir?”
“I’m an 0 positive. Uh… I may have shot you down the first salvo.”
“It would seem likely. But – does this meet with your approval?”
“‘Approval’!” Zebbie stood up, knocking over his chair. “Princess, you could not make me happier! Jake! This calls for a toast!”
My husband stopped kissing me. “Unanimous! Daughter, is there champagne chilled?”
“Yes, Pop.”
“Hold it!” I said. “Let’s not get excited over a normal biological function. Deety and I don’t know that we caught; we just hope so. And -“
“So we try again,” Zebbie interrupted. “What’s your calendar?”
“Twenty-eight and a half days, Zebadiah. My rhythm is pendulum steady.”
“Mine’s twenty-seven; Deety and I just happen to be in step. But I want that toast at dinner and a luau afterwards; it might be the last for a long time. Deety, do you get morning sick?”
“I don’t know; I’ve never been pregnant… before.”
“I have and I do and it’s miserable. Then I lost the naked little grub after trying hard to keep it. But I’m not going to lose this one! Fresh air and proper exercise and careful diet and nothing but champagne for me tonight, then not another drop until I know. In the meantime – Professors, may I point out that class is in session? I want to know about time machines and I’m not sure I could understand with champagne buzzing my buttonhead.”
“Sharpie, sometimes you astound me.”
“Zebbie, sometimes I astound myself. Since my husband builds time machines, I want to know what makes them tick. Or at least which knobs to turn. He might be clawed by the Bandersnatch and I would have to pilot him home. Get on with your lecture.”
“I read you loud and clear.”
But we wasted (“wasted?”) a few moments because everybody had to kiss everybody else – even Zebbie and my husband pounded each other on the back and kissed both cheeks Latin style. Zebbie tried to kiss me as if I were truly his mother-in-law but I haven’t kissed that way since junior high. Once I was firm with him he gave in and kissed me better than he ever had before – whew! I’m certain Deety is right but I won’t risk worrying my older husband over a younger man and I’d be an idiot to risk competing with Deety’s teats et cetera when all I have is fried eggs and my wonderful old goat seems so pleased with my et cetera.
Class resumed. “Sharpie, can you explain precession in gyroscopes?”
“Well, maybe. Physics One was required but that was a long time ago. Push a gyroscope and it doesn’t go the way you expect, but ninety degrees from that direction so that the push lines up with the spin. Like this – ” I pointed a forefinger like a little boy going: “Bang! – you’re dead!”
“My thumb is the axis, my forefinger represents the push, the other fingers show the rotation.”
“Go to the head of the class. Now – think hard! – suppose we put a gyroscope in a frame, then impress equal forces at all three spatial coordinates at once; what would it do?”
I tried to visualize it. “I think it would either faint or drop dead.”
“A good first hypothesis. According to Jake, it disappears.”
“They do disappear, Aunt Hilda. I watched it happen several times.”
“But where do they go?”
“I can’t follow Jake’s math; I have to accept his transformations without proof. But it is based on the notion of six space-time coordinates, three of space, the usual three that we see – marked x, y, and z – and three time coordinates: one marked ‘t’ like this – ” (t) ” – and one marked ‘tau,’ Greek alphabet – ” (T) ” – and the third from the Cyrillic alphabet, ‘teh’ – ” (M)
“Looks like an ‘m’ with a macron over it.”
“So it does, but it’s what the Russians use for ‘t’.”
“No, the Russians use ‘chai’ for tea. In thick glasses with strawberry jam.”
“Stow it, Sharpie. So we have x, y, and z; t, tau, and teh, six dimensions. It is basic to the theory that all are at right angles to each other, and that any one may be swapped for any of the others by rotation – or that a new coordinate may be found (not a seventh but replacing any of the six) by translation – say ‘tau’ to ‘tau prime’ by displacement along ‘x.'”
“Zebbie, I think I fell off about four coordinates back.”
My husband suggested, “Show her the caltrop, Zeb.”
“Good idea.” Zeb accepted a widget from my husband, placed it in front of me. It looked like jacks I used to play with as a little girl but not enough things sticking out – four instead of six. Three touched the table, a tripod; the fourth stuck straight up.
Zeb said, “This is a weapon, invented centuries ago. The points should be sharp but these have been filed down.” He flipped it, let it fall to the table. “No matter how it falls, one prong is vertical. Scatter them in front of cavalry; the horses go down – discouraging. They came into use again in Wars One and Two against anything with pneumatic tires – bicycles, motorcycles, lorries, and so forth. Big enough, they disable tanks and tracked vehicles. A small sort can be whittled from thorn bushes for guerrilla warfare – usually poisoned and quite nasty.
“But here this lethal toy is a geometrical projection, a drawing of the coordinates of a four-dimensional space-time continuum. Each spike is exactly ninety degrees from every other spike.”
“But they aren’t,” I objected. “Each angle is more than a right angle.”
“I said it was a projection. Sharpie, it’s an isometric projection of four-dimensional coordinates in three-dimensional space. That distorts the angles… and the human eye is even more limited. Cover one eye and hold still and you see only two dimensions. The illusion of depth is a construct of the brain.”
“I’m not very good at holding still -“
“No, she isn’t,” agreed my bridegroom whom I love dearly and at that instant could have choked.
“But I can close both eyes and feel three dimensions with my hands.”
“A good point. Close your eyes and pick this up and think of the prongs as the four directions of a four-dimensional space. Does the word tesseract mean anything to you?”
“My high school geometry teacher showed us how to construct them – projections – with modeling wax and toothpicks. Fun. I found other four-dimensional figures that were easy to project. And a number of ways to project them.”
“Sharpie, you must have had an exceptional geometry teacher.”
“In an exceptional geometry class. Don’t faint, Zebbie, but I was grouped with what they called ‘overachievers’ after it became ‘undemocratic’ to call them ‘gifted children.'”
“Be durned! Why do you always behave like a fritterhead?”
“Why don’t you ever look beneath the surface, young man! I laugh because I dare not cry. This is a crazy world and the only way to enjoy it is to treat it as a joke. That doesn’t mean I don’t read and can’t think. I read everything from Giblett to Hoyle, from Sartre to Pauling. I read in the tub, I read on the john, I read in bed, I read when I eat alone, and I would read in my sleep if I could keep my eyes open. Deety, this is proof that Zebbie has never been in my bed: the books downstairs are display; the stuff I read is stacked in my bedroom.”
“Deety, did you think I had been sleeping with Sharpie?”
“No, Zebadiah.”
“And you never will! Deety told me what a sex maniac you are! You lay your lecherous hands on me and I’ll scream for Jacob and he’ll beat you to a pulp.”
“Don’t count on it, dear one,” my husband said mildly. “Zeb is bigger and younger and stronger than I… and if I found it needful to try, Deety would cry and beat me to a pulp. Son, I should have warned you: my daughter is vicious at karate. The killer instinct.”
“Thanks. Forewarned, forearmed. I’ll use a kitchen chair in one hand, a revolver in the second, and a whip in the other, just as I used to do in handling the big cats for Ringling, Barnum, and Bailey.”
“That’s three hands,” said Deety.
“I’m four-dimensional, darling. Professor, we can speed up this seminar; we’ve been underrating our overachiever. Hilda is a brain.”
“Zebbie, can we kiss and make up?”
“Class is in session.”
“Zebadiah, there is always time for that. Right, Pop?”
“Kiss her, Son, or she’ll sulk.”
“I don’t sulk, I bite.”
“I think you’re cute, too,” Zebbie answered, grabbed me by both shoulders, dragged me over the table, and kissed me hard. Our teeth grated and my nipples went spung! Sometimes I wish I weren’t so noble.
He dropped me abruptly and said, “Attention, class. The two prongs of the caltrop painted blue represent our three-dimensional space of experience. The third prong painted yellow is the t-time we are used to. The red fourth prong simulates both Tau-time and Teh-time, the unexplored time dimensions necessary to Jake’s theory. Sharpie, we have condensed six dimensions into four, then we either work by analogy into six, or we have to use math that apparently nobody but Jake and my cousin Ed understands. Unless you can think of some way to project six dimensions into three – you seem to be smart at such projections.”
I closed my eyes and thought hard. “Zebbie, I don’t think it can be done. Maybe Escher could have done it.”
“It can be done, my dearest,” answered my dearest, “but it is unsatisfactory. Even with a display computer with capacity to subtract one or more dimensions at a time. A superhypertesseract – a to the sixth power – has too many lines and corners and planes and solids and hypersolids for the eye to grasp. Cause the computer to subtract dimensions and what you have left is what you already knew. I fear it is an innate incapacity of visual conception in the human brain.”
“I think Pop is right,” agreed Deety. “I worked hard on that program. I don’t think the late great Dr. Marvin Minsky could have done it better in flat projection. Holovision? I don’t know. I would like to try if I ever get my hands on a computer with holovideo display and the capacity to add, subtract, and rotate six coordinates.”
“But why six dimensions?” I asked. “Why not five? Or even four, since you speak of rotating them interchangeably.”
“Jake?” said Zeb.
My darling looked fussed. “It bothered me that a space-time continuum seemed to require three space dimensions but only one time dimension. Granted that the universe is what it is, nevertheless nature is filled with symmetries. Even after the destruction of the parity principle, scientists kept finding new ones. Philosophers stay wedded to symmetry – but I don’t count philosophers.”
“Of course not,” agreed Zeb. “No philosopher allows his opinions to be swayed by facts – he would be kicked out of his guild. Theologians, the lot of them.”
“I concur. Hilda my darling, after I found a way to experiment, it turned out that six dimensions existed. Possibly more – but I see no way to reach them.”
“Let me see,” I said. “If I understood earlier, each dimension can be swapped for any other.”
“By ninety-degree rotation, yes.”
“Wouldn’t that be the combinations taken four at a time out of a set of six? How many is that?”
“Fifteen,” Zebbie answered.
“Goodness! Fifteen whole universes? And we use only one?”
“No, no, my darling! That would be ninety-degree rotations of one Euclidean universe. But our universe, or universes, has been known to be non-Euclidean at least since 1919. Or 1886 if you prefer. I stipulate that cosmology is an imperfect discipline, nevertheless, for considerations that I cannot state in nonmathematical terms, I was forced to assume a curved space of positive radius – that is to say, a closed space. That makes the universes possibly accessible to use either by rotation or by translation this number.” My husband rapidly wrote three sixes.
“Six sixty-six,” I said wonderingly. “‘The Number of the Beast.'”
“Eh? Oh! The Revelation of Saint John the Divine. But I scrawled it sloppily. You took it that I wrote this: ‘666.’ But what I intended to write was this: ‘6^6^6.’ Six raised to its sixth power, and the result in turn raised to its sixth power. That number is this:” 1.03144+ X 10^28 ” – or written in full:” 10,314,424,798,490,535,546,171,949,056 ” – or more than ten million sextillion universes in our group.”
What can one say to that? Jacob went on, “Those universes are our nextdoor neighbors, one rotation or one translation away. But if one includes combinations of rotation and translation – think of a hyperplane slicing through superhypercontinua not at the point of here-now – the total becomes indenumerable. Not infinity – infinity has no meaning. Uncountable. Not subject to manipulation by mathematics thus far invented. Accessible to continua craft but no known way to count them.”
“Pop -“
“Yes, Deety?”
“Maybe Aunt Hilda hit on something. Agnostic as you are, you nevertheless keep the Bible around as history and poetry and myth.”
“Who said I was agnostic, my daughter?”
“Sorry, sir. I long ago reached that conclusion because you won’t talk about it. Wrong of me. Lack of data never justifies a conclusion. But this key number – one-point-oh-three-one-four-four-plus times ten to its twenty-eighth power – perhaps that is the ‘Number of the Beast.'”
“What do you mean, Deety?”
“That Revelation isn’t history, it’s not good poetry, and it’s not myth. There must have been some reason for a large number of learned men to include it – while chucking out several dozen gospels. Why not make a first hypothesis with Occam’s Razor and read it as what it purports to be? Prophecy.”
“Hmm. The shelves under the stairs, next to Shakespeare. The King James version, never mind the other three.”
Deety was back in a moment with a well-worn black book – which surprised me. I read the Bible for my own reasons but it never occurred to me that Jacob would. We always marry strangers.
“Here,” said Deety. “Chapter thirteen, verse eighteen: ‘Here is wisdom. Let him that hath understanding count the number of the beast: for it is the number of a man; and his number is Six hundred threescore and six.”
“That can’t be read as exponents, Deety.”
“But this is a translation, Pop. Wasn’t the original in Greek? I don’t remember when exponents were invented but the Greek mathematicians of that time certainly understood powers. Suppose the original read ‘Zeta, Zeta, Zeta!’ – and those scholars, who weren’t mathematicians, mistranslated it as six hundred and sixty-six?”
“Uh… moondrift, Daughter.”
“Who taught me that the world is not only stranger than we imagine but stranger than we can imagine? Who has already taken me into two universes that are not this one… and brought me safely home?”
“Wait a half!” Zebbie said. “You and Pop have already tried the time-space machine?”
“Didn’t Pop tell you? We made one minimum translation. We didn’t seem to have gone anywhere and Pop thought he had failed. Until I tried to look up a number in the phone book. No ‘J’ in the book. No ‘J’ in the Britannica. No ‘J’ in any dictionary. So we popped back in, and Pop returned the verniers to zero, and we got out, and the alphabet was back the way it ought to be and I stopped shaking. But our rotation was even more scary and we almost died. Out in space with blazing stars – but air was leaking out and Pop just barely put it back to zero before we passed out… and came to, back here in Snug Harbor.”
“Jake,” Zebbie said seriously, “that gadget has got to have more fail-safes, in series with deadman switches for homing.” He frowned. “I’m going to keep my eye open for both numbers, six sixty-six and the long one. I trust Deety’s hunches. Deety, where is the verse with the description of the Beast? It’s somewhere in the middle of the chapter.”
“Here. ‘And I beheld another beast coming up out of the earth; and he had two horns like a lamb, and he spake as a dragon.'”
“Hmm – I don’t know how dragons speak. But if something comes up out of the earth and has two horns… and I see or hear either number – I’m going to assume that he has a ‘Black Hat’ and try to do unto him before he does unto us. Deety, I’m peaceable by policy… but two near misses is too many. Next time I shoot first.”
I would as lief Zebbie hadn’t mentioned “Black Hats.” Hard to believe that someone was trying to kill anyone as sweet and innocent and harmless as my darling Jacob. But they were – and we knew it.
I said, “Where is this time machine? All I’ve seen is a claptrap.”
“‘Caltrop,’ Aunt Hilda. You’re looking at the space-time machine.”
“Huh? Where? Why aren’t we in it and going somewhere fast? I don’t want my husband killed; he’s practically brand-new. I expect to get years of wear out of him.”
“Sharpie, stop the chatter,” Zebbie put in. “It’s on that bench, across the table from you.”
“All I see is a portable sewing machine.”
“That’s it.”
“What? How do you get inside? Or do you ride it like a broom?”
“Neither. You mount it rigidly in a vehicle – one airtight and watertight by strong preference. Pop had it mounted in their car – not quite airtight and now kaputt. Pop and I are going to mount it in Gay Deceiver, which is airtight. With better fail-safes.”
“Much better fail-safes, Zebbie,” I agreed.
“They will be. I find that being married makes a difference. I used to worry about my own skin. Now I’m worried about Deety’s. And yours. And Pop’s. All four of us.”
“Hear, hear!” I agreed. “All for one, and one for all!”
“Yup,” Zebbie answered. “Us four, no more. Deety, when’s lunch?”

Chapter VII

“Avete, alieni, nos morituri vos spernimus!”

Deety:
While Aunt Hilda and I assembled lunch, our men disappeared. They returned just in time to sit down. Zebadiah carried an intercom unit; Pop had a wire that he plugged into a jack in the wall, then hooked to the intercom.
“Gentlemen, your timing is perfect; the work is all done,” Aunt Hilda greeted them. “What is that?”
“A guest for lunch, my dearest,” Pop answered. “Miss Gay Deceiver.”
“Plenty for all,” Aunt Hilda agreed. “I’ll set another place.” She did so; Zebadiah placed the intercom on the fifth plate. “Does she take coffee or tea?”
“She’s not programmed for either, Hilda,” Zebadiah answered, “but I thank you on her behalf. Ladies, I got itchy about news from Singapore and Sumatra. So I asked my autopilot to report. Jake came along, then pointed out that he had spare cold circuits here and there, just in case – and this was a just-in-case. Gay is plugged to the garage end of that jack, and this is a voice-switched master-master intercom at this end. I can call Gay and she can call me if anything new comes in – and I increased her programming by reinstating the earlier programs, Logan and back home, for running retrieval of new data.”
“I’ll add an outlet in the basement,” agreed Pop. “But, Son, this is your home – not California.”
“Well -“
“Don’t fight it, Zebbie. This is my home since Jacob legalized me… and any step-son-in-law of mine is at home here; you heard Jacob say so. Right, Deety?”
“Of course,” I agreed. “Aunt Hilda is housewife and I’m scullery maid. But Snug Harbor is my home, too, until Pop and, Aunt Hilda kick me out into the snow – and that includes my husband.”
“Not into snow, Deety,” Aunt Hilda corrected me. “Jacob would insist on a sunny day; he’s kind and gentle. But that would not leave you with no roof over your head. My California home – mine and Jacob’s – has long been your home-from-home, and Zebbie has been dropping in for years, whenever he was hungry.”
“I had better put my bachelor flat into the pot.”
“Zebbie, you can’t put Deety on your day bed. It’s lumpy, Deety. Broken springs. Bruises. Zebbie, break your lease and send your furniture back to Good Will.”
“Sharpie, you’re at it again. Deety, there is no day bed in my digs. An emperor-size bed big enough for three – six if they are well acquainted.”
“My Captain, do you go in for orgies?” I asked.
“No. But you can’t tell what may turn up in the future.”
“You always look ahead, Zebadiah,” I said approvingly. “Am I invited?”
“At any orgy of mine, my wife will pick the guests and send the invitations.”
“Thank you, sir. I’ll wait until you seem to be bored, then look over the crop and pick out choice specimens for you. Assorted flavors and colors.”
“My Princess, I will not spank a pregnant woman. But I can think about it. Pop, Snug Harbor continues to impress me. Did you use an architect?”
“Hrrumph! ‘Architect’ is a dirty word. I studied engineering. Architects copy each other’s mistakes and call it ‘Art.’ Even Frank Lloyd Wright never understood what the Gilbreths were doing. His houses looked great from the outside – inside they were hideously inefficient. Dust collectors. Gloomy. Psych lab rat mazes. Pfui!”
“How about Neutra?”
“If he hadn’t been hamstrung by building codes and union rules and zoning laws, Neutra could have been great. But people don’t want efficient machines for living; they prefer to crouch in medieval hovels, as their flea-bitten forebears did. Cold, drafty, unsanitary, poor lighting, and no need for any of it.”
“I respect your opinion, sir. Pop – three fireplaces… no chimneys. How? Why?”
“Zeb, I like fireplaces – and a few cords of wood can save your life in the mountains. But I see no reason to warm the outdoors or to call attention to the fact that we are in residence or to place trust in spark arresters in forestfire country. Lighting a fire in a fireplace here automatically starts its exhaust fan. Smoke and particles are electrostatically precipitated. The precipitators are autoscrubbed when stack temperature passes twenty-five Celsius, dropping. Hot air goes through labyrinths under bathtubs and floors, then under other floors, thence into a rock heat-sink under the garage, a sink that drives the heat pump that serves the house. When flue gas finally escapes, at points distant from the house, it is so close to ambient temperature that only the most sensitive heat-seeker could sniff it. Thermal efficiency plus the security of being inconspicuous.”
“But suppose you are snowed in so long that your power packs play out?”
“Franklin stoves in storage, stove pipe to match, stops in the walls removable from inside to receive thimbles for flue pipes.”
“Pop,” I inquired, “is this covered by Rule One? Or was Rule One abolished last night in Elko?”
“Eh? The chair must rule that it is suspended until Hilda ratifies or cancels it. Hilda my love, years back Jane instituted Rule One -“
“I ratify it!”
“Thank you. But listen first. It applies to meals. No news broadcasts -“
“Pop,” I again interrupted, “while Rule One is still in limbo – did Gay Deceiver have any news? I worry, I do!”
“Null retrievals, dear. With the amusing conclusion that you and I are still presumed to have died twice, but the news services do not appear to have noticed the discrepancy. However, Miss Gay Deceiver will interrupt if a bulletin comes in; Rule One is never invoked during emergencies. Zeb, do you want this rig in your bedroom at night?”
“I don’t want it but should have it. Prompt notice might save our skins.”
“We’ll leave this here and parallel another into there, with gain stepped to wake you. Back to Rule One: No news broadcasts at meals, no newspapers. No shop talk, no business or financial matters, no discussion of ailments. No political discussion, no mention of taxes, or of foreign or domestic policy. Reading of fiction permitted en famille – not with guests present. Conversation limited to cheerful subjects -“
“No scandal, no gossip?” demanded Aunt Hilda.
“A matter of your judgment, dear. Cheerful gossip about friends and acquaintances, juicy scandal about people we do not like – fine! Now – do you wish to ratify, abolish, amend, or take under advisement?”
“I ratify it unchanged. Who knows some juicy scandal about someone we don’t like?”
“I know an item about ‘No Brain’ – Doctor Neil Brain,” Zebadiah offered.
“Give!”
“I got this from a reliable source but can’t prove it.”
“Irrelevant as long as it’s juicy. Go ahead, Zebbie.”
“Well, a certain zaftig coed told this on herself. She tried to give her all to ‘Brainy’ in exchange for a passing grade in the general math course necessary to any degree on our campus. It is rigged to permit prominent but stupid athletes to graduate. Miss Zaftig was flunking it, which takes exceptional talent.
“So she arranged an appointment with the department head – ‘Brainy’ – and made her quid-pro-quo clear. He could give her horizontal tutoring then and there or in her apartment or his apartment or in a motel and she would pay for it or whenever and wherever he chose. But she had to pass.”
“Happens on every campus, Son,” Pop told him.
“I haven’t reached the point. She blabbed the story – not angry but puzzled. She says that she was unable to get her intention over to him (which seems impossible, I’ve seen this young woman). ‘Brainy’ didn’t accept, didn’t refuse, wasn’t offended, didn’t seem to understand. He told her that she had better talk to her instructor about getting tutoring and a re-exam. Now Miss Zaftig is circulating the story that Prof ‘No Brain’ must be a eunuch or a robot. Not even a homo. Totally sexless.”
“He’s undoubtedly stupid,” Aunt Hilda commented. “But I’ve never met a man I couldn’t get that point across to, if I tried. Even if he was uninterested in my fair virginal carcass. I’ve never tried with Professor Brain because I’m not interested in his carcass. Even barbecued.”
“Then, Hilda my darling, why did you invite him to your party?”
“What? Because of your note, Jacob. I don’t refuse you favors.”
“But, Hilda, I don’t understand. When I talked to you by telephone, I asked you to invite Zeb – under the impression that he was his cousin Zebulon – and I did say that two or three others from the department of mathematics might make it less conspicuously an arranged meeting. But I didn’t mention Doctor Brain. And I did not write.”
“Jacob – I have your note. In California. On your University stationery with your name printed on it.”
Professor Burroughs shook his head, looked sad. Zebadiah Carter said, “Sharpie – handwritten or typed?”
“Typed. But it was signed! Wait a moment, let me think. It has my name and address down in the lower left. Jacob’s name was typed, too, but it was signed ‘Jake.’ Uh… ‘My dear Hilda, A hasty P.S. to my phone call of yesterday – Would you be so kind as to include Doctor Neil O. Brain, chairman of mathematics? I don’t know what possessed me that I forgot to mention him. Probably the pleasure of hearing your dear voice.
“‘Deety sends her love, as do I. Ever yours, Jacob J. Burroughs’ with ‘Jake’ signed above the typed name.”
Zebadiah said to me, “Watson, you know my methods.”
“Certainly, my dear Holmes. A ‘Black Hat.’ In Logan.”
“We knew that. What new data?”
“Well… Pop made that call from the house; I remember it. So somebody has a tap on our phone. Had, I mean; the fire probably destroyed it.”
“A recording tap. The purpose of that fire may have been to destroy it and other evidence. For now we know that the ‘Blokes in the Black Hats’ knew that your father – and you, but it’s Pop they are after – was in California last evening. After ‘killing’ him in California, they destroyed all they could in Utah. Professor, I predict that we will learn that your office was robbed last night – any papers on six-dimensional spaces.”
Pop shrugged. “They wouldn’t find much. I had postponed my final paper after the – humiliating – reception my preliminary paper received. I worked on it only at home, or here, and moved notes made in Logan to our basement here each time we came down.”
“Any missing here?”
“I am certain this place has not been entered. Not that papers would matter; I have it in my head. The continua apparatus has not been touched.”
“Zebadiah, is Doctor Brain a ‘Black Hat’?” I asked.
“I don’t know, Deety. He may be a stooge in their hire. But he’s part of their plot, or they would not have risked forging a letter to put him into Hilda’s house. Jake, how difficult is it to steal your professional stationery?”
“Not difficult. I don’t keep a secretary; I send for a stenographer when I need one. I seldom lock my office when I’m on campus.”
“Deety, can you scrounge pen and paper? I want to see how Jake signs ‘Jake.'”
“Sure.” I fetched them. “Pop’s signature is easy; I often sign it. I hold his power of attorney.”
“It’s the simple signatures that are hardest to forge well enough to fool a handwriting expert. But their scheme did not require fooling an expert – phrasing the note was more difficult… since Hilda accepted it as ringing true.”
“It does ring true, Son; it is very like what I would have said had I written such a note to Hilda.”
“The forger probably has read many of your letters and listened to many of your conversations. Jake, will you write ‘Jake’ four or five times, the way you sign a note to a friend?”
Pop did so, my husband studied the specimens. “Normal variations.” Zebadiah then signed “Jake” about a dozen times, looked at his work, took a fresh sheet, signed “Jake” once, passed it to Aunt Hilda. “Well, Sharpie?”
Aunt Hilda studied it. “It wouldn’t occur to me to question it – on Jacob’s stationery under a note that sounded like his phrasing. Where do we stand now?”
“Stuck in the mud. But we have added data. At least three are involved, two ‘Black Hats’ and Doctor Brain, who may or may not be a ‘Black Hat.’ He is, at minimum, a hired hand, an unwitting stooge, or a puppet they can move around like a chessman.
“While two plus ‘Brainy’ is minimum, it is not the most probable number. This scheme was not whipped up overnight. It involves arson, forgery, booby-trapping a car, wiretapping, theft, and secret communications between points widely separated, with coordinated criminal actions at each end – and it may involve doing in my cousin Zebulon. We can assume that the ‘Black Hats’ know that I am not the Zeb Carter who is the n-dimensional geometer; I’m written off as a bystander who got himself killed.
“Which doesn’t bother them. These playful darlings would swat a fly with a sledgehammer, or cure a cough with a guillotine. They are smart, organized, efficient, and vicious – and the only clue is an interest in six-dimensional non-Euclidean geometry.
“We don’t have a glimmer as to ‘who’ – other than Doctor Brain, whose role is unclear. But, Jake, I think I know ‘why’ – and that will lead us to ‘who.”
“Why, Zebadiah?” I demanded.
“Princess, your father could have worked on endless other branches of mathematics and they would not have bothered him. But he happened – I don’t mean chance; I don’t believe in ‘chance’ in this sense – he worked on the one variety of the endless possible number of geometries – the only one that correctly describes how space-time is put together. Having found it, because he is a genius in both theory and practice, he saw that it was a means by which to build a simple craft – amazingly simple, the greatest invention since the wheel – a space-time craft that offers access to all universes to the full Number of the Beast. Plus undenumerable variations of each of those many universes.
“We have one advantage.”
“I don’t see any advantage! They’re shooting at my Jacob!”
“One strong advantage, Sharpie. The ‘Black Hats’ know that Jake has worked out this mathematics. They don’t know that he has built his space-time tail-twister; they think he has just put symbols on paper. They tried to discredit his work and were successful. They tried to kill him and barely missed. They probably think Jake is dead – and it seems likely that they have killed Ed. But they don’t know about Snug Harbor.”
“Why do you say that, Zeb? Oh, I hope they do not! – but why do you feel sure?”
“Because these blokes aren’t fooling. They blew up your car and burned your flat; what would they do here? – if they knew. An A-bomb?”
“Son, do you think that criminals can lay hands on atomic weapons?”
“Jake, these aren’t criminals. A ‘criminal’ is a member of the subset of the larger set ‘human beings.’ These creatures are not human.”
“Eh? Zeb, your reasoning escapes me.”
“Deety. Run it through the computer. The one between your ears.”
I did not answer; I just sat and thought. After several minutes of unpleasant thoughts I said, “Zebadiah, the ‘Black Hats’ don’t know about the apparatus in our basement.”
“Conclusive assumption,” my husband agreed, “because we are still alive.”
“They are determined to destroy a new work in mathematics… and to kill the brain that produced it.”
“A probability approaching unity,” Zebadiah again agreed.
“Because it can be used to travel among the universes.”
“Conclusive corollary,” my husband noted.
“For this purpose, human beings fall into three groups. Those not interested in mathematics more complex than that needed to handle money, those who know a bit about other mathematics, and a quite small third group who could understand the possibilities.”
“Yes.”
“But our race does not know anything of other universes so far as I know.”
“They don’t. Necessary assumption.”
“But that third group would not try to stop an attempt to travel among the universes. They would wait with intellectual interest to see how it turned out. They might believe or disbelieve or suspend judgment. But they would not oppose; they would be delighted if my father succeeded. The joy of intellectual discovery – the mark of a true scientist.”
I sighed and added, “I see no other grouping. Save for a few sick people, psychotic, these three subsets complete the set. Our opponents are not psychotic; they are intelligent, crafty, and organized.”
“As we all know too well,” Zebadiah echoed.
“Therefore our opponents are not human beings. They are alien intelligences from elsewhere.” I sighed again and shut up. Being an oracle is a no-good profession!
“Or elsewhen. Sharpie, can you kill?”
“Kill whom, Zebbie? Or what?” “Can you kill to protect Jake?”
“You bet your frimpin’ life I’ll kill to protect Jacob!”
“I won’t ask you, Princess; I know Dejah Thoris.” Zebadiah went on, “That’s the situation, ladies. We have the most valuable man on this planet to protect. We don’t know from what. Jake, your bodyguard musters two Amazons, one small, one medium large, both probably knocked up, and one Cowardly Lion. I’d hire the Dorsai if I knew their P.O. Box. Or the Gray Lensman and all his pals. But we are all there are and we’ll try! Avete, alieni, nos morituri vos spernimus! Let’s break out that champagne.”
“My Captain, do you think we should?” I asked. “I’m frightened.”
“We should. I’m no good for more work today, and neither is Jake. Tomorrow we’ll start installing the gadget in Gay Deceiver, do rewiring and reprogramming so that she will work for any of us. Meanwhile we need a couple of laughs and a night’s sleep. What better time to drink life to the dregs than when we know that any hour may be our last?”
Aunt Hilda punched Zebadiah in the ribs. “Yer dern tootin’, Buster! I’m going to get giggle happy and make a fool of myself and then take my man and put him to sleep with Old Mother Sharpie’s Time-Tested Nostrum. Deety, I prescribe the same for you.”
I suddenly felt better. “Check, Aunt Hilda! Captain John Carter always wins. ‘Cowardly Lion’ my foot! Who is Pop? The Little Wizard?”
“I think he is.”
“Could be. Pop, will you open the bubbly? I always hurt my thumbs.”
“Right away, Deety. I mean ‘Dejah Thoris, royal consort of the Warlord.'”
“No need to be formal, Pop. This is going to be an informal party. Very! Pop! Do I have to keep my pants on?”
“Ask your husband. You’re his problem now.”

Chapter VIII

“Let us all preserve our illusions – “

Hilda:
In my old age, sucking my gums in front of the fire and living over my misdeeds, I’ll remember the next few days as the happiest in my life. I’d had three honeymoons earlier, one with each of my term-contract husbands: two had been good, one had been okay and (eventually) very lucrative. But my honeymoon with Jacob was heavenly.
The whiff of danger sharpened the joy. Jacob seemed unworried, and Zebbie has hunches, like a horseplayer. Seeing that Zebbie was relaxed, Deety got over being jumpy – and I never was, as I hope to end like a firecracker, not linger on, ugly, helpless, useless…
A spice of danger adds zest to life. Even during a honeymoon – especially during a honeymoon.
An odd honeymoon. We worked hard but our husbands seemed never too busy for pat fanny, squeeze titty, and unhurried kisses. Not a group marriage but two twosomes that were one family, comfortable each with the others. I dropped most of my own sparky-bitch ways, and Zebbie sometimes called me “Hilda” rather than “Sharpie.”
Jacob and I moved into marriage like ham and eggs. Jacob is not tall (178 centimeters) (but tall compared with my scant one fifty-two) and his hairline recedes and he has a paunch from years at a desk – but he looks just right to me. If I wanted to look at male beauty, I could always look at Deety’s giant – appreciate him without lusting: my own loving goat kept Sharpie quite blunted.
I did not decide, when Zebbie came on campus, to make a pet of him for his looks but for his veering sense of humor. But if there was ever a man who could have played the role of John Carter, Warlord of Mars, it was Zebadiah Carter whose middle name just happens to be “John.” Indoors with clothes and wearing his fake horn-rims he looks awkward, too big, clumsy. I did not realize that he was beautiful and graceful until the first time he used my pool. (That afternoon I was tempted to seduce him. But, as little dignity as I have, I had resolved to stick to older men, so I shut off the thought.)
Outdoors at Snug Harbor, wearing little or no clothes, Zebbie looked at home – a mountain lion in grace and muscle. An incident one later afternoon showed me how much he was like the Warlord of Mars. A sword – Those old stories were familiar to me. My father had acquired the Ballantine Del Rey paperback reissues; they were around the house when I was a little girl. Once I learned to read, I read everything, and vastly preferred Barsoom stories to “girls” books given to me for birthdays and Christmas. Thuvia was the heroine I identified with – “toy” of the cruel priests of Issus, then with virginity miraculously restored in the next book: Thuvia, Maid of Mars. I resolved to change my name to Thuvia when I was old enough. When I was eighteen, I did not consider it; I had always been “Hilda,” a new name held no attraction.
I was responsible in part for Deety’s name, one that embarrassed her until she discovered that her husband liked it. Jacob had wanted to name his daughter “Dejah Thoris” (Jacob looks like and is a professor, but he is incurably romantic). Jane had misgivings. I told her, “Don’t be a chump, Janie. If your man wants something, and you can accommodate him with no grief, give it to him! Do you want him to love this child or to resent her?” Jane looked thoughtful and “Doris Anne” became “Dejah Thoris” at christening, then “Deety” before she could talk – which satisfied everyone.
We settled into a routine: Up early every day; our men worked on instruments and wires and things and installing the time-space widget into Gay Deceiver’s gizzard – while Deety and I gave the housework a lick and a promise (our mountain home needed little attention – more of Jacob’s genius), then Deety and I got busy on a technical matter that Deety could do with some help from me.
I’m not much use for technical work, biology being the only thing I studied in depth and never finished my degree. This was amplified by almost six thousand hours as volunteer nurse’s aid in our campus medical center and I took courses that make me an uncertified nurse or medical tech or even jackleg paramedic – I don’t shriek at the sight of blood and can clean up vomit without a qualm and would not hesitate to fill in as scrub nurse. Being a campus widow with too much money is fun but not soul filling. I like to feel that I’ve paid rent on the piece of earth I’m using.
Besides that, I have a smattering of everything from addiction to the printed page, plus attending campus lectures that sound intriguing… then sometimes auditing a related course. I audited descriptive astronomy, took the final as if for credit – got an “A.” I had even figured a cometary orbit correctly, to my surprise (and the professor’s).
I can wire a doorbell or clean out a stopped-up soil pipe with a plumber’s “snake” – but if it’s really technical, I hire specialists.
So Hilda can help but usually can’t do the job alone. Gay Deceiver had to be reprogrammed – and Deety, who does not look like a genius, is one. Jacob’s daughter should be a genius and her mother had an I.Q. that startled even me, her closest friend. I ran across it while helping poor grief-stricken Jacob to decide what to save, what to burn. (I burned unflattering pictures, useless papers, and clothes. A dead person’s clothes should be given away or burned; nothing should be kept that does not inspire happy memories. I cried a bit and that saved Jacob and Deety from having to cry later.)
We all held private duo licenses; Zebbie, as Captain Z. J. Carter, U.S.A.S.R., held “command” rating as well – he told us that his space rating was largely honorary, just some free-fall time and one landing of a shuttle. Zebbie is mendacious, untruthful, and tells fibs; I got a chance to sneak a look at his aerospace log and shamelessly took it. He had logged more than he claimed in one exchange tour with Australia. Someday I’m going to sit on his chest and make him tell Mama Hilda the truth. Should be interesting… if I can sort out fact from fiction. I do not believe his story about intimate relations with a female kangaroo.
Zebbie and Jacob decided that we all must be able to control Gay Deceiver all four ways, on the road, in the air, in trajectory (she’s not a spaceship but can make high-trajectory jumps), and in space-time, i.e. among the universes to the Number of the Beast, plus variants impossible to count.
I had fingers crossed about being able to learn that, but both men assured me that they had worked out a fail-safe that would get me out of a crunch if I ever had to do it alone.
Part of the problem lay in the fact that Gay Deceiver was a one-man girl; her doors unlocked only to her master’s voice or to his thumbprint, or to a tapping code if he were shy both voice and right thumb; Zeb tended to plan ahead – “Outwitting Murphy’s Law,” he called it, “‘Anything that can go wrong, will go wrong.'” (Grandma called it “The Butter-Side Down Rule.”)
First priority was to introduce us to Gay Deceiver – teach her that all four voices and right thumbprints were acceptable.
That took a couple of hours, with Deety helping Zebbie. The tapping code took even less, it being based on an old military cadence – its trickiness being that a thief would be unlikely to guess that this car would open if tapped a certain way and in guessing the correct cadence. Zebbie called the cadence “Drunken Soldier.” Jacob said that it was “Bumboat.” Deety claimed that its title was “Pay Day,” because she had heard it from Jane’s grandfather.
Our men conceded that she must be right, as she had words for it. Her words included “Drunken Sailor” instead of “Drunken Soldier” – plus both “Pay Day” and “Bumboat.”
Introductions taken care of, Zeb dug out Gay’s anatomy, one volume her body, one her brain. He handed the latter to Deety, took the other into our basement. The next two days were easy for me, hard for Deety. I held lights and made notes on a clip board while she studied that book and frowned and got smudged and sweaty getting herself into impossible positions and once she cursed in a fashion that would have caused Jane to scold. She added, “Aunt Nanny Goat, your step-son-in-law has done things to this mass of spaghetti that no decent computer should put up with! It’s a bastard hybrid.”
“You shouldn’t call Gay ‘it,’ Deety. And she’s not a bastard.”
“She can’t hear us; I’ve got her ears unhooked – except that piece that is monitoring news retrieval programs – and that goes through this wire to that jack in the wall; she can talk with Zebadiah only in the basement now. Oh, I’m sure she was a nice girl until that big ape of mine raped her. Aunt Hilda, don’t worry about hurting Gay’s feelings; she hasn’t any. This is an idiot as computers go. Any one-horse college and most high schools own or share time in computers much more complex. This one is primarily cybernetics, an autopilot plus limited digital capacity and limited storage. But the mods Zebadiah has tacked on make it more than an autopilot but not a general-purpose computer. A misbegotten hybrid. It has far more random-number options than it needs and it has extra functions that IBM never dreamed of.”
“Deety, why are you taking off cover plates? I thought you were strictly a programmer? Software. Not a mechanic.”
“I am strictly a software mathematician. I wouldn’t attempt to modify this monster even on written orders from my lovable but sneaky husband. But how in the name of Allah can a software hack think about simplification analysis for program if she doesn’t know the circuitry? The first half of this book shows what this autopilot was manufactured to do… and the second half, the Xeroxed pages, show the follies Zebadiah has seduced her into. This bleedin’ bundle of chips now speaks three logic languages, interfaced – when it was built to use only one. But it won’t accept any of them until it has been wheedled with Zebadiah’s double talk. Even then it rarely answers a code phrase with the same answer twice in a row. What does it say in answer to: ‘You’re a smart girl, Gay.’?”
“I remember. ‘Boss, I bet you tell that to all the girls. Over.”
“Sometimes. Oftenest, as that answer is weighted to come up three times as often as any of the others. But listen to this:
“‘Zeb, I’m so smart I scare myself.’
“‘Then why did you turn me down for that raise?’
“‘Never mind the compliments! Take your hand off my knee!’
“‘Not so loud, dear. I don’t want my boyfriend to hear.’
” – and there are more. There are at least four answers to any of Zebadiah’s code phrases. He uses just one list, but the autopilot answers several ways for each of his phrases – and all any of them mean is either ‘Roger’ or ‘Null program; rephrase.'”
“I like the idea. Fun.”
“Well… I do myself. I animize a computer; I think of them as people… and this semirandom answer list makes Gay Deceiver feel much more alive… when she isn’t. Not even versatile compared with a ground-based computer. But – ” Deety gave a quick smile. “I’m going to hand my husband some surprises.”
“How, Deety?”
“You know how he says, ‘Good morning, Gay. How are you?’ when we sit down for breakfast.”
“Yes. I like it. Friendly. She usually answers, ‘I’m fine, Zeb.'”
“Yes. It’s a test code. It orders the autopilot to run a self-check throughout and to report any running instruction. Which takes less than a millisecond. If he didn’t get that or an equivalent answer, he would rush straight here to find out what’s wrong. But I’m going to add another answer. Or more.”
“I thought you refused to modify anything.”
“Aunt Hillbilly, this is software, not hardware. I’m authorized and directed to amplify the answers to include all of us, by name for each of our voices. That is programming, elementary. You say good morning to this gadget and it will – when I’m finished – answer you and call you either ‘Hilda’ or ‘Mrs. Burroughs.'”
“Oh, let her call me Hilda.'”
“All right, but let her call you ‘Mrs. Burroughs’ now and then for variety.”
“Well… all right. Keep her a personality.”
“I could even have her call you – low weighting! – ‘Nanny Goat.'”
I guffawed. “Do, Deety, please do. But I want to be around to see Jacob’s face.”
“You will be; it won’t be programmed to answer that way to any voice but yours. Just don’t say, ‘Good morning, Gay’ unless Pop is listening. But here’s one for my husband: Zebadiah says, ‘Good morning, Gay. How are you?’ – and the speaker answers, ‘I’m fine, Zeb. But your fly is unzipped and your eyes are bloodshot. Are you hung over again?'”
Deety is so solemn and yet playful. “Do it, dear! Poor Zebbie – who drinks least of any of us. But he might not be wearing anything zippered.”
“Zebadiah always wears something at meals. Even his underwear shorts are zippered. He dislikes elastic.”
“But he’ll recognize your voice, Deety.”
“Nope. Because it will be your voice – modified.”
And it was. I’m contralto about the range of the actress – or girl friend – who recorded Gay Deceiver’s voice originally. I don’t think my voice has her sultry, bedroom quality but I’m a natural mimic. Deety borrowed a wigglescope – oscilloscope? – from her father, my Jacob, and I practiced until my patterns for Gay Deceiver’s original repertoire matched hers well enough – Deety said she could not tell them apart without close checking.
I got into the spirit of it, such as having Deety cause Gay Deceiver occasionally to say to my husband, “Fine – except for my back ache, you wicked old Billy Goat!” – and Jacob tripped that reply one morning when I did have a back ache, and I feel sure he had one, too.
We didn’t put in answers that Deety felt might be too bawdy for Jacob’s “innocent” mind – I didn’t even hint how her father actually talked, to me in private. Let us all preserve our illusions; it lubricates social relations. Possibly Deety and Zebbie talked the same way to each other in private – and regarded us “old folks” as hopelessly square.

Chapter IX

Most males have an unhealthy tendency to obey laws.

Deety:
Aunt Hilda and I finished reprogramming in the time it took Zebadiah and Pop to design and make the fail-safes and other mods needed to turn Gay Deceiver, with the time-space widget installed, into a continua traveler – which included placing the back seats twenty centimeters farther back (for leg room) after they had been pulled out to place the widget abaft the bulkhead and weld it to the shell. The precessing controls and triple verniers were remoted to the driver’s instrument board – with one voice control for the widget, all others manual:
If any of our voices said, “Gay Deceiver, take us home!” car and passengers would instantly return to Snug Harbor.
I don’t know but I trust my Pop. He brought us home safe twice, doing it with no fail-safes and no dead-man switch. The latter paralleled the “Take us home!” voice order, was normally clamped closed and covered – but could be uncovered and held in a fist, closed. There were other fail-safes for temperature, pressure, air, radar collision course, and other dangers. If we wound up inside a star or planet, none of this could save us, but it is easy to prove that the chances of falling downstairs and breaking your neck are enormously higher than the chance of co-occupying space with other matter in our native universe – space is plentiful, mass is scarce. We hoped that this would be true of other universes.
No way ahead of time to check on the Number-of-the-Beast spaces – but “The cowards never started and the weaklings died on the way.” None of us ever mentioned not trying to travel the universes. Besides, our home planet had turned unfriendly. We didn’t discuss “Black Hats” but we all knew that they were still here, and that we remained alive by lying doggo and letting the world think we were dead.
We ate breakfast better each morning after hearing Gay Deceiver offer “null report” on news retrievals. Zebadiah, I am fairly certain, had given up his cousin for dead. I feel sure Zebadiah would have gone to Sumatra to follow a lost hope, were it not that he had acquired a wife and a prospective child. I missed my next period, so did Hilda. Our men toasted our not-yet bulging bellies; Hilda and I smugly resolved to be good girls, yes, sir! – and careful. Hilda joined my morning toning up, and the men joined us the first time they caught us at it.
Zebadiah did not need it but seemed to enjoy it. Pop brought his waistline down five centimeters in one week.
Shortly after that toast Zebadiah pressure-tested Gay Deceiver’s shell – four atmospheres inside her and a pressure gauge sticking out through a fitting in her shell.
There being little we could do while our space-time rover was sealed, we knocked off early. “Swim, anybody?” I asked. Snug Harbor doesn’t have a citytype pool, and a mountain stream is too cooold. Pop had fixed that when he concealed our spring. Overflow was piped underground to a clump of bushes and thereby created a “natural” mountain rivulet that passed near the house; then Pop had made use of a huge fallen boulder, plus biggish ones, to create a pool, one that filled and spilled. He had done work with pigments in concrete to make this look like an accident of water flow.
This makes Pop sound like Paul Bunyan. Pop could have built Snug Harbor with his own hands. But Spanish-speaking labor from Nogales built the underground and assembled the prefab shell of the cabin. An air crane fetched parts and materials from an Albuquerque engineering company Jane had bought for Pop through a front – lawyers in Dallas. The company’s manager drove the air crane himself, having had it impressed on him that this was for a rich client of the law firm, and that it would be prudent to do the job and forget it. Pop bossed the work in TexMex, with help from his secretary – me – Spanish being one language I had picked for my doctorate.
Laborers and mechanics never got a chance to pinpoint where they were, but they were well paid, well fed, comfortably housed in prefabs brought in by crane, and the backbreaking labor was done by power – who cares what “locos gringos” do? Two pilots had to know where we were building, but they homed in on a radar beacon that is no longer there.
“Blokes in Black Hats” had nothing to do with this secrecy; it was jungle caution I had learned from Mama: Never let the revenooers know anything. Pay cash, keep your lips closed, put nothing through banks that does not appear later in tax returns – pay taxes greater than your apparent standard of living and declare income accordingly. We had been audited three times since Mama died; each time the government returned a small “overpayment” – I was building a reputation of being stupid and honest.
My inquiry of “Swim, anybody?” was greeted with silence. Then Pop said, “Zeb, your wife is too energetic. Deety, later the water will be warmer and the trees will give us shade. Then we can walk slowly down to the pool. Zeb?”
“I agree, Jake. I need to conserve ergs.”
“Nap?”
“I don’t have the energy to take one. What were you saying this morning about reengineering the system?”
Aunt Hilda looked startled. “I thought Miss Gay Deceiver was already engineered? Are you thinking of changing everything?”
“Take it easy, Sharpie darlin’. Gay Deceiver is finished. A few things to stow that have been weighed and their moment arms calculated.”
I could have told her. In the course of figuring what could be stowed in every nook and cranny and what that would do to Gay’s balance, I had discovered that my husband had a highly illegal laser cannon. I said nothing, merely included its mass and distance from optimum center of weight in my calculations. I sometimes wonder which of us is the outlaw: Zebadiah or I? Most males have an unhealthy tendency to obey laws. But that concealed L-cannon made me wonder.
“Why not leave well enough alone?” Aunt Hilda demanded. “Jacob and God know I’m happy here… But You All Know Why We Should Not Stay Here Longer Than We Must.”
“We weren’t talking about Gay Deceiver; Jake and I were discussing reengineering the Solar System.”
“The Solar System! What’s wrong with it the way it is?”
“Lots of things,” Zebadiah told Aunt Hilda. “It’s untidy. Real estate going to waste. This tired old planet is crowded and sort o’ worn in spots. True, industry in orbit and power from orbit have helped, and both Lagrange-Four and -Five have self-supporting populations; anybody who invested in space stations early enough made a pile.” (Including Pop, Zebadiah!) “But these are minor compared with what can be done – and this planet is in worse shape each year. Jake’s six-dimensional principle can change that.”
“Move people into another universe? Would they go?”
“We weren’t thinking of that, Hilda. We’re trying to apply Clarke’s Law.”
“I don’t recall it. Maybe it was while I was out with mumps.”
“Arthur C. Clarke,” Pop told her. “Great man – too bad he was liquidated in The Purge. Clarke defined how to make a great discovery or create a key invention. Study what the most respected authorities agree can not be done – then do it. My continua craft is a godchild of Clarke via his Law. His insight inspired my treatment of six-dimensional continua. But this morning Zeb added corollaries.”
“Jake, don’t kid the ladies. I asked a question; you grabbed the ball and ran.”
“Uh, we heterodyned. Hilda, you know that the time-space traveler doesn’t require power.”
“I’m afraid I don’t know, darling man. Why were you installing power packs in Gay Deceiver?”
“Auxiliary uses. So that you won’t have to cook over an open fire, for example.”
“But the pretzel bender doesn’t use power,” agreed Zebadiah. “Don’t ask why. I did, and Jake started writing equations in Sanskrit and I got a headache.”
“It doesn’t use power, Aunt Hilda,” I agreed. “Just parasitic power. A few microwatts so that the gyros never slow down, milliwatts for instrument readouts and for controls – but the widget itself uses none.”
“What happened to the law of conservation of energy?”
“Sharpie,” my husband answered, “as a fairish mechanic, an amateur electron pusher, and as a bloke who has herded unlikely junk through the sky, I never worry about theory as long as machinery does what it is supposed to do. I worry when a machine turns and bites me. That’s why I specialize in fail-safes and backups and triple redundancy. I try never to get a machine sore at me. There’s no theory for that but every engineer knows it.”
“Hilda my beloved, the law of conservation of mass-energy is not broken by our continua craft; it is simply not relevant to it. Once Zeb understood that -“
“I didn’t say I understood it.”
“Well… once Zeb stipulated that, he raised interesting questions. For example: Jupiter doesn’t need Ganymede – “
“Whereas Venus does. Although Titan might be better.”
“Mmm… possible.”
“Yes. Make an inhabitable base more quickly. But the urgent problem, Jake, is to seed Venus, move atmosphere to Mars, put both of them through forced aging. Then respot them. Earth-Sol Trojan points?”
“Certainly. We’ve had millions of years of evolution this distance from the Sun. We had best plan on living neither closer nor farther. With careful attention to stratospheric protection. But I still have doubts about anchoring in the Venerian crust. We wouldn’t want to lose the planet on Tau axis.”
“Mere R. & D., Jake. Calculate pressures and temperatures; beef up the vehicle accordingly – spherical, save for exterior anchors – then apply a jigger factor of four. With automatic controls quintuply redundant. Catch it when it comes out and steady it down in Earth’s orbit, sixty degrees trailing – and start selling subdivisions the size of old Spanish Land Grants. Jake, we should gather enough mass to create new earths at all Trojan points, a hexagon around the Sun. Five brand-new earths would give the race room enough to breed. On this maiden voyage let’s keep our eyes open.”
Aunt Hilda looked at Zebadiah with horror. “Zebbie! Creating planets indeed! Who do you think you are? Jesus Christ?”
“I’m not that junior. That’s the Holy Ghost over there, scratching his belly, The Supreme Inseminator. I’m the other one, the Maker and Shaper. But in setting up a pantheon for the Celestial Age, we’re going to respect women’s rights, Hilda. Deety is Earth Mother; she’s perfect for the job. You are Moon Goddess, Selene. Good job, dear – more moons than earths. It fits you. You’re little and silvery and you wax and wane and you’re beautiful in all your phases. How about it? Us four and no more.”
“Quit pulling my leg!”
My husband answered, “I haven’t been pulling your leg. Come closer and I will; you have pretty legs, Step-Mother-in-Law. These things Jake and I have been discussing are practical – once we thought about the fact that the spacetime twister uses no power. Move anything anywhere – all spaces, all times. I add the plural because at first I could not see what Jake had in mind when he spoke of forced aging of a planet. Rotate Venus into the Tau axis, fetch it back along Teh axis, reinsert it centuries – or millennia – older at this point in ‘t’ axis. Perhaps translate it a year or so into the future – our future – so as to be ready for it when it returns, all sweet and green and beautiful and ready to grow children and puppies and butterflies. Terraformed but virginal.”
Aunt Hilda looked frightened. “Jacob? Would one highball do any harm to this peanut inside me? I need a bracer.”
“I don’t think so. Jane often had a drink with me while she was pregnant. Her doctor did not have her stop until her third trimester. Can’t see that it hurt Deety. Deety was so healthy she drove Jane home from the hospital.”
“Pop, that’s a fib. I didn’t learn to drive until I was three months old. But I need one, too,” I added. “Zebadiah?”
“Certainly, Princess. A medicinal drink should be by body mass. That’s half a jigger for you, Sharpie dear, a jigger for Deety, a jigger and a half for Jake – two jiggers for me.”
“Oh, how unfair!”
“It certainly is,” I agreed. “I outweigh Pop – he’s been losing, I’ve been gaining. Pick us up and see!”
My husband took us each around the waist, crouched, then straightened and lifted us.
“Close to a standoff,” he announced. “Pop may be a trifle heavier, but you’re more cuddly” – kissed me and put us down.
“There is no one more cuddly than Jacob!”
“Hilda, you’re prejudiced. Let’s each mix our own drinks, at the strength required for our emotional and physical conditions.”
So we did – it wound up with Hilda and me each taking a jigger with soda, Pop taking a jigger and a half over ice – and Zebadiah taking a half jigger of vodka and drowning it with Coke.
While we were sipping our “medicine,” Zebadiah, sprawled out, looked up over the fireplace. “Pop, you were in the Navy?”
“No – Army. If you count ‘chair-borne infantry.’ They handed me a commission for having a doctorate in mathematics, told me they needed me for ballistics. Then I spent my whole tour as a personnel officer, signing papers.”
“Standard Operating Procedure. That’s a Navy sword and belt up there. Thought it might be yours.”
“It’s Deety’s – belonged to Jane’s Grandfather Rodgers. I have a dress saber. Belonged to my Dad, who gave it to me when the Army took me. Dress blues, too. I took them with me, never had occasion to wear either.” Pop got up and went into his – their bedroom, calling back, “I’ll show you the saber.”
My husband said to me, “Deety, would you mind my handling your sword?”
“My Captain, that sword is yours.”
“Heavens, dear, I can’t accept an heirloom.”
“If my warlord will not permit his princess to gift him with a sword, he can leave it where it is! I’ve been wanting to give you a wedding present – and did not realize that I had the perfect gift for Captain John Carter.”
“My apologies, Dejah Thoris. I accept and will keep it bright. I will defend my princess with it against all enemies.”
“Helium is proud to accept. If you make a cradle of your hands, I can stand in them and reach it down.”
Zebadiah grasped me, a hand above each knee, and I was suddenly three meters tall. Sword and belt were on hooks; I lifted them down, and myself was placed down. My husband stood straight while I buckled it around him – then he dropped to one knee and kissed my hand.
My husband is mad north-northwest but his madness suits me. I got tears in my eyes which Deety doesn’t do much but Dejah Thoris seems prone to, since John Carter made her his.
Pop and Aunt Hilda watched – then imitated, including (I saw!) tears in Hilda’s eyes after she buckled on Pop’s saber, when he knelt and kissed her hand.
Zebadiah drew sword, tried its balance, sighted along its blade. “Handmade and balanced close to the hilt. Deety, your great-grandfather paid a pretty penny for this. It’s an honest weapon.”
“I don’t think he knew what it cost. It was presented to him.”
“For good reason, I feel certain.” Zebadiah stood back, went into hanging guard, made fast moulinets vertically, left and right, then horizontally clockwise and counterclockwise – suddenly dropped into swordsman’s guard – lunged and recovered, fast as a striking cat.
I said softly to Pop, “Did you notice?”
Pop answered quietly. “Know saber. Sword, too.”
Hilda said loudly, “Zebbie! You never told me you went to Heidelberg.”
“You never asked, Sharpie. Around the Red Ox they called me ‘The Scourge of the Neckar.'”
“What happened to your scars?”
“Never got any, dear. I hung around an extra year, hoping for one. But no one got through my guard – ever. Hate to think about how many German faces I carved into checkerboards.”
“Zebadiah, was that where you took your doctorate?”
My husband grinned and sat down, still wearing sword. “No, another school.”
“M.I.T.?” inquired Pop.
“Hardly. Pop, this should stay in the family. I undertook to prove that a man can get a doctorate from a major university without knowing anything and without adding anything whatever to human knowledge.”
“I think you have a degree in aerospace engineering,” Pop said flatly.
“I’ll concede that I have the requisite hours. I hold two degrees – a baccalaureate in humane arts… meaning I squeaked through… and a doctorate from an old and prestigious school – a Ph.D. in education.”
“Zebadiah! You wouldn’t!” (I was horrified.)
“But I did, Deety. To prove that degrees per se are worthless. Often they are honorifics of true scientists or learned scholars or inspired teachers. Much more frequently they are false faces for overeducated jackasses.”
Pop said, “You’ll get no argument from me, Zeb. A doctorate is a union card to get a tenured job. It does not mean that the holder thereof is wise or learned.”
“Yes, sir. I was taught it at my grandfather’s knee – my Grandfather Zachariah, the man responsible for the initial ‘Z’ in the names of his male descendants. Deety, his influence on me was so strong that I must explain him – no, that’s impossible; I must tell about him in order to explain me… and how I happened to take a worthless degree.”
Hilda said, “Deety, he’s pulling a long bow again.”
“Quiet, woman. ‘Get thee to a nunnery, go!”
“I don’t take orders from my step-son-in-law. Make that a monastery and I’ll consider it.”
I kept my blinkin’ mouf shut. My husband’s fibs entertain me. (If they are fibs.)
“Grandpa Zach was as cantankerous an old coot as you’ll ever meet. Hated government, hated lawyers, hated civil servants, hated preachers, hated automobiles, public schools, and telephones, was contemptuous of most editors, most writers, most professors, most of almost anything. But he overtipped waitresses and porters and would go out of his way to avoid stepping on an insect.
“Grandpa had three doctorates: biochemistry, medicine, and law – and he regarded anyone who couldn’t read Latin, Greek, Hebrew, French, and German as illiterate.”
“Zebbie, can you read all those?”
“Fortunately for me, my grandfather had a stroke while filling out a tax form before he could ask me that question. I don’t know Hebrew. I can read Latin, puzzle out Greek, speak and read French, read technical German, understand it in some accents, swear in Russian – very useful! – and speak an ungrammatical smattering of Spanish picked up in cantinas and from horizontal dictionaries.
“Grandpa would have classed me as subliterate as I don’t do any of these well – and I sometimes split infinitives which would have infuriated him. He practiced forensic medicine, medical jurisprudence, was an expert witness in toxicology, pathology, and traumatology, bullied judges, terrorized lawyers, medical students, and law students. He once threw a tax assessor out of his office and required him to return with a search warrant setting forth in detail its constitutional limitations, He regarded the income tax and the Seventeenth Amendment and the direct primary as signs of the decay of the Republic.”
“How did he feel about the Nineteenth?”
“Hilda, Grandpa Zach supported female suffrage. I remember hearing him say that if women were so dad-burned foolish as to want to assume the burden, they should be allowed to – they couldn’t do the country more harm than men had. ‘Votes for Women’ didn’t annoy him but nine thousand other things did. He lived at a slow simmer, always ready to break into a rolling boil.
“He had one hobby: collecting steel engravings.”
“‘Steel engravings’?” I repeated.
“Of dead presidents, my Princess. Especially of McKinley, Cleveland, and Madison – but he didn’t scorn those of Washington. He had that instinct for timing so necessary to a collector. In 1929 on Black Thursday he held not one share of common stock; instead he had sold short. When the 1933 Bank Holiday came along every old-dollar he owned, except current cash, was in Zurich in Swiss money. Eventually U.S. citizens were forbidden by ’emergency’ decree to own gold even abroad.
“Grandpa Zach ducked into Canada, applied for Swiss citizenship, got it, and thereafter split his time between Europe and America, immune to inflation and the confiscatory laws that eventually caused us to knock three zeros off the old-dollar in creating the newdollar.
“So he died rich, in Locarno – beautiful place; I stayed with him two summers as a boy. His will was probated in Switzerland and the U.S. Revenue Service could not touch it.
“Most of it was a trust with its nature known to his offspring before his death or I would not have been named Zebadiah.
“Female descendants got pro-rata shares of income with no strings attached but males had to have first names starting with ‘Z’ – and even that got them not one Swiss franc; there was a ‘Root, hog, or die!’ clause. Zachariah believed in taking care of daughters, but sons and grandsons had to go out and scratch, with no help from their fathers, until they had earned and saved on their own – or accumulated without going to jail – assets equal to one pro-rata share of the capital sum of the trust before they shared in the trust’s income.”
“Sexism,” said Aunt Hilda. “Raw, unadulterated sexism. Any FemLib gal would sneer at his dirty old money, on those terms.”
“Would you have refused it, Sharpie?”
“Me? Zebbie dear, are you feverish? I would have both greedy hands out. I’m strong for women’s rights but no fanatic. Sharpie wants to be pampered and that’s what men are best at – their natural function.”
“Pop, do you need help in coping with her?”
“No, Son. I like pampering Hilda. I don’t see you abusing my daughter.”
“I don’t dare; you told me she’s vicious at karate.” (I am good at karate; Pop made sure that I learned all the dirty fighting possible. But not against Zebadiah! If I ever do – Heaven forbid! – find myself opposed to my husband, I’ll quiver my chin and cry.)
“On my graduation from high school my father had a talk with me. ‘Zeb,’ he told me. ‘The time has come. I’ll put you through any school you choose. Or you can take what you have saved, strike out on your own, and try to qualify for a share in your grandfather’s will. Suit yourself, I shan’t influence you.’
“Folks, I had to think. My father’s younger brother was past forty and still hadn’t qualified. The size of the trust made a pro-rata of its assets amount to a requirement that a male descendant had to get rich on his own – well-to-do at least – whereupon he was suddenly twice as rich. But with over half of this country’s population living on the taxes of the lesser number it is not as easy to get rich as it was in Grandpa’s day.
“Turn down a paid-for education at Princeton, or M.I.T.? Or go out and try to get rich with nothing but a high school education? – I hadn’t learned much in high school; I had majored in girls.
“So I had to think hard and long. Almost ten seconds. I left home next day with one suitcase and a pitiful sum of money.
“Wound up on campus that had two things to recommend it: an Aerospace R.O.T.C. that would pick up part of my expenses, and a phys. ed. department willing to award me a jockstrap scholarship in exchange for daily bruises and contusions, plus all-out effort whenever we played. I took the deal.”
“What did you play?” asked my father.
“Football, basketball, and track – they would have demanded more had they been able to figure a way to do it.”
“I had thought you were going to mention fencing.”
“No, that’s another story. These did not quite close the gap. So I also waited tables for meals – food so bad the cockroaches ate out. But that closed the gap, and I added to it by tutoring in mathematics. That gave me my start toward piling up money to qualify.”
I asked, “Did tutoring math pay enough to matter? I tutored math before Mama died; the hourly rate was low.”
“Not that sort of tutoring, Princess. I taught prosperous young optimists not to draw to inside straights, and that stud poker is not a game of chance, but that craps is, controlled by mathematical laws that cannot be flouted with impunity. To quote Grandfather Zachariah, ‘A man who bets on greed and dishonesty won’t be wrong too often.’ There is an amazingly high percentage of greedy people and it is even easier to win from a dishonest gambler than it is from an honest one… and neither is likely to know the odds at craps, especially side bets, or all of the odds in poker, in particular how odds change according to the number of players, where one is seated in relation to the dealer, and how to calculate changes as cards are exposed in stud.
“That was also how I quit drinking, my darling, except for special celebrations. In every ‘friendly’ game some players contribute, some take a profit; a player determined to take a profit must be neither drunk nor tired. Pop, the shadows are growing long – I don’t think anybody wants to know how I got a worthless doctorate.”
“I do!” I put in. “Me, too!” echoed Aunt Hilda.
“Son, you’re outvoted.”
“Okay. Two years active duty after I graduated. Sky jockeys are even more optimistic than students and have more money – meanwhile I learned more math and engineering. Was sent inactive just in time to be called up again for the Spasm War. Didn’t get hurt, I was safer than civilians. But that kept me on another year even though fighting was mostly over before I reported in. That made me a veteran, with benefits. I went to Manhattan and signed up for school again. Doctoral candidate. School of Education. Not serious at first, simply intending to use my veteran’s benefits while enjoying the benefits of being a student – and devote most of my time to piling up cash to qualify for the trust.
“I knew that the stupidest students, the silliest professors, and the worst bull courses are concentrated in schools of education. By signing for large-class evening lectures and the unpopular eight a.m. classes I figured I could spend most of my time finding out how the stock market ticked. I did, by working there, before I risked a dime.
“Eventually I had to pick a research problem or give up the advantages of being a student. I was sick of a school in which the pie was all meringue and no filling but I stuck as I knew how to cope with courses in which the answers are matters of opinion and the opinion that counts is that of the professor. And how to cope with those large-class evening lectures: Buy the lecture notes. Read everything that professor ever published. Don’t cut too often and when you do show up, get there early, sit front row center, be certain the prof catches your eye every time he looks your way – by never taking your eyes off him. Ask one question you know he can answer because you’ve picked it out of his published papers – and state your name in asking a question. Luckily ‘Zebadiah Carter’ is a name easy to remember. Family, I got straight ‘A’s’ in both required courses and seminars… because I did not study ‘education,’ I studied professors of education.
“But I still had to make that ‘original contribution to human knowledge’ without which a candidate may not be awarded a doctor’s degree in most so-called disciplines… and the few that don’t require it are a tough row to hoe.
“I studied my faculty committee before letting myself be tied down to a research problem… not only reading everything each had published but also buying their publications or paying the library to make copies of out-of-print papers.”
My husband took me by my shoulders. “Dejah Thoris, here follows the title of my dissertation. You can have your divorce on your own terms.”
“Zebadiah, don’t talk that way!”
“Then brace yourself. ‘An Ad-Hoc Inquiry Concerning the Optimization of the Infrastructure of Primary Educational Institutions at the Interface Between Administration and Instruction, with Special Attention to Group Dynamics Desiderata.”
“Zebbie! What does that mean?”
“It means nothing, Hilda.”
“Zeb, quit kidding our ladies. Such a title would never be accepted.”
“Jake, it seems certain that you have never taken a course in a school of education.”
“Well… no. Teaching credentials are not required at university level but -“
“But me no ‘buts,’ Pop. I have a copy of my dissertation; you can check its authenticity. While that paper totally lacks meaning it is a literary gem in the sense in which a successful forging of an ‘old master’ is itself a work of art. It is loaded with buzz words. The average length of sentences is eighty-one words. The average word length, discounting ‘of,’ ‘a,’ ‘the,’ and other syntactical particles, is eleven-plus letters in slightly under four syllables. The bibliography is longer than the dissertation and cites three papers of each member of my committee and four of the chairman, and those citations are quoted in part – while avoiding any mention of matters on which I knew that members of the committee held divergent (but equally stupid) opinions.
“But the best touch was to get permission to do field work in Europe and have it count toward time on campus; half the citations were in foreign languages, ranging from Finnish to Croatian – and the translated bits invariably agreed with the prejudices of my committee. It took careful quoting out of context to achieve this, but it had the advantage that the papers were unlikely to be on campus and my committee were not likely to go to the trouble of looking them up even if they were. Most of them weren’t at home in other languages, even easy ones like French, German, and Spanish.
“But I did not waste time on phony field work; I simply wanted a trip to Europe at student air fares and the use of student hostels – dirt cheap way to travel. And a visit to the trustees of Grandpa’s fund.
“Good news! The fund was blue chips and triple-A bonds and, at that time, speculative stocks were rising. So the current cash value of the fund was down, even though income was up. And two more of my cousins and one uncle had qualified, again reducing the pro-rata… so, Glory Be! – I was within reaching distance. I had brought with me all that I had saved, swore before a notary that it was all mine, nothing borrowed, nothing from my father – and left it on deposit in Zurich, using the trustees as a front. And I told them about my stamp and coin collection.
“Good stamps and coins never go down, always up. I had nothing but proof sets, first-day covers, and unbroken sheets, all in perfect condition – and had a notarized inventory and appraisal with me. The trustees got me to swear that the items I had collected before I left home had come from earned money – true, the earliest items represented mowed lawns and such – and agreed to hold the pro-rata at that day’s cash value – lower if the trend continued – if I would sell my collection and send a draft to Zurich, with businesslike speed as soon as I returned to the States.
“I agreed. One trustee took me to lunch, tried to get me liquored up – then offered me ten percent over appraisal if I would sell that very afternoon, then send it to him by courier at his expense (bonded couriers go back and forth between Europe and America every week).
“We shook hands on it, went back and consulted the other trustees. I signed papers transferring title, the trustee buying signed his draft to me, I endorsed it to the trustees to add to the cash I was leaving in their custody. Three weeks later I got a cable certifying that the collection matched the inventory. I had qualified.
“Five months later I was awarded the degree of doctor of philosophy, summa cum laude, And that, dear ones, is the shameful story of my life, Anyone have the energy to go swimming?”
“Son, if there is a word of truth in that, it is indeed a shameful story.”
“Pop! That’s not fair! Zebadiah used their rules – and outsmarted them!”
“I didn’t say that Zeb had anything to be ashamed of. It is a commentary on American higher education. What Zeb claims to have written is no worse than trash I know is accepted as dissertations these days. His case is the only one I have encountered wherein an intelligent and able scholar – you, Zeb – set out to show that an ‘earned’ Ph.D. could be obtained from a famous institution – I know which one! – in exchange for deliberately meaningless pseudoresearch. The cases I have encountered have involved button-counting by stupid and humorless young persons under the supervision of stupid and humorless old fools. I see no way to stop it; the rot is too deep. The only answer is to chuck the system and start over.” My father shrugged. “Impossible.”
“Zebbie,” Aunt Hilda asked, “what do you do on campus? I’ve never asked.”
My husband grinned. “Oh, much what you do, Sharpie.”
“I don’t do anything. Enjoy myself.”
“Me, too. If you look, you will find me listed as ‘research professor in residence.’ An examination of the university’s books would show that I am paid a stipend to match my rank. Further search would show that slightly more than that amount is paid by some trustees in Zurich to the university’s general fund… as long as I remain on campus, a condition not written down. I like being on campus, Sharpie; it gives me privileges not granted the barbarians outside the pale. I teach a course occasionally, as supply for someone on sabbatical or ill.”
“Huh? What courses? What departments?”
“Any department but education. Engineering mathematics. Physics One-Oh-One. Thermogoddamics. Machine elements. Saber and dueling sword. Swimming. And – don’t laugh – English poetry from Chaucer through the Elizabethans. I enjoy teaching something worth teaching. I don’t charge for courses I teach; the Chancellor and I understand each other.”
“I’m not sure I understand you,” I said, “but I love you anyhow. Let’s go swimming.”

Chapter X

“‘ – and he had two horns like a lamb, and he spake as a dragon’!”

Zeb:
Before heading for the pool our wives argued over how Barsoomian warriors dress – a debate complicated by the fact that I was the only one fairly sober. While I was telling my “shameful story,” Jake had refreshed his Scotch-on-rocks and was genially argumentative, Our brides had stuck to one highball each but, while one jigger gave Deety a happy glow, Sharpie’s mass is so slight that the same dosage made her squiffed.
Jake and I agreed to wear side arms. Our princesses had buckled them on; we would wear them. But Deety wanted me to take off the grease-stained shorts I had worn while working. “Captain John Carter never wears clothes. He arrived on Barsoom naked, and from then on never wore anything but the leather and weapons of a fighting man. Jeweled leather for state occasions, plain leather for fighting – and sleeping silks at night. Barsoomians don’t wear clothes. When John Carter first laid eyes on Dejah Thoris,” Deety closed her eyes and recited: “‘She was as destitute of clothes as the Green Martians… save for her highly wrought ornaments she was entirely naked… ‘” Deety opened her eyes, stared solemnly. “The women never wear clothes, just jewelry.”
“Purty shilly,” said her father, with a belch. “Scuse me!”
“When they were chilly, they wrapped furs around them, Pop. I mean ‘Mors Kajak, my revered father.'”
Jake answered with slow precision. “Not… ‘chilly.’ Silly! With a clash of blades and flash of steel, man doesn’t want family treasures swinging in the breeze ‘n’ banging his knees. Distracts him. Might get ’em sliced off. Correc’, Captain John Carter?”
“Logical,” I agreed.
“Besides, illustrations showed men wearing breech clouts. Pro’ly steel jockstrap underneath. I would.”
“Those pictures were painted early in the twentieth century, Pop. Censored. But the stories make it clear. Weapons for men, jewelry for women – furs for cold weather.”
“I know how I should dress,” put in Sharpie. “Thuvia wears jewels on bits of gauze – I remember the book cover. Not clothes. Just something to fasten jewels to. Deety – Dejah Thoris, I mean – do you have a gauze scarf I can use? Fortunately I was wearing pearls when Mors Kajak kidnapped me.”
“Sharpie,” I objected, “you can’t be Thuvia. She married Carthoris. Mors Kajak – or Mors Kajake, might be a misspelling – is your husband.”
“Cer’nly Mors Jake is my husband! But I’m his second wife; that explains everything. But it ill becomes the Warlord to address a princess of the House of Ptarth as ‘Sharpie.” Mrs. Burroughs drew herself up to her full 152 centimeters and tried to look offended.
“My humble apologies, Your Highness.”
Sharpie giggled. “Can’t stay mad at our Warlord. Dejah Thoris hon – Green tulle? Blue? Anything but white.”
“I’ll go look.”
“Ladies,” I objected, “if we don’t get moving, the pool will cool off. You can sew on pearls this evening. Anyhow, where do pearls come from on Barsoom? Dead sea bottoms – no oysters.”
“From Korus, the Lost Sea of Dor,” Deety explained.
“They’ve got you, Son. But I either go swimming right now – or I have another drink… and then another, and then another. Working too hard. Too tense. Too much worry.”
“Okay, Pop; we swim. Aunt H – Aunt Thuvia?”
“All right, Dejah Thoris. To save Mors Jacob from himself. But I won’t wear earthling clothes. You can have my mink cape; may be chilly coming back.”
Jake wrapped his sarong into a breech clout, strapped it in place with his saber belt. I replaced those grimy shorts with swim briefs which Deety conceded were “almost Barsoomian.” I was no longer dependent on Jake’s clothes; my travel kit, always in my car, once I got at it, supplied necessities from passport to poncho. Sharpie wore pearls and rings she had been wearing at her party, plus a scarf around her waist to which she attached all the costume jewelry Deety could dig up. Deety carried Hilda’s mink cape – then wrapped it around her. “My Captain, someday I want one like this.”
“I’ll skin the minks personally,” I promised her.
“Oh, dear! I think this is synthetic.”
“I don’t. Ask Hilda.”
“I will most carefully not ask her. But I’ll settle for synthetic.”
I said, “My beloved Princess, you eat meat. Minks are vicious carnivores and the ones used for fur are raised for no other purpose – not trapped. They are well treated, then killed humanely. If your ancestors had not killed for meat and fur as the last glaciation retreated, you would not be here. Illogical sentiment leads to the sort of tragedy you find in India and Bangladesh.”
Deety was silent some moments as we followed Jake and Hilda down toward the pool. “My Captain -“
“Yes, Princess?”
“I stand corrected. But your brain works so much like a computer that you scare me.”
“I don’t ever want to scare you. I’m not bloodthirsty – not with minks, not with steers, not with anything. But I’ll kill without hesitation… for you.”
“Zebadiah -“
“Yes, Deety?”
“I am proud that you made me your wife. I will try to be a good wife… and your princess.”
“You do. You have. You always will. Dejah Thoris, my princess and only love, until I met you, I was a boy playing with oversized toys. Today I am a man. With a wife to protect and cherish… a child to plan for. I’m truly alive, at last! Hey! What are you sniffling about? Stop it!”
“I’ll cry if I feel like it!”
“Well… don’t get it on Hilda’s cape.”
“Gimme a hanky.”
“I don’t even have a Kleenex.” I brushed away her tears with my fingers. “Sniff hard. You can cry on me tonight. In bed.”
“Let’s go to bed early.”
“Right after dinner. Sniffles all gone?”
“I think so. Do pregnant women always cry?”
“So I hear.”
“Well… I’m not going to do it again. No excuse for it; I’m terribly happy.”
“The Polynesians do something they call ‘Crying happy.’ Maybe that’s what you do.”
“I guess so. But I’ll save it for private.” Deety started to shrug the cape off. “Too hot, lovely as it feels.” She stopped with the cape off her shoulders, suddenly pulled it around her again. “Who’s coming up the hill?”
I looked up, saw that Jake and Hilda had reached the pool – and a figure was appearing from below, beyond the boulder that dammed it.
“I don’t know. Stay behind me.” I hurried toward the pool.
The stranger was dressed as a Federal Ranger. As I closed in, I heard the stranger say to Jake, “Are you Jacob Burroughs?”
“Why do you ask?”
“Are you or aren’t you? If you are, I have business with you. If you’re not, you’re trespassing. Federal land, restricted access.”
“Jake!” I called out. “Who is he?”
The newcomer turned his head. “Who are you?”
“Wrong sequence,” I told him. “You haven’t identified yourself.”
“Don’t be funny,” the stranger said. “You know this uniform. I’m Bennie Hibol, the Ranger hereabouts.”
I answered most carefully, “Mr. Highball, you are a man in a uniform, wearing a gun belt and a shield. That doesn’t make you a Federal officer. Show your credentials and state your business.”
The uniformed character sighed. “I got no time to listen to smart talk.” He rested his hand on the butt of his gun. “If one of you is Burroughs, speak up. I’m going to search this site and cabin. There’s stuff coming up from Sonora; this sure as hell is the transfer point.”
Deety suddenly came out from behind me, moved quickly and placed herself beside her father. “Where’s your search warrant? Show your authority!” She had the cape clutched around her; her face quivered with indignation.
“Another joker!” This clown snapped open his holster. “Federal land – here’s my authority!”
Deety suddenly dropped the cape, stood naked in front of him. I drew, lunged, and cut down in one motion – slashed the wrist, recovered, thrust upward from low line into the belly above the gun belt.
As my point entered, Jake’s saber cut the side of the neck almost to decapitation. Our target collapsed like a puppet with cut strings, lay by the pool, bleeding at three wounds.
“Zebadiah, I’m sorry!”
“About what, Princess?” I asked as I wiped my blade on the alleged ranger’s uniform. I noticed the color of the blood with distaste.
“He didn’t react! I thought my strip act would give you more time.”
“You did distract him,” I reassured her. “He watched you and didn’t watch me. Jake, what kind of a creature has bluish green blood?”
“I don’t know.”
Sharpie came forward, squatted down, dabbed a finger in the blood, sniffed it. “Hemocyanin. I think,” she said calmly. “Deety, you were right. Alien. The largest terrestrial fauna with that method of oxygen transport is a lobster. But this thing is no lobster, it’s a ‘Black Hat.’ How did you know?”
“I didn’t. But he didn’t sound right. Rangers are polite. And they never fuss about showing their I.D.’s.”
“I didn’t know,” I admitted. “I wasn’t suspicious, just annoyed.”
“You moved mighty fast,” Jake approved.
“I never know why till it’s over. You didn’t waste time yourself, tovarishch. Drawing saber while he was pulling a gun – that takes guts and speed. But let’s not talk now – where are his pals? We may be picked off getting back to the house.”
“Look at his pants,” Hilda suggested. “He hasn’t been on horseback. Hasn’t climbed far, either. Jacob, is there a jeep trail?”
“No. This isn’t accessible by jeep – just barely by horse.”
“Hasn’t been anything overhead,” I added. “No chopper, no air car.”
“Continua craft,” said Deety.
“Huh?”
“Zebadiah, the ‘Black Hats’ are aliens who don’t want Pop to build a time-space machine. We know that. So it follows that they have continua craft.”
I thought about it. “Deety. I’m going to bring you breakfast in bed. Jake, how do we spot an alien continua craft? It doesn’t have to look like Gay Deceiver.”
Jake frowned. “No. Any shape. But a one-passenger craft might not be much larger than a phone booth.”
“If it’s a one-man – one-alien – job, it should be parked down in that scrub,” I said, pointing. “We can find it.”
“Zebadiah,” protested Deety, “we don’t have time to search. We ought to get out of here! Fast!”
Jake said, “My daughter is right but not for that reason. Its craft is not necessarily waiting. It could be parked an infinitesimal interval away along any of six axes, and either return automatically, preprogrammed, or by some method of signaling that we can postulate but not describe. The alien craft would not be here-now… but will be here-later. For pickup.”
“In that case, Jake, you and I and the gals should scram out of here-now to there-then. Be missing. How long has our pressure test been running? What time is it?”
“Seventeen-seventeen,” Deety answered instantly.
I looked at my wife. “Naked as a frog. Where do you hide your watch, dearest? Surely, not there.”
She stuck out her tongue. “Smarty. I have a clock in my head. I never mention it because people give me funny looks.”
“Deety does have innate time sense,” agreed her father, “accurate to thirteen seconds plus or minus about four seconds; I’ve measured it.”
“I’m sorry, Zebadiah – I don’t mean to be a freak.”
“Sorry about what, Princess? I’m impressed. What do you do about time zones?”
“Same as you do. Add or subtract as necessary. Darling, everyone has a built-in circadian. Mine is merely more nearly exact than most people’s. Like having absolute pitch – some do, some don’t.”
“Are you a lightning calculator?”
“Yes… but computers are so much faster that I no longer do it much. Except one thing – I can sense a glitch – spot a wrong answer. Then I look for garbage in the program. If I don’t find it, I send for a hardware specialist. Look, sweetheart, discuss my oddities later. Pop, let’s dump that thing down the septic tank and go. I’m nervous, I am.”
“Not so fast, Deety.” Hilda was still squatting by the corpse. “Zebbie. Consult your hunches. Are we in danger?”
“Well… not this instant.”
“Good. I want to dissect this creature.”
“Aunt Hilda!”
“Take a Miltown, Deety. Gentlemen, the Bible or somebody said, ‘Know thy enemy.’ This is the only ‘Black Hat’ we’ve seen… and he’s not human and not born on earth. There is a wealth of knowledge lying here and it ought not to be shoved down a septic tank until we know more about it. Jacob, feel this.”
Hilda’s husband got down on his knees, let her guide his hand through the “ranger’s” hair. “Feel those bumps, dearest?”
“Yes!”
“Much like the budding horns of a lamb, are they not?”
“Oh – ‘And I beheld another beast coming up out of the earth; and he had two horns like a lamb, and he spake as a dragon’!”
I squatted down, felt for horn buds. “Be damned! He did come up out of the earth – up this slope anyhow – and he spake as a dragon. Talked unfriendly, and all the dragons I’ve ever heard of talked mean or belched fire. Hilda, when you field-strip this critter, keep an eye out for the Number of the Beast.”
“I shall! Who’s going to help me get this specimen up to the house? I want three volunteers.”
Deety gave a deep sigh, “I volunteer. Aunt Hilda… must you do this?”
“Deety, it ought to be done at Johns Hopkins, with x-ray and proper tools and color holovision. But I’m the best biologist for it because I’m the only biologist. Honey child, you don’t have to watch. Aunt Sharpie has helped in an emergency room after a five-car crash; to me, blood is just a mess to clean up. Green blood doesn’t bother me even that much.”
Deety gulped. “I’ll help carry. I said I would!”
“Dejah Thoris!”
“Sir? Yes, my Captain?”
“Back away from that. Take this. And this.” I unbuckled sword and belt, shoved down my swimming briefs, handed all of it to Deety. “Jake, help me get him up into fireman’s carry.”
“I’ll help carry, Son.”
“No, I can tote him easier than two could. Sharpie, where do you want to work?”
“It will have to be the dining table.”
“Aunt Hilda, I don’t want that thing on my – ! I beg your pardon; it’s your dining table.”
“You’re forgiven only if you’ll concede that it is our dining table. Deety, how many times must I repeat that I am not crowding you out of your home? We are co-housewives – my only seniority lies in being twenty years older. To my regret.”
“Hilda my dear one, what would you say to a workbench in the garage with a drop cloth on it and flood lights over it?”
“I say, ‘Swell!’ I don’t think a dining table is the place for a dissection, either. But I couldn’t think of anywhere else.”
With help from Jake, I got that damned carcass draped across my shoulders in fireman’s carry. Deety started up the path with me, carrying my belt and sword and my briefs in one arm so that she could hold my free hand – despite my warning that she might be splashed with alien blood. “No, Zebadiah, I got overtaken by childishness. I won’t let it happen again. I must conquer all squeamishness – I’ll be changing diapers soon.” She was silent a moment. “That is the first time I’ve seen death. In a person, I mean. An alien humanoid person I should say… but I thought he was a man. I once saw a puppy run over – I threw up. Even though it was not my puppy and I didn’t go close.” She added, “An adult should face up to death, should she not?”
“Face up to it, yes,” I agreed. “But not grow calloused. Deety, I’ve seen too many men die. I’ve never grown inured to it. One must accept death, learn not to fear it, then never worry about it. ‘Make Today Count!’ as a friend whose days are numbered told me. Live in that spirit and when death comes, it will come as a welcome friend.”
“You say much what my mother told me before she died.”
“Your mother must have been an extraordinary woman. Deety, in the two weeks I’ve known you, I’ve heard so much about her from all three of you that I feel as if I knew her. A friend I hadn’t seen lately. She sounds like a wise woman.”
“I think she was, Zebadiah. Certainly she was good. Sometimes, when I have a hard choice, I ask myself, ‘What would Mama do?’ – and everything falls into place.”
“Both good and wise… and her daughter shows it. Uh, how old are you, Deety?”
“Does it matter, sir?”
“No. Curiosity.”
“I wrote my birth date on our marriage license application.”
“Beloved, my head was spinning so hard that I had trouble remembering my own. But I should not have asked – women have birthdays, men have ages. I want to know your birthday; I have no need to know the year.”
“April twenty-second, Zebadiah – one day older than Shakespeare.”
“‘Age could not wither her – ‘ Woman, you carry your years well.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“That snoopy question came from having concluded in my mind that you were twenty-six… figuring from the fact that you have a doctor’s degree. Although you look younger.”
“I think twenty-six is a satisfactory age.”
“I wasn’t asking,” I said hastily. “I got confused from knowing Hilda’s age… then hearing her say that she is – or claims to be – twenty years older than you. It did not jibe with my earlier estimate, based on your probable age on graduating from high school plus your two degrees.”
Jake and Hilda had lingered at the pool while Jake washed his hands and rinsed from his body smears of alien ichor. Being less burdened, they climbed the path faster than we and came up behind us just as Deety answered,
“Zebadiah, I never graduated from high school.”
“Oh.”
“That’s right,” agreed her father. “Deety matriculated by taking College Boards. At fourteen. No problem since she stayed home and didn’t have to live in a dorm. Got her B.S. in three years… and that was a happy thing, as Jane lived to see Deety move the tassel from one side of her mortar board to the other. Jane in a wheelchair and happy as a child – her doctor said it couldn’t hurt her… meaning she was dying anyhow.” He added, “Had her mother been granted only three more years she could have seen Deety’s doctorate conferred, two years ago.”
“Pop… sometimes you chatter.”
“Did I say something out of line?”
“No, Jake,” I assured him. “But I’ve just learned that I robbed the cradle. I knew I had but hadn’t realized how much. Deety darling, you are twenty-two.”
“Is twenty-two an unsatisfactory age?”
“No, my Princess. Just right.”
“My Captain said that women have birthdays while men have ages. Is it permitted to inquire your age, sir? I didn’t pay close attention to that form we had to fill out, either.”
I answered solemnly. “But Dejah Thoris knows that Captain John Carter is centuries old, cannot recall his childhood, and has always looked thirty years old.”
“Zebadiah, if that is your age, you’ve had a busy thirty years. You said you left home when you graduated from high school, worked your way through college, spent three years on active duty, then worked your way through a doctor’s degree -“
“A phony one!”
“That doesn’t reduce required residence. Aunt Hilda says you’ve been a professor four years.”
“Uh… will you settle for nine years older than you are?”
“I’ll settle for whatever you say.”
“He’s at it again,” put in Sharpie. “He was run off two other campuses. Co-ed scandals. Then he found that in California nobody cared, so he moved west.”
I tried to look hurt. “Sharpie darling, I always married them. One gal turned out already to be married and in the other case the child wasn’t mine; she slipped one over on me.”
“The truth isn’t in him, Deety. But he’s brave and he bathes every day and he’s rich – and we love him anyhow.”
“The truth isn’t in you either, Aunt Hilda. But we love you anyhow. It says in ‘Little Women’ that a bride should be half her husband’s age plus seven years. Zebadiah and I hit close to that.”
“A rule that makes an old hag out of me. Jacob, I’m just Zebbie’s age – thirty-one. But we’ve both been thirty-one for ages.”
“I’ll bet he does feel aged after carrying that thing uphill. Atlas, can you support your burden while I get the garage open, a bench dragged out and covered? Or shall I help you put it down?”
“I’d just have to pick it up again. But don’t dally.”

Chapter XI

” – citizens must protect themselves.”

Zeb:
I felt better after I got that “ranger’s” corpse dumped and the garage door closed, everyone indoors. I had told Hilda that I felt no “immediate” danger – but my wild talent does not warn me until the Moment of Truth. The “Blokes in the Black Hats” had us located. Or possibly had never lost us; what applies to human gangsters has little to do with aliens whose powers and motives and plans we had no way to guess.
We might be as naive as a kitten who thinks he is hidden because his head is, unaware that his little rump sticks out.
They were alien, they were powerful, they were multiple (three thousand? three million? – we didn’t know the Number of the Beast) – and they knew where we were. True, we had killed one – by luck, not by planning. That “ranger” would be missed; we could expect more to call in force.
Foolhardiness has never appealed to me. Given a chance to run, I run. I don’t mean I’ll bug out on wing mate when the unfriendlies show up, and certainly not on a wife and unborn child. But I wanted us all to run – me, my wife, my blood brother who was also my father-in-law, and his wife, my chum Sharpie who was brave, practical, smart, and unsqueamish (that she would joke in the jaws of Moloch was not a fault but a source of esprit).
I wanted us to go! – Tau axis, Teh axis, rotate, translate, whatever – anywhere not infested by gruesomes with green gore.
I checked the gauge and felt better; Gay’s inner pressure had not dropped. Too much to expect Gay to be a spaceship – not equipped to scavenge and replenish air. But it was pleasant to know that she would hold pressure much longer than it would take us to scram for home if we had to – assuming that unfriendlies had not shot holes in her graceful shell.
I went by the inside passageway into the cabin, used soap and hot water, rinsed off and did it again, dried down and felt clean enough to kiss my wife, which I did. Deety held onto me and reported.
“Your kit is packed, sir. I’m finishing mine, the planned weight and space, and nothing but practical clothes -“
“Sweetheart.”
“Yes, Zebadiah?”
“Take the clothes you were married in and mine too. Same for Jake and Hilda. And your father’s dress uniform. Or was it burned in Logan?”
“But, Zebadiah, you emphasized rugged clothes.”
“So I did. To keep your mind on the fact that we can’t guess the conditions we’ll encounter and don’t know how long we’ll be gone or if we’ll be back. So I listed everything that might be useful in pioneering a virgin planet – since we might be stranded and never get home. Everything from Jake’s microscope and water-testing gear to technical manuals and tools. And weapons – and flea powder. But it’s possible that we will have to play the roles of ambassadors for humanity at the court of His Extreme Majesty, Overlord of Galactic Empires in thousandth-and-third continuum. We may need the gaudiest clothes we can whip up. We don’t know, we can’t guess.”
“I’d rather pioneer.”
“We may not have a choice. When you were figuring weights, do you recall spaces marked ‘Assigned mass such and such – list to come’?”
“Certainly. Total exactly one hundred kilos, which seemed odd. Space slightly less than one cubic meter split into crannies.”
“Those are yours, snubnose. And Pop or Hilda. Mass can be up to fifty percent over; I’ll tell Gay to trim to match. Got an old doll? A security blanket? A favorite book of poems? Scrapbook? Family photographs? Bring ’em all!”
“Golly!” (I never enjoy looking at my wife quite so much as when she lights up and is suddenly a little girl.)
“Don’t leave space for me. I have only what I arrived with. What about shoes for Hilda?”
“She claims she doesn’t need any, Zebadiah – that her calluses are getting calluses on them. But I’ve worked out expedients. I got Pop some Dr. Scholl’s shoe liners when we were building; I have three pairs left and can trim them. Liners and enough bobby sox make her size three-and-half feet fit my clodhoppers pretty well. And I have a sentimental keepsake; Keds Pop bought me when I first went to summer camp, at ten. They fit Aunt Hilda.”
“Good girl!” I added, “You seem to have everything in hand. How about food? Not stores we are carrying, I mean now. Has anybody thought about dinner? Killing aliens makes me hungry.”
“Buffet style, Zebadiah. Sandwiches and stuff on the kitchen counter, and I thawed and heated an apple pie. I fed one sandwich to Hilda, holding it for her; she says she’s going to finish working, then scrub before she eats anything more.”
“Sharpie munched a sandwich while she carved that thing?”
“Aunt Hilda is rugged, Zebadiah – almost as rugged as you are.”
“More rugged than I am. I could do an autopsy if I had to – but not while eating. I think I speak for Jake, too.”
“I know you speak for Pop. He saw me feeding her, turned green and went elsewhere. Go look at what she’s been doing, Zebadiah; Hilda has found interesting things.”
“Hmmm – Are you the little girl who had a tizzy at the idea of dissecting a dead alien?”
“No, sir, I am not. I’ve decided to stay grown up. It’s not easy. But it’s more satisfying. An adult doesn’t panic at a snake; she just checks to see if it’s got rattles. I’ll never squeal again. I’m grown up at last… a wife instead of a pampered princess.”
“You will always be my Princess!”
“I hope so, my Chieftain. But to merit that, I must learn to be a pioneer mother – wring the neck of a rooster, butcher a hog, load while my husband shoots, take his place and his rifle when he is wounded. I’ll learn – I’m stubborn, I am. Grab a hunk of pie and go see Hilda. I know just what to do with the extra hundred kilos: books, photographs, Pop’s microfilm files and portable viewer, Pop’s rifle and a case of ammo that the weight schedule didn’t allow for -“
“Didn’t know he had it – what calibre?”
“Seven point six two millimeters, long cartridge.”
“Glory be! Pop and I use the same ammo!”
“Didn’t know you carried a rifle, Zebadiah.”
“I don’t advertise it, it’s unlicensed. I must show all of you how to get at it.”
“Got any use for a lady’s purse gun? A needle gun, Skoda fléchettes. Not much range but either they poison or they break up and expand… and it fires ninety times on one magazine.”
“What are you, Deety? Honorable Hatchet Man?”
“No, sir. Pop got it for me – black market – when I started working nights. He said he would rather hire shysters to get me acquitted – or maybe probation – than to have to go down to the morgue to identify my body. Haven’t had to use it; in Logan I hardly need it. Zebadiah, Pop has gone to a great deal of trouble to get me the best possible training in self-defense. He’s just as highly trained – that’s why I keep him out of fist fights. Because it would be a massacre. He and Mama decided this when I was a baby. Pop says cops and courts no longer protect citizens, so citizens must protect themselves.”
“I’m afraid he’s right.”
“My husband, I can’t evaluate my opinions of right and wrong because I learned them from my parents and haven’t lived long enough to have formed opinions in disagreement with theirs.”
“Deety, your parents did okay.”
“I think so… but that’s subjective. As may be, I was kept out of blackboard jungles – public schools – until we moved to Utah. And I was trained to fight – armed or unarmed. Pop and I noticed how you handled a sword. Your moulinets are like clockwork. And when you drop into point guard, your forearm is perfectly covered.”
“Jake is no slouch. He drew so fast I never saw it, and cut precisely above the collar.”
“Pop says you are better at it.”
“Mmm – Longer reach. He’s probably faster. Deety, the best swordmaster I ever had was your height and reach. I couldn’t even cross blades with him unless he allowed me to.”
“You never did say where you had taken up swordsmanship.”
I grinned down at her. “Y.M.C.A. in downtown Manhattan. I had foil in high school. I fiddled with saber and épée in college. But I never encountered swordsmen until I moved to Manhattan. Took it up because I was getting soft. Then during that so-called ‘research trip’ in Europe I met swordsmen with family tradition – sons and grandsons and great-grandsons of maîtres d’armes. Learned that it was a way of life – and I had started too late. Deety, I fibbed to Hilda; I’ve never fought a student duel. But I did train in saber in Heidelberg under the Säbelmeister reputed to coach one underground Korps. He was the little guy I couldn’t cross steel with. Fast! Up to then I had thought I was fast. But I got faster under his tutelage. The day I was leaving he told me that he wished he had had me twenty years sooner; he might have made a swordsman of me.”
“You were fast enough this afternoon!”
“No, Deety. You had his eye, I attacked from the flank. You won that fight – not me, not Pop. Although what Pop did was far more dangerous than what I did.”
“My Captain, I will not let you disparage yourself! I cannot hear you!”
Women, bless their warm hearts and strange minds – Deety had appointed me her hero; that settled it. I would have to try to measure up. I cut a piece of apple pie, ate it quickly while I walked slowly through the passage into the garage – didn’t want to reach the “morgue” still eating.
The “ranger” was on its back with clothes cut away, open from chin to crotch, and spread. Nameless chunks of gizzard were here and there around the cadaver. It gave off a fetid odor.
Hilda was still carving, ice tongs in left hand, knife in her right, greenish goo up over her wrists. As I approached she put down the knife, picked up a razor blade – did not look up until I spoke. “Learning things, Sharpie?”
She put down her tools, wiped her hands on a towel, pushed back her hair with her forearm. “Zebbie, you wouldn’t believe it.”
“Try me.”
“Well… look at this.” She touched the corpse’s right leg, and spoke to the corpse itself. “What’s a nice joint like this doing in a girl like you?”
I saw what she meant: a long, gaunt leg with an extra knee lower than the human knee; it bent backwards. Looking higher, I saw that its arms had similar extra articulation. “Did you say ‘girl’?”
“I said ‘girl.’ Zebbie, this monster is either female or hermaphroditic. A fully developed uterus, two-horned like a cat, one ovary above each horn. But there appear to be testes lower down and a dingus that may be a retractable phallus. Female – but probably male as well. Bisexual but does not impregnate itself; the plumbing wouldn’t hook up. I think these critters can both pitch and catch.”
“Taking turns? Or simultaneously?”
“Wouldn’t that be sump’n? No, for mechanical reasons I think they take turns. Whether ten minutes apart or ten years, deponent sayeth not. But I’d give a pretty to see two of ’em going to it!”
“Sharpie, you’ve got a one-track mind.”
“It’s the main track. Reproduction is the main track; the methods and mores of sexual copulation are the central feature of all higher developments of life.”
“You’re ignoring money and television.”
“Piffle! All human activities including scientific research are either mating dances and care of the young, or the dismal sublimations of born losers in the only game in town. Don’t try to kid Sharpie. Took me forty-two years to grab a real man and get myself knocked up – but I made it! Everything I’ve done up to the last two weeks has been ‘vamp till ready.’ How about you, you shameless stud? Am I not right? Careful how you answer; I’ll tell Deety.”
“I’ll take the Fifth.”
“Make mine a quart. Zebbie, I hate these monsters; they interfere with my plans – a rose-covered cottage, a baby in the crib, a pot roast in the oven, me in a gingham dress, and my man coming down the lane after a hard day flunking freshmen – me with his slippers and his pipe and a dry martini waiting for him. Heaven! All else is vanity and vexation. Four fully developed mammary glands but lacking the redundant fat characteristic of the human female – ‘cept me, damn it. A double stomach, a single intestine. A two-compartment heart that seems to pump by peristalsis rather than by beating. Cordate. I haven’t examined the brain; I don’t have a proper saw – but it must be as well developed as ours. Definitely humanoid, outrageously nonhuman. Don’t knock over those bottles; they are specimens of body fluids.”
“What are these things?”
“Splints to conceal the unhuman articulation. Plastic surgery on the face, too, I’m pretty sure, and cheaters to reshape the skull. The hair is fake; these Boojums don’t have hair. Something like tattooing – or maybe masking I haven’t been able to peel off – to make the face and other exposed skin look human instead of blue-green. Zeb, seven-to-two a large number of missing persons have been used as guinea pigs before they worked out methods for this masquerade. Swoop! A flying saucer dips down and two more guinea pigs wind up in their laboratories.”
“There hasn’t been a flying saucer scare in years.”
“Poetic license, dear. If they have space-time twisters, they can pop up anywhere, steal what they want – or replace a real human with a convincing fake – and be gone like switching off a light.”
“This one couldn’t get by very long. Rangers have to take physical examinations.”
“This one may be a rush job, prepared just for us. A permanent substitution might fool anything but an x-ray – and might fool even x-ray if the doctor giving the examination was one of Them … a theory you might think about. Zebbie, I must get to work. There is so much to learn and so little time. I can’t learn a fraction of what this carcass could tell a real comparative biologist.”
“Can I help?” (I was not anxious to.)
“Well -“
“I haven’t much to do until Jake and Deety finish assembling the last of what they are going to take. So what can I do to help?”
“I could work twice as fast if you would take pictures. I have to stop to wipe my hands before I touch the camera.”
“I’m your boy, Sharpie. Just say what angle, distance, and when.”
Hilda looked relieved. “Zebbie, have I told you that I love you despite your gorilla appearance and idiot grin? Underneath you have the soul of a cherub. I want a bath so badly I can taste it – could be the last hot bath in a long time. And the bidet – the acme of civilized decadence. I’ve been afraid I would still be carving strange meat when Jacob said it was time to leave.”
“Carve away, dear; you’ll get your bath.” I picked up the camera, the one Jake used for record-keeping: a Polaroid Stereo-Instamatic-self-focusing, automatic irising, automatic processing, the perfect camera for engineer or scientist who needs a running record.
I took endless pictures while Hilda sweated away. “Sharpie, doesn’t it worry you to work with bare hands? You might catch the Never-Get-Overs.”
“Zebbie, if these critters could be killed by our bugs, they would have arrived here with no immunities and died quickly. They didn’t. Therefore it seems likely that we can’t by hurt by their bugs. Radically different biochemistries.”
It sounded logical – but I could not forget Kettering’s Law: “Logic is an organized way of going wrong with confidence.”
Deety appeared, set down a loaded hamper. “That’s the last.” She had her hair up in a bath knot and was dressed solely in rubber gloves. “Hi, dearest. Aunt Hilda, I’m ready to help.”
“Not much you can do, Deety hon – unless you want to relieve Zebbie.”
Deety was staring at the corpse and did not look happy – her nipples were down flat. “Go take a bath!” I told her. “Scram.”
“Do I stink that badly?”
“You stink swell, honey girl. But Sharpie pointed out that this may be our last chance at soap and hot water in quite a while. I’ve promised her that we won’t leave for Canopus and points east until she has her bath. So get yours out of the way, then you can help me stow while she gets sanitary.”
“All right.” Deety backed off and her nipples showed faintly – not rigid but she was feeling better. My darling keeps her feelings out of her face, mostly – but those pretty pink spigots are barometers of her morale.
“Just a sec, Deety,” Hilda added. “This afternoon you said, ‘He didn’t react!’ What did you mean?”
“What I said. Strip in front of a man and he reacts, one way or another. Even if he tries to ignore it, his eyes give him away. But he didn’t. Of course he’s not a man – but I didn’t know that when I tried to distract him.”
I said, “But he did notice you, Deety – and that gave me my chance.”
“But only the way a dog, or a horse, or any animal, will notice any movement. He noticed but ignored it. No reaction.”
“Zebbie, does that remind you of anything?”
“Should it?”
“The first day we were here you told us a story about a ‘zaftig co-ed.'”
“I did?”
“She was flunking math.”
“Oh! ‘Brainy.'”
“Yes, Professor N. O’Heret Brain. See any parallel?”
“But ‘No Brain’ has been on campus for years. Furthermore he turns red in the face. Not a tattoo job.”
“I said this one might be a rush job. Would anyone be in a better position to discredit a mathematical theory than the head of the department of mathematics at a very prominent university? Especially if he was familiar with that theory and knew that it was correct?”
“Hey, wait a minute!” put in Deety. “Are you talking about that professor who argued with Pop? The one with the phony invitation? I thought he was just a stooge? Pop says he’s a fool.”
“He behaves like a pompous old fool,” agreed Hilda. “I can’t stand him. I plan to do an autopsy on him.”
“But he’s not dead.”
“That can be corrected!” Sharpie said sharply.

Chapter XII

“They might fumigate this planet and take it.”

Hilda:
By the time I was out of my bath, Jacob, Deety, and Zebbie had Gay Deceiver stowed and lists checked (can opener, cameras, et cetera) – even samples of fluids and tissues from the cadaver, as Zebbie’s miracle car had a small refrigerator. Deety wasn’t happy about my specimens being in the refrigerator but they were very well packed, layer on layer of plastic wrap, then sealed into a freezer box. Besides, that refrigerator contained mostly camera film, dynamite caps, and other noneatables. Food was mostly freeze-dried and sealed in nitrogen, except foods that won’t spoil.
We were dog tired. Jacob moved that we sleep, then leave. “Zeb, unless you expect a new attack in the next eight hours, we should rest. I need to be clearheaded in handling verniers. This house is almost a fortress, will be pitch black, and does not radiate any part of the spectrum. They may conclude that we ran for it right after we got their boy – hermaphrodite, I mean; the fake ‘ranger’ – what do you think?”
“Jake, I wouldn’t have been surprised had we been clobbered at any moment. Since they didn’t – Well, I don’t like to handle Gay when I’m not sharp. More mistakes are made in battle through fatigue than from any other cause. Let’s sack in. Anybody need a sleeping pill?”
“All I need is a bed. Hilda my love, tonight I sleep on my own side.”
I said, “Can’t I even cuddle up your back?”
“Promise not to tickle?”
I made a face at my darling. “I promise.”
“Zebadiah,” Deety said. “I don’t want to cuddle; I want to be held… so I’ll know I’m safe. For the first time since my twelfth birthday I don’t feel sexy.”
“Princess, it’s settled; we sleep. But I suggest that we be up before daylight. Let’s not crowd our luck.”
“Sensible,” agreed Jacob.
I shrugged. “You men have to pilot; Deety and I are cargo. We can nap in the back seats – if we miss a few universes, what of it? If you’ve seen one universe, you’ve seen ’em all. Deety?”
“If it were up to me, I would lam out of here so fast my shoes would be left standing. But Zebadiah has to pilot and Pop has to set verniers… and both are tired and don’t want to chance it. But, Zebadiah… don’t fret if I rest with my eyes and ears open.”
“Huh? Deety – why?”
“Somebody ought to be on watch. It might give us that split-second advantage – split seconds have saved us at least twice. Don’t worry, darling; I often skip a night to work a long program under shared time. Doesn’t hurt me; a nap next day and I’m ready to bite rattlesnakes. Tell him, Pop.”
“That’s correct, Zeb, but -“
Zebbie cut him off. “Maybe you gals can split watches and have breakfast ready. Right now I’ve got to hook up Gay Deceiver so that she can reach me in our bedroom. Deety, I can add a program so that she can listen around the cabin, too. Properly programmed, Gay’s the best watch dog of any of us. Will that satisfy you duty-struck little broads?”
Deety said nothing so I kept quiet. Zebbie, frowning, turned back to his car, opened a door and prepared to hook Gay’s voice and ears to the three house intercoms. “Want to shift the basement talky-talk to your bedroom, Jake?”
“Good idea,” Jacob agreed.
“Wait a half while I ask Gay what she has. Hello, Gay.”
“Howdy, Zeb. Wipe off your chin.”
“Program. Running new retrievals. Report new items since last report.”
“Null report, Boss.”
“Thank you, Gay.”
“You’re welcome, Zeb.”
“Program, Gay. Add running news retrieval. Area, Arizona Strip north of Grand Canyon plus Utah. Persons: all persons listed in current running news retrieval programs plus rangers, Federal rangers, forest rangers, park rangers, state rangers. End of added program.”
“New program running, Boss.”
“Program. Add running acoustic report, maximum gain.”
“New program running, Zeb.”
“You’re a smart girl, Gay.”
“Isn’t it time you married me?”
“Good night, Gay.”
“Good night, Zeb. Sleep with your hands outside the covers.”
“Deety, you’ve corrupted Gay. I’ll run a lead outdoors for a microphone while Jake moves the basement intercom to the master bedroom. But maximum gain will put a coyote yapping ten miles away right into bed with you. Jake, I can tell Gay to subtract acoustic report from the news retrieval for your bedroom.”
“Hilda my love, do you want the acoustic subtracted?”
I didn’t but didn’t say so; Gay interrupted:
“Running news retrieval, Boss.”
“Report!”
“Reuters, Straits Times, Singapore. Tragic News of Marston Expedition. Indonesian News Service, Palembang. Two bodies identified as Dr. Cecil Yang and Dr. Z. Edward Carter were brought by jungle buggy to National Militia Headquarters, Telukbetung. The district commandant stated that they will be transferred by air to Palembang for further transport to Singapore when the commandant-in-chief releases them to the Minister of Tourism and Culture. Professor Marston and Mr. Smythe-Belisha are still unreported. Commandants of both districts concede that hopes of finding them alive have diminished. However, a spokesman for the Minister of Tourism and Culture assured a press conference that the Indonesian government would pursue the search more assiduously than ever.”
Zebbie whistled tunelessly. Finally, he said, “Opinions, anyone?”
“He was a brilliant man, Son,” my husband said soberly. “An irreplaceable loss. Tragic.”
“Ed was a good Joe, Jake. But that’s not what I mean. Our tactical situation. Now. Here.”
My husband paused before answering, “Zeb, whatever happened in Sumatra apparently happened about a month ago. Emotionally I feel great turmoil. Logically I am forced to state that I cannot see that our situation has changed.”
“Hilda? Deety?”
“News retrieval report,” announced Gay.
“Report!”
“AP San Francisco via satellite from Saipan, Marianas. TWA hypersonicsemiballistic liner Winged Victory out of San Francisco International at twenty o’clock this evening Pacific Coast Time was seen by eye and radar to implode on reentry. AP Honolulu US Navy Official. USS Submersible Carrier Flying Fish operating near Wake Island has been ordered to proceed flank speed toward site of Winged Victory reentry. She will surface and launch search craft at optimum point. Navy PIO spokesman, when asked what was ‘optimum,’ replied ‘No comment.’ Associated Press’s military editor noted that submerged speed of Flying Fish class, and type and characteristics of craft carried, are classified information. AP-UPI add San Francisco, Winged Victory disaster. TWA public relations released a statement quote if reports received concerning Winged Victory are correct it must be tentatively assumed that no survivors can be expected. But our engineering department denies that implosion could be cause. Collision with orbital debris decaying into atmosphere or even a strike by a meteor could repeat could endrep cause disaster by mischance so unlikely that it can only be described as an Act of God endquote TWA spokesmen released passenger list by order of the Civil Aerospace Board. List follows: California -“
The list was longish. I did not recognize any names until Gay reached: “Doctor Neil O. Brain -“
I gasped. But no one said a word until Gay announced:
“End running news retrieval.”
“Thank you, Gay.”
“A pleasure, Zeb.”
Zebbie said, “Professor?”
“You’re in command, Captain!”
“Very well, sir! All of you – lifeboat rules! I expect fast action and no back talk. Estimated departure – five minutes! First everybody take a pee! Second, put on the clothes you’ll travel in. Jake, switch off, lock up – whatever you do to secure your house for long absence. Deety – follow Jake, make sure he hasn’t missed anything – then you, not Jake, switch out lights and close doors. Hilda, bundle what’s left of that Dutch lunch and fetch it – fast, not fussy. Check the refrigerator for solid foods – no liquids – and cram what you can into Gay’s refrigerator. Don’t dither over choices. Questions, anyone? Move!”
I gave Jacob first crack at our bathroom because the poor dear tenses up; I used the time to slide sandwiches into a freezer sack and half a pie into another. Potato salad? Scrape it into a third and stick in one plastic picnic spoon; germs were now community property. I stuffed this and some pickles into the biggest freezer sack Deety stocked, and closed it.
Jake came out of our bedroom; I threw him a kiss en passant, ducked into our john, turned on water in the basin, sat down, and recited mantras – that often works when I’m jumpy – then used the bidet – patted it and told it goodbye without stopping. My travel clothes were Deety’s baby tennis shoes with a green-and-gold denim miniskirt dress of hers that came to my knees but wasn’t too dreadful with a scarf to belt it. Panties? I had none. Deety had put a pair of hers out for me – but her size would fall off me. Then I saw that the dear baby had gotten at the elastic and knotted it. Yup! pretty good fit – and, with no telling when our next baths would be, panties were practical even though a nuisance.
I spread my cape in front of the refrigerator, dumped my purse and our picnic lunch into it, started salvaging – half a boned ham, quite a bit of cheese, a loaf and a half of bread, two pounds of butter (freezer sacks, and the same for the ham – if Deety hadn’t had a lavish supply of freezer sacks I could not have salvaged much – as it was, I didn’t even get spots on my cape). I decided that jams and jellies and catsup were liquid within Zebbie’s meaning – except some in squeeze tubes. Half a chocolate cake, and the cupboard was bare.
By using my cape as a Santa Claus pack, I carried food into the garage and put it down by Gay – and was delighted to find that I was first.
Zebbie strode in behind me, dressed in a coverall with thigh pockets, a pilot suit. He looked at the pile on my cape. “Where’s the elephant, Sharpie?”
“Cap’n Zebbie, you didn’t say how much, you just said what. What won’t go she can have.” I hooked a thumb at the chopped-up corpse.
“Sorry, Hilda; you are correct.” Zebbie glanced at his wrist watch, the multiple-dial sort they call a “navigator’s watch.”
“Cap’n, this house has loads of gimmicks and gadgets and bells and whistles. You gave them an impossible schedule.”
“On purpose, dear. Let’s see how much food we can stow.”
Gay’s cold chest is set flush in the deck of the driver’s compartment. Zebbie told Gay to open up, then with his shoulders sideways, reached down and unlocked it. “Hand me stuff.”
I tapped his butt. “Out of there, you overgrown midget, and let Sharpie pack. I’ll let you know when it’s tight as a girdle.”
Space that makes Zebbie twist and grunt is roomy for me. He passed things in, I fitted them for maximum stowage. The third item he handed me was the leavings of our buffet dinner. “That’s our picnic lunch,” I told him, putting it on his seat.
“Can’t leave it loose in the cabin.”
“Cap’n, we’ll eat it before it can spoil. I will be strapped down; is it okay if I clutch it to my bosom?”
“Sharpie, have I ever won an argument with you?”
“Only by brute force, dear. Can the chatter and pass the chow.”
With the help of God and a shoehorn it all went in. I was in a back seat with our lunch in my lap and my cape under me before our spouses showed up. “Cap’n Zebbie? Why did the news of Brainy’s death cause your change of mind?”
“Do you disapprove, Sharpie?”
“On the contrary, Skipper. Do you want my guess?”
“Yes.”
“Winged Victory was booby-trapped. And dear Doctor Brain, who isn’t the fool I thought he was, was not aboard. Those poor people were killed so that he could disappear.”
“Go to the head of the class, Sharpie. Too many coincidences… and they – the ‘Blokes in the Black Hats’ – know where we are.”
“Meaning that Professor No Brain, instead of being dead in the Pacific, might show up any second.”
“He and a gang of green-blooded aliens who don’t like geometers.”
“Zebbie, what do you figure their plans are?”
“Can’t guess. They might fumigate this planet and take it. Or conquer us as cattle or as slaves. The only data we have is that they are alien, that they are powerful – and that they have no compunction about killing us. So I have no compunction about killing them. To my regret, I don’t know how. So I’m running – running scared – and taking the three I’m certain are in danger with me.”
“Will we ever be able to find them and kill them?”
Zebbie didn’t answer because Deety and my Jacob arrived, breathless. Father and daughter were in jump suits. Deety looked chesty and cute; my darling looked trim – but worried. “We’re late. Sorry!”
“You’re not late,” Zeb told them. “But into your seats on the bounce.”
“As quick as I open the garage door and switch out the lights.”
“Jake, Jake – Gay is now programmed to do those things herself. In you go, Princess, and strap down. Seat belts, Sharpie. Copilot, after you lock the starboard door, check its seal all the way around by touch before you strap down.”
“Wilco, Cap’n.” It tickled me to hear my darling boning military. He had told me privately that he was a reserve colonel of ordnance – but that Deety had promised not to tell this to our smart young captain and that he wanted the same promise from me – because the T.O. was as it should be; Zeb should command while Jacob handled space-time controls – to each his own. Jacob had asked me to please take orders from Zeb with no back talk… which had miffed me a little. I was an unskilled crew member; I am not stupid, I knew this. In direst emergency I would try to get us home. But even Deety was better qualified than I.
Checkoffs completed, Gay switched off lights, opened the garage door, and backed out onto the landing flat.
“Copilot, can you read your verniers?”
“Captain, I had better loosen my chest belt.”
“Do so if you wish. But your seat adjusts forward twenty centimeters – here, I’ll get it.” Zeb reached down, did something between their seats. “Say when.”
“There – that’s about right. I can read ’em and reach ’em, with chest strap in place. Orders, sir?”
“Where was your car when you and Deety went to the space-time that lacked the letter ‘J’?”
“About where we are now.”
“Can you send us there?”
“I think so. Minimum translation, positive – entropy increasing – along Tau axis.”
“Please move us there, sir.”
My husband touched the controls. “That’s it, Captain.”
I couldn’t see any change. Our house was still a silhouette against the sky, with the garage a black maw in front of us. The stars hadn’t even flickered.
Zebbie said, “Let’s check,” and switched on Gay’s roading lights, brightly lighting our garage. Empty and looked normal.
Zebbie said, “Hey! Look at that!”
“Look at what?” I demanded, and tried to see around Jacob.
“At nothing, rather. Sharpie, where’s your alien?”
Then I understood. No corpse. No green-blood mess. Workbench against the wall and flood lights not rigged.
Zebbie said, “Gay Deceiver, take us home!”
Instantly the same scene… but with carved-up corpse. I gulped.
Zebbie switched out the lights. I felt better but not much.
“Captain?”
“Copilot.”
“Wouldn’t it have been well to have checked for that letter ‘J’? It would have given me a check on calibration.”
“I did check, Jake.”
“Eh?”
“You have bins on the back of your garage neatly stenciled. The one at left center reads ‘Junk Metal.”
“Oh!”
“Yes, and your analog in that space – your twin, Jake-prime, or what you will – has your neat habits. The left-corner bin read ‘Iunk Metal’ spelled with an ‘I.’ A cupboard above and to the right contained ‘Iugs & Iars.’ So I told Gay to take us home. I was afraid they might catch us. Embarrassing.”
Deety said, “Zebadiah – I mean ‘Captain’ – embarrassing how, sir? Oh, that missing letter in the alphabet scared me but it no longer does. Now I’m nervous about aliens. ‘Black Hats.'”
“Deety, you were lucky that first time. Because Deety-prime was not at home. But she may be, tonight. Possibly in bed with her husband, named Zebadiah-prime. Unstable cuss. Likely to shoot at a strange car shining lights into his father-in-law’s garage. A violent character.”
“You’re teasing me.”
“No, Princess; it did worry me. A parallel space, with so small a difference as the lack of one unnecessary letter, but with house and grounds you mistook for your own, seems to imply a father and daughter named ‘Iacob’ and ‘Deiah Thoris.” (Captain Zebbie pronounced the names ‘Yacob’ and ‘Deyah Thoris.’)
“Zebadiah, that scares me almost as much as aliens.”
“Aliens scare me far more. Hello, Gay.”
“Howdy, Zeb. Your nose is runny.”
“Smart Girl, one gee vertically to one klick. Hover.”
“Roger dodger, you old codger.”
We rested on our backs and head rests for a few moments, then with the stomach-surging swoosh of a fast lift, we leveled off and hovered. Zebbie said, “Deety, can the autopilot accept a change in that homing program by voice? Or does it take an offset in the verniers?”
“What do you want to do?”
“Same ell-and-ell two klicks above ground.”
“I think so. Shall I? Or do you want to do it, Captain?”
“You try it, Deety.”
“Yes, sir. Hello, Gay.”
“Hi, Deety!”
“Program check. Define ‘Home.”
“‘Home.’ Cancel any-all inertials transitions translations rotations. Return to preprogrammed zero latitude longitude, ground level.”
“Report present location.”
“One klick vertically above ‘Home.”
“Gay. Program revision.”
“Waiting, Deety.”
“Home program. Cancel ‘Ground level.’ Substitute ‘Two klicks above ground level, hovering.”
“Program revision recorded.”
“Gay Deceiver, take us home!”
Instantly, with no feeling of motion, we were much higher.
Zeb said, “Two klicks on the nose! Deety, you’re a smart girl!”
“Zebadiah, I bet you tell that to all the girls.”
“No, just to some. Gay, you’re a smart girl.”
“Then why are you shacked up with that strawberry blonde with the fat knockers?”
Zebbie craned his neck and looked at me. “Sharpie, that’s your voice.”
I ignored him with dignity. Zebbie drove south to the Grand Canyon, eerie in starlight. Without slowing, he said, “Gay Deceiver, take us home!” – and again we were hovering over our cabin. No jar, no shock, no nothing.
Zebbie said, “Jake, once I figure the angles, I’m going to quit spending money on juice. How does she do it when we haven’t been anywhere? – no rotation, no translation.”
“I may have given insufficient thought to a trivial root in equation ninety-seven. But it is analogous to what we were considering doing with planets. A five-dimensional transform simplified to three.”
“‘I dunno, I just work here,'” Captain Zebbie admitted. “But it looks like we will be peddling gravity and transport, as well as real estate and time. Burroughs and Company, Space Warps Unlimited – ‘No job too large, no job too small.’ Send one newdollar for our free brochure.”
“Captain,” suggested Jacob, “would it not be prudent to translate into another space before experimenting further? The alien danger is still with us – is it not?”
Zebbie sobered at once. “Copilot, you are right and it is your duty to advise me when I goof off. However, before we leave, we have one duty we must carry out.”
“Something more urgent than getting our wives to safety?” my Jacob asked – and I felt humble and proud.
“‘Something more urgent.’ Jake, I’ve bounced her around not only to test but to make it hard to track us. Because we must break radio silence. To warn our fellow humans.”
“Oh. Yes, Captain. My apologies, sir. I sometimes forget the broader picture.”
“Don’t we all! I’ve wanted to run and hide ever since this rumpus started. But that took preparation and the delay gave me time to think. Point number one: We don’t know how to fight these critters so we must take cover. Point number two: We are duty-bound to tell the world what we know about aliens. While that little isn’t much – we’ve stayed alive by the skin of our teeth – if five billion people are watching for them, they can be caught. I hope.”
“Captain,” asked Deety, “may I speak?”
“Of course! Anyone with ideas about how to cope with these monsters must speak.”
“I’m sorry but I don’t have such ideas. You must warn the world, sir – of course! But you won’t be believed.”
“I’m afraid you’re right, Deety. But they don’t have to believe me. That monster in the garage speaks for itself. I’m going to call rangers – real rangers! – to pick it up.”
I said, “So that was why you told me just to leave it! I thought it was lack of time.”
“Both, Hilda. We didn’t have time to sack that cadaver and store it in the freezer room. But, if I can get rangers – real rangers – to that garage before ‘Black Hats’ get there, that corpse tells its own story: an undeniable alien lying in its goo on a ranger’s uniform that has been cut away from it. Not a ‘close encounter’ UFO that can be explained away, but a creature more startling than the duckbill platypus ever was. But we have to hook it in with other factors to show them what to look for. Your booby-trapped car, an arson case in Logan, Professor Brain’s convenient disappearance, my cousin’s death in Sumatra – and your six-dimensional non-Euclidean geometry.”
I said, “Excuse me, gentlemen. Can’t we move somewhere away from right over our cabin before you break silence? I’m jumpy – ‘Black Hats’ are hunting us.”
“You’re right, Sharpie; I’m about to move us. The story isn’t long – all but the math – so I taped a summary while the rest of you were getting ready. Gay will speed-zip it, a hundred to one.” Zebbie reached for the controls. “All secure?”
“Captain Zebadiah!”
“Trouble, Princess?”
“May I attempt a novel program? It may save time.”
“Programming is your pidgin. Certainly.”
“Hello, Gay.”
“Hi, Deety!”
“Retrieve last program. Report execute code.”
“Reporting, Deety. ‘Gay Deceiver, take us home!'”
“Negative erase permanent program controlled by execute-code Gay Deceiver take us home. Report confirm.”
“Confirmation report. Permanent program execute-coded Gay Deceiver take us home negative erase. I tell you three times.”
“Deety,” said Zeb, “a neg scrub to Gay tells her to place item in perms three places. Redundancy safety factor.”
“Don’t bother me, dear! She and I sling the same lingo. Hello, Gay.”
“Hello, Deety!”
“Analyze latest program execute-coded Gay Deceiver take us home. Report.”
“Analysis complete.”
“Invert analysis.”
“Null program.”
Deety sighed. “Typing a program is easier. New program.”
“Waiting, Deety.”
“Execute-code new permanent program. Gay Deceiver, countermarch! At new execute-code, repeat reversed in real time latest sequence inertials transitions translations rotations before last use of program execute-code Gay Deceiver take us home.”
“New permanent program accepted.”
“Gay, I tell you three times.”
“Deety, I hear you three times.”
“Gay Deceiver – countermarch!”
Instantly we were over the Grand Canyon, cruising south. I saw Zeb reach for the manual controls. “Deety, that was slick.”
“I didn’t save time, sir – I goofed. Gay, you’re a smart girl.”
“Deety, don’t make me blush.”
“You’re both smart girls,” said Captain Zebbie. “If anyone had us on radar, he must think he’s getting cataracts. Vice versa, if anyone picked us up here, he’s wondering how we popped up. Smart dodge, dear. You’ve got Gay Deceiver so deceptive that nobody can home on us. We’ll be elsewhere.”
“Yes – but I had something else in mind, too, my Captain.”
“Princess, I like your ideas. Spill it.”
“Suppose we used that homing preprogram and went from frying pan into fire. It might be useful to have a preprogram that would take us back into the frying pan, then do something else quickly. Should I try to think up a third escape-maneuver preprogram?”
“Sure – but discuss it with the court magician, your esteemed father – not me. I’m just a sky jockey.”
“Zebadiah, I will not listen to you disparage yours -“
“Deety! Lifeboat rules. Jake, are your professional papers aboard? Both theoretical and drawings?”
“Why, no, Zeb – Captain. Too bulky. Microfilms I brought. Originals are in the basement vault. Have I erred?”
“Not a bit! Is there any geometer who gave your published paper on this six-way system a friendly reception?”
“Captain, there aren’t more than a handful of geometers capable of judging my postulate system without long and intensive study. It’s too unorthodox. Your late cousin was one – a truly brilliant mind! Uh… I now suspect that Doctor Brain understood it and sabotaged it for his own purposes.”
“Jake, is there anyone friendly to you and able to understand the stuff in your vault? I’m trying to figure out how to warn our fellow humans. A fantastic story of apparently unrelated incidents is not enough. Not even with the corpse of an extra-terrestrial to back it up. You should leave mathematical theory and engineering drawings to someone able to understand them and whom you trust. We can’t handle it; every time we stick our heads up, somebody takes a shot at us and we have no way to fight back. It’s a job that may require our whole race. Well? Is there a man you can trust as your professional executor?”
“Well… one, perhaps. Not my field of geometry but brilliant. He did write me a most encouraging letter when I published my first paper – the paper that was so sneered at by almost everyone except your cousin and this one other. Professor Seppo Rãikannonen. Turku. Finland.”
“Are you certain he’s not an alien?”
“What? He’s been on the faculty at Turku for years! Over fifteen.”
I said, “Jacob… that is about how long Professor Brain was around.”
“But – ” My husband looked around at me and suddenly smiled. “Hilda my love, have you ever taken sauna?”
“Once.”
“Then tell our Captain why I am sure that my friend Seppo is not an alien in disguise. I – Deety and I – attended a professional meeting in Helsinki last year. After the meeting we visited their summer place in the Lake Country… and took sauna with them.”
“Papa, Mama, and three kids.” agreed Deety. “Unmistakably human.”
“‘Brainy’ was a bachelor,” I added thoughtfully. “Cap’n Zebbie, wouldn’t disguised aliens have to be bachelors?”
“Or single women. Or pseudo-married couples. No kids, the masquerade wouldn’t hold up. Jake, let’s try to phone your friend. Mmm, nearly breakfast time in Finland – or we may wake him. That’s better than missing him.”
“Good! My comcredit number is Nero Aleph -“
“Let’s try mine. Yours might trigger something… if ‘Black Hats’ are as smart as I think they are. Smart Girl.”
“Yes, Boss.”
“Don Ameche.”
“To hear is to obey, O Mighty One.”
“Deety, you’ve been giving Gay bad habits.”
Shortly a flat male voice answered, “The communications credit number you have cited is not a valid number. Please refer to your card and try again. This is a recording.”
Zebbie made a highly unlikely suggestion. “Gay can’t send out my comcredit code incorrectly; she has it tell-me-three-times. The glitch is in their system. Pop, we have to use yours.”
I said, “Try mine, Zebbie. My comcredit is good; I predeposit.”
A female voice this time: ” – not a valid number. Puh-lease refer to your card and try again. This is a recording.”
Then my husband got a second female voice: ” – try again. This is a recording.”
Deety said, “I don’t have one. Pop and I use the same number.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Cap’n Zebbie said bitterly. “These aren’t glitches. We’ve been scrubbed. Unpersons. We’re all dead.”
I didn’t argue. I had suspected that we were dead since the morning two weeks earlier when I woke up in bed with my cuddly new husband. But how long had we been dead? Since my party? Or more recently?
I didn’t care. This was a better grade of heaven than a Sunday School in Terre Haute had taught me to expect. While I don’t think I’ve been outstandingly wicked, I haven’t been very good either. Of the Ten Commandments I’ve broken six and bent some others. But Moses apparently had not had the last Word from on High – being dead was weird and wonderful and I was enjoying every minute… or eon, as the case may be.

Chapter XIII

Being too close to a fireball can worry a man –

Zeb:
Not being able to phone from my car was my most frustrating experience since a night I spent in jail through mistake (I made the mistake). I considered grounding to phone – but the ground did not seem healthy. Even if all of us were presumed dead, nullifying our comcredit cards so quickly seemed unfriendly; all of us had high credit ratings.
Canceling Sharpie’s comcredit without proof of death was more than unfriendly; it was outrageous as she used the predeposit method.
I was forced to the decision that it was my duty to make a military report; I radioed NORAD, stated name, rank, reserve commission serial number, and asked for scramble for a crash priority report. and ran into “correct” procedure that causes instant ulcers. What was my clearance? What led me to think that I had crash priority intelligence? By what authority did I demand a scramble code? Do you know how many screwball calls come in here every day? Get off this frequency; it’s for official traffic only. One more word out of you and I shall alert the civil sky patrol to pick you up.
I said one more word after I chopped off. Deety and her father ignored it; Hilda said, “My sentiments exactly!”
I tried the Federal Rangers Kaibab Barracks at Jacob Lake, then the office at Littlefield and back to Kaibab. Littlefield didn’t answer; Jacob Lake answered: “This is a recording. Routine messages may be recorded during beep tone. Emergency reports should be transmitted to Flagstaff HQ. Stand by for beep tone… Beep!… Beep!… Beep!”
I was about to tell Gay to zip my tape – when the whole world was lighted by the brightest light imaginable.
Luckily we were cruising south with that light behind us. I goosed Gay to flank speed while telling her to tuck in her wings. Not one of my partners asked a foolish question, although I suspect that none had ever seen a fireball or mushroom cloud.
“Smart Girl.”
“Here, Boss.”
“DR problem. Record true bearing light beacon relative bearing astern. Record radar range and bearing same beacon. Solve latitude longitude beacon. Compare solution with fixes in perms. Confirm.”
“Program confirmed.”
“Execute.”
“Roger Wilco, Zeb. Heard any new ones lately?” She added at once, “Solution. True bearing identical with fix execute-coded ‘Gay Deceiver take us home.’ True range identical plus-minus zero point six klicks.”
“You’re a smart girl, Gay.”
“Flattery will get you anywhere, Zeb. Over.”
“Roger and out. Hang onto your hats, folks; we’re going straight up.” I had outraced the shock wave but we were close to the Mexican border; either side might send sprint birds homing on us. “Copilot!”
“Captain.”
“Move us! Out of this space!”
“Where, Captain?”
“Anywhere! Fast!”
“Uh, can you ease the acceleration? I can’t lift my arms.”
Cursing myself, I cut power, let Gay Deceiver climb free. Those vernier controls should have been mounted on arm rests. (Designs that look perfect on the drawing board can kill test pilots.)
“Translation complete, Captain.”
“Roger, Copilot. Thank you.” I glanced at the board: six-plus klicks height-above-ground and rising – thin but enough air to bite. “Hang onto our lunch, Sharpie!” I leaned us backwards while doing an Immelman into level flight, course north, power still off. I told Gay to stretch the glide, then tell me when we had dropped to three klicks H-above-G.
What should be Phoenix was off to the right; another city – Flagstaff? – farther away, north and a bit east; we appeared to be headed home. There was no glowing cloud on the horizon. “Jake, where are we?”
“Captain, I’ve never been in this universe. We translated ten quanta positive Tau axis. So we should be in analogous space close to ours – ten minimum intervals or quanta.”
“This looks like Arizona.”
“I would expect it to, Captain. You recall that one-quantum translation on this axis was so very like our own world that Deety and I confused it with our own, until she picked up a dictionary.”
“Phone book, Pop.”
“Irrelevant, dear. Until she missed the letter ‘J’ in an alphabetical list. Ten quanta should not change geological features appreciably and placement of cities is largely controlled by geography.”
“Approaching three klicks, Boss.”
“Thanks, Gay. Hold course and H-above-G. Correction! Hold course and absolute altitude. Confirm and execute.”
“Roger Wilco, Zeb.”
I had forgotten that the Grand Canyon lay ahead – or should. “Smart Girl” is smart, but she’s literal-minded. She would have held height-above-ground precisely and given us the wildest roller-coaster ride in history. She is very flexible but the “garbage-in-garbage-out” law applies. She had many extra fail-safes – because I make mistakes. Gay can’t; anything she does wrong is my mistake. Since I’ve been making mistakes all my life, I surrounded her with all the safeguards I could think of. But she had no program against wild rides – she was beefed up to accept them. Violent evasive tactics had saved our lives two weeks ago, and tonight as well. Being too close to a fireball can worry a man – to death.
“Gay, display map, please.”
The map showed Arizona – our Arizona; Gay does not have in her gizzards any strange universes. I changed course to cause us to pass over our cabin site – its analog for this space-time. (Didn’t dare tell her: “Gay, take us home!” – for reasons left as an exercise for the class.) “Deety, how long ago did that bomb go off?”
“Six minutes twenty-three seconds. Zebadiah, was that really an A-bomb?”
“Pony bomb, perhaps. Maybe two kilotons. Gay Deceiver.”
“I’m all ears, Zeb.”
“Report time interval since radar-ranging beacon.”
“Five minutes forty-four seconds, Zeb.”
Deety gasped. “Was I that far off?”
“No, darling. You reported time since flash. I didn’t ask Gay to range until after we were hypersonic.”
“Oh. I feel better.”
“Captain,” inquired Jake, “how did Gay range an atomic explosion? I would expect radiation to make it impossible. Does she have instrumentation of which I am not aware?”
“Copilot, she has several gadgets I have not shown you. I have not been holding out – any more than you held out in not telling me about guns and ammo you -“
“My apologies, sir!”
“Oh, stuff it, Jake. Neither of us held out; we’ve been running under the whip. Deety, how long has it been since we killed that fake ranger?”
“That was seventeen fourteen. It is now twenty-two twenty. Five hours six minutes,”
I glanced at the board; Deety’s “circadian clock” apparently couldn’t be jarred by anything; Gay’s clock showed 0520 (Greenwich) with “ZONE PLUS SEVEN” display. “Call it five hours – feels like five weeks. We need a vacation.”
“Loud cheers!” agreed Sharpie.
“Check. Jake, I didn’t know that Gay could range an atomic blast. Light ‘beacon’ means a visible light to her just as ‘radar beacon’ means to her a navigational radar beacon. I told her to get a bearing on the light beacon directly aft; she selected the brightest light with that bearing. Then I told her to take radar range and bearing on it – spun my prayer wheel and prayed.
“There was ‘white noise’ possibly blanketing her radar frequency. But her own radar bursts are tagged; it would take a very high noise level at the same frequency to keep her from recognizing echoes with her signature. Clearly she had trouble for she reported ‘plus-minus’ of six hundred meters. Nevertheless range and bearing matched a fix in her permanents and told us our cabin had been bombed. Bad news. But the aliens got there too late to bomb us. Good news.”
“Captain, I decline to grieve over material loss. We are alive.”
“I agree – although I’ll remember Snug Harbor as the happiest home I’ve ever had. But there is no point in trying to warn Earth – our Earth – about aliens. That blast destroyed the clincher: that alien’s cadaver. And papers and drawings you were going to turn over to your Finnish friend. I’m not sure we can go home again.”
“Oh, that’s no problem, Captain. Two seconds to set the verniers. Not to mention the ‘deadman switch’ and the program in Gay’s permanents.”
“Jake, I wish you would knock off ‘Captain’ other than for command conditions.”
“Zeb, I like calling you ‘Captain.”
“So do I! – my Captain.”
“Me, too, Cap’n Zebbie!”
“Don’t overdo it. Jake, I didn’t mean that you can’t pilot us home; I mean we should not risk it. We’ve lost our last lead on the aliens. But they know who we are and have shown dismaying skill in tracking us down. I’d like to live to see two babies born and grown up.”
“Amen!” said Sharpie. “This might be the place for it. Out of a million billion zillion earths this one may be vermin-free. Highly likely.”
“Hilda my dear, there are no data on which to base any assumption.”
“Jacob, there is one datum.”
“Eh? What did I miss, dear?”
“That we do know that our native planet is infested. So I don’t want to raise kids on it. If this isn’t the place we’re looking for, let’s keep looking.”
“Mmm, logical. Yes. Cap – Zeb?”
“I agree. But we can’t tell much before morning. Jake, I’m unclear on a key point. If we translated back to our own earth now, where would we find ourselves? And when?”
“Pop, may I answer that?”
“Go ahead, Deety.”
“The time Pop and I translated to the place with no ‘J’ we thought we had failed. Pop stayed in our car, trying to figure it out. I went inside, intending to fix lunch. Everything looked normal. But the phone book was on the kitchen counter and doesn’t belong there. That book had a toll area map on its back cover. My eye happened to land on ‘Juab County’ – and it was spelled ‘Iuab’ – and I thought, ‘What a funny misprint!’ Then I looked inside and couldn’t find any ‘J’s’ and dropped the book and went running for Pop.”
“I thought Deety was hysterical. But when I checked a dictionary and the Britannica we got out in a hurry.”
“This is the point, Zebadiah. When we flipped back, I dashed into the house. The phone book was where it belonged. The alphabet was back the way it ought to be. The clock in my head said that we had been gone twenty-seven minutes. The kitchen clock confirmed it and it agreed with the clock in the car. Does that answer you, sir?”
“I think so. In a translation, duration just keeps chugging along. I wondered because I’d like to check that crater after it has had time to cool down. What about that one rotation?”
“Harder to figure, Zebadiah. We weren’t in that other space-time but a few seconds and we both passed out. Indeterminate.”
“I’m convinced. But, Jake, what about Earth’s proper motions? Rotation, revolution around the Sun, sidereal motion, and so forth.”
“A theoretical answer calls for mathematics you tell me are outside your scope of study, uh – Zeb.”
“Beyond my capacity, you mean.”
“As you will, sir. An excursion elsewhere-and-elsewhen… and return… brings you back to where you would have been had you experienced that duration on earth. But ‘when’ requires further definition. As we were discussing, uh… earlier this afternoon but it seems longer, we can adjust the controls to reenter any axis at any point with permanent change of interval. For planetary engineering. Or other purposes. Including reentry reversed against the entropy arrow. But I suspect that would cause death.”
“Why, Pop? Why wouldn’t it just reverse your memory?”
“Memory is tied to entropy increase, my darling daughter. Death might be preferable to amnesia combined with prophetic knowledge. Uncertainty may be the factor that makes life tolerable. Hope is what keeps us going. Captain!”
“Copilot.”
“We have just passed over North Rim.”
“Thank you, Copilot.” I placed my hands lightly on the controls.
“Pop, our cabin is still there. Lights in it, too.”
“So I see. They’ve added a wing on the west.”
“Yes. Where we discussed adding a library.”
I said, “Family, I’m not going closer. Your analogs in this world seem to be holding a party. Flood lights show four cars on the grounding flat.” I started Gay into a wide circle. “I’m not going to hover; it could draw attention. A call to their sky cops – Hell’s bells, I don’t even know that they speak English.”
“Captain, we’ve seen all we need. It’s not our cabin.”
“Recommendation?”
“Sir, I suggest maximum altitude. Discuss what to do while we get there.”
“Gay Deceiver.”
“On deck, Captain Ahab.”
“One gee, vertical.”
“Aye aye, sir.” (How many answers had Deety taped?)
“Anybody want a sandwich?” asked Sharpie. “I do – I’m a pregnant mother.”
I suddenly realized that I had had nothing but a piece of pie since noon. As we climbed we finished what was left of supper.
“Zat Marsh?”
“Don’t talk with your mouth full, Sharpie.”
“Zebbie you brute, I said, ‘Is that Mars?’ Over there.”
“That’s Antares. Mars is – Look left about thirty degrees. See it? Same color as Antares but brighter.”
“Got it. Jacob darling, let’s take that vacation on Barsoom!”
“Hilda dearest, Mars is uninhabitable. The Mars Expedition used pressure suits. We have no pressure suits.”
I added, “Even if we did, they would get in the way of a honeymoon.”
Hilda answered, “I read a jingle about ‘A Space Suit Built for Two.’ Anyhow, let’s go to Barsoom! Jacob, you did tell me we could go anywhere in Zip – nothing flat.”
“Quite true.”
“So let’s go to Barsoom.”
I decided to flank her. “Hilda, we can’t go to Barsoom. Mors Kajak and John Carter don’t have their swords.”
“Want to bet?” Deety said sweetly.
“Huh?”
“Sir, you left it to me to pick baggage for that unassigned space. If you’ll check that long, narrow stowage under the instrument board, you’ll find the sword and saber, with belts. With socks and underwear crammed in to keep them from rattling.”
I said soberly, “My Princess, I couldn’t moan about my sword when your father took the loss of his house so calmly – but thank you, with all my heart.”
“Let me add my thanks, Deety. I set much store by that old saber, unnecessary as it is.”
“Father, it was quite necessary this afternoon.”
“Hi ho! Hi ho! It’s to Barsoom we go!”
“Captain, we could use the hours till dawn for a quick jaunt to Mars. Uh – Oh, dear, I have to know its present distance – I don’t.”
“No problem,” I said. “Gay gobbles the Aerospace Almanac each year.”
“Indeed! I’m impressed.”
“Gay Deceiver.”
“You again? I was thinking.”
“So think about this. Calculation program. Data address, Aerospace Almanac. Running calculation, line-of-sight distance to planet Mars. Report current answers on demand. Execute.”
“Program running.”
“Report.”
“Klicks two-two-four-zero-nine-zero-eight-two-seven point plus-minus nine-eight-zero.”
“Display running report.”
Gay did so. “You’re a smart girl, Gay.”
“I can do card tricks, too. Program continuing.”
“Jake, how do we this?”
“Align ‘L’ axis with your gun sight. Isn’t that easiest?”
“By far!” I aimed at Mars as if to shoot her out of the sky – then got cold feet. “Jake? A little Tennessee windage? I think those figures are from center-of-gravity to center-of-gravity. Half a mil would place us a safe distance away. Over a hundred thousand klicks.”
“A hundred and twelve thousand,” Jake agreed, watching the display.
I offset one half mil. “Copilot.”
“Captain.”
“Transit when ready. Execute.”
Mars in half phase, big and round and ruddy and beautiful, was swimming off our starboard side.

Chapter XIV

“Quit worrying and enjoy the ride.”

Deety:
Aunt Hilda said softly, “Barsoom. Dead sea bottoms. Green giants.” I just gulped.
“Mars. Hilda darling.” Pop gently corrected her. “Barsoom is a myth.”
“Barsoom.” she repeated firmly. “It’s not a myth, it’s there. Who says its name is Mars? A bunch of long-dead Romans. Aren’t the natives entitled to name it? Barsoom.”
“My dearest, there are no natives. Names are assigned by an international committee sponsored by Harvard Observatory. They confirmed the traditional name.”
“Pooh! They don’t have any more right to name it than I have. Deety, isn’t that right?”
I think Aunt Hilda had the best argument but I don’t argue with Pop unless necessary; he gets emotional. My husband saved me.
“Copilot, astrogation problem. How are we going to figure distance and vector? I would like to put this wagon into orbit. But Gay is no spaceship; I don’t have instruments. Not even a sextant!”
“Mmm, suppose we try it one piece at a time, Captain. We don’t seem to be falling fast and – ulp!”
“What’s the trouble, Jake!”
Pop turned pale, sweat broke out, he clenched his jaws, swallowed and reswallowed. Then his lips barely opened. “M’sheashick.”
“No, you’re space sick. Deety!”
“Yessir!”
“Emergency kit, back of my seat. Unzip it, get Bonine. One pill – don’t let the others get loose.”
I got at the first-aid kit, found a tube marked Bonine. A second pill did get loose but I snatched it out of the air. Free fall is funny – you don’t know whether you are standing on your head or floating sideways. “Here, Captain.”
Pop said, “Mall righ’ now. Jus’ took all over queer a moment.”
“Sure, you’re all right. You can take this pill – or you can have it pushed down your throat with my dirty, calloused finger. Which?”
“Uh, Captain, I’d have to have water to swallow it – and I don’t think I can.”
“Doesn’t take water, pal. Chew it. Tastes good, raspberry flavor. Then keep gulping your saliva. Here.” Zebadiah pinched Pop’s nostrils. “Open up.”
I became aware of a strangled sound beside me. Aunt Hilda had a hanky pressed to her mouth and her eyes were streaming tears – she was split seconds from adding potato salad and used sandwich to the cabin air.
Good thing I was still clutching that wayward pill. Aunt Hilda struggled but she’s a little bitty. I treated her the way my husband had treated her husband, then clamped my hand over her mouth. I don’t understand seasickness (or free-fall nausea); I can walk on bulkheads with a sandwich in one hand and a drink in the other and enjoy it.
But the victims really are sick and somewhat out of their heads. So I held her mouth closed and whispered into her ear. “Chew it, Aunty darling, and swallow it, or I’m going to spank you with a club.”
Shortly I could feel her chewing. After several minutes she relaxed. I asked her, “Is it safe for me to ungag you?”
She nodded. I took my hand away. She smiled wanly and patted my hand. “Thanks, Deety.” She added, “You wouldn’t really beat Aunt Sharpie.”
“I sure would, darling. I’d cry and cry and wallop you and wallop you. I’m glad I don’t have to.”
“I’m glad, too. Can we kiss and make up – or is my breath sour?”
It wasn’t but I wouldn’t have let that stop me. I loosened my chest strap and hers, and put both arms around her. I have two ways of kissing: one is suitable for faculty teas; the other way I mean it. I never got a chance to pick; Aunt Hilda apparently never found out about the faculty-tea sort. No, her breath wasn’t sour – just a slight taste of raspberry.
Me, I’m the wholesome type; if it weren’t for those advertisements on my chest, men wouldn’t give me a second glance. Hilda is a miniature Messalina, pure sex in a small package. Funny how a person can grow up never really believing that the adults you grow up with have sex – just gender. Now my saintly father turns out to be an insatiable goat, and Aunt Hilda, who had babied me and changed my diapers, is sexy enough for a platoon of Marines.
I let her go while thinking pleasant thoughts about teaching my husband technique I had learned – unless Hilda had taught him in the past. No, or he would have taught me – and he hadn’t shown her style of virtuosity. Zebadiah, just wait till I get you alone!
Which might not be too soon. Gay Deceiver is wonderful but no honeymoon cottage. There was space back of the bulkhead behind my head – like a big phone booth on its side – where Zebadiah kept a sleeping bag and (he says) sometimes sacked out. But it had the space-time twister in it and nineteen dozen other things. Hilda and I were going to have to repress our primary imperative until our men found us a pied-à-terre on some planet in some universe, somewhere, somewhen.
Mars-Barsoom seemed to have grown while I was curing Aunt Hilda’s space sickness. Our men were talking astrogation. My husband was saying, “Sorry, but at extreme range Gay’s radar can see a thousand kilos. You tell me our distance is about a hundred times that.”
“About. We’re falling toward Mars. Captain, we must do it by triangulation.”
“Not even a protractor where I can get at it. How?”
“Hmmmm – If the Captain pleases, recall how you worked that ‘Tennessee windage.'”
My darling looked like a school boy caught making a silly answer. “Jake, if you don’t quit being polite when I’m stupid, I’m going to space you and put Deety in the copilot’s seat. No, we need you to get us home. I’d better resign and you take over.”
“Zeb, a captain can’t resign while his ship is underway. That’s universal.”
“This is another universe.”
“Transuniversal. As long as you are alive, you are stuck with it. Let’s attempt that triangulation.”
“Stand by to record.” Zebadiah settled into his seat, pressed his head against its rest. “Copilot.”
“Ready to record, sir.”
“Damn!”
“Trouble, Captain?”
“Some. This reflectosight is scaled fifteen mils on a side, concentric circles crossed at center point horizontally and vertically. Normal to deck and parallel to deck, I mean. When I center the fifteen-mil ring on Mars, I have a border around it. I’m going to have to guesstimate. Uh, the border looks to be about eighteen mils wide. So double that and add thirty.”
“Sixty-six mils.”
“And a mil is one-to-one-thousand. One-to-one-thousand-and-eighteen and a whisker, actually – but one-to-a-thousand is good enough. Wait a half! I’ve got two sharp high lights near the meridian – if the polar caps mark the meridian. Le’me tilt this buggy and put a line crossing them – then I’ll yaw and what we can’t measure in one jump, we’ll catch in three.”
I saw the larger “upper” polar cap (north? south? well, it felt north) roll gently about eighty degrees, while my husband fiddled with Gay’s manual controls. “Twenty-nine point five, maybe… plus eighteen point seven… plus sixteen point three. Add.”
My father answered, “Sixty-four and a half” while I said, six four point five in my mind and kept quiet.
“Who knows the diameter of Mars? Or shall I ask Gay?”
Hilda answered, “Six thousand seven hundred fifty kilometers, near enough.”
Plenty near enough for Zebadiah’s estimates. Zebadiah said, “Sharpie! How did you happen to know that?”
“I read comic books. You know – ‘Zap! Polaris is missing.'”
“I don’t read comic books.”
“Lots of interesting things in comic books, Zebbie. I thought the Aerospace Force used comic-book instruction manuals.”
My darling’s ears turned red. “Some are,” he admitted, “but they are edited for technical accuracy. Hmm – Maybe I had better check that figure with Gay.”
I love my husband but sometimes women must stick together. “Don’t bother, Zebadiah,” I said in chilly tones. “Aunt Hilda is correct. The polar diameter of Mars is six seven five two point eight plus. But surely three significant figures is enough for your data.”
Zebadiah did not answer… but did not ask his computer. Instead he said, “Copilot, will you run it off on your pocket calculator? We can treat it as a tangent at this distance.”
This time I didn’t even try to keep still. Zebadiah’s surprise that Hilda knew anything about astronomy caused me pique. “Our height above surface is one hundred four thousand six hundred and seventy-two kilometers plus or minus the error of the data supplied. That assumes that Mars is spherical and ignores the edge effect or horizon bulge… negligible for the quality of your data.”
Zebadiah answered so gently that I was sorry that I had shown off: “Thank you, Deety. Would you care to calculate the time to fall to surface from rest at this point?”
“That’s an unsmooth integral, sir. I can approximate it but Gay can do it faster and more accurately. Why not ask her? But it will be many hours.”
“I had hoped to take a better look. Jake, Gay has enough juice to put us into a tight orbit, I think… but I don’t know where or when I’ll be able to juice her again. If we simply fall, the air will get stale and we’ll need the panic button – or some maneuver – without ever seeing the surface close up.”
“Captain, would it suit you to read the diameter again? I don’t think we’ve simply been falling.”
Pop and Zebadiah got busy again. I let them alone, and they ran even the simplest computations through Gay. Presently, Pop said, “Over twenty-four kilometers per second! Captain, at that rate we’ll be there in a little over an hour.”
“Except that we’ll scram before that. But, ladies, you’ll get your closer look. Dead sea bottoms and green giants. If any.”
“Zebadiah, twenty-four kilometers per second is Mars’ orbital speed.”
My father answered, “Eh? Why, so it is!” He looked very puzzled, then said, “Captain – I confess to a foolish mistake.”
“Not one that will keep us from getting home, I hope.”
“No, sir. I’m still learning what our continua craft can do. Captain, we did not aim for Mars.”
“I know. I was chicken.”
“No, sir, you were properly cautious. We aimed for a specific point in empty space. We transited to that point… but not with Mars’ proper motion. With that of the Solar System, yes. With Earth’s motions subtracted; that is in the program. But we are a short distance ahead of Mars in its orbit… so it is rushing toward us.”
“Does that mean we can never land on any planet but Earth?”
“Not at all. Any vector can be included in the program – either before or after transition, translation or rotation. Any subsequent change in motion is taken into account by the inertial integrator. But I am learning that we still have things to learn.”
“Jake, that is true even of a bicycle. Quit worrying and enjoy the ride. Brother, what a view!”

“Jake, that doesn’t look like the photographs the Mars Expedition brought back.”
“Of course not,” said Aunt Hilda. “I said it was Barsoom.”
I kept my mouth shut. Ever since Dr. Sagan’s photographs anyone who reads The National Geographic – or anything – knows what Mars looks like. But when it involves changing male minds, it is better to let men reach their own decisions; they become somewhat less pig-headed. That planet rushing toward us was not the Mars of our native sky. White clouds at the caps, big green areas that had to be forest or crops, one deep blue area that almost certainly was water – all this against ruddy shades that dominated much of the planet.
What was lacking were the rugged mountains and craters and canyons of “our” planet Mars. There were mountains – but nothing like the Devil’s Junkyard known to science.
I heard Zebadiah say, “Copilot, are you certain you took us to Mars?”
“Captain, I took us to Mars-ten, via plus on Tau axis. Either that or I’m a patient in a locked ward.”
“Take it easy, Jake. It doesn’t resemble Mars as much as Earth-ten resembles Earth.”
“Uh, may I point out that we saw just a bit of Earth-ten, on a moonless night?”
“Meaning we didn’t see it. Conceded.”
Aunt Hilda said, “I told you it was Barsoom. You wouldn’t listen.”
“Hilda, I apologize. ‘Barsoom.’ Copilot, log it. New planet, ‘Barsoom,’ named by right of discovery by Hilda Corners Burroughs, Science Officer of Continua Craft Gay Deceiver. We’ll all witness: Z. J. Carter, Commanding – Jacob J. Burroughs, Chief Officer – D. T. B. Carter, uh, Astrogator. I’ll send certified copies to Harvard Observatory as soon as possible.”
“I’m not astrogator, Zebadiah!”
“Mutiny. Who reprogrammed this cloud buster into a continua craft? I’m pilot until I can train all of you in Gay’s little quirks. Jake is copilot until he can train more copilots in setting the verniers. You are astrogator because nobody else can acquire your special knowledge of programming and skill at calculation. None of your lip, young woman, and don’t fight the Law of Space. Sharpie is chief of science because of her breadth of knowledge. She not only recognized a new planet as not being Mars quicker than anyone else but carved up that double-jointed alien with the skill of a born butcher. Right, Jake?”
“Sure thing!” agreed Pop.
“Cap’n Zebbie,” Aunt Hilda drawled, “I’m science officer if you say so. But I had better be ship’s cook, too. And cabin boy.”
“Certainly, we all have to wear more than one hat. Log it, Copilot. ‘Here’s to our jolly cabin girl, the plucky little nipper – ‘”
“Don’t finish it. Zebbie,” Aunt Hilda cut in, “I don’t like the way the plot develops.”

‘ – she carves fake ranger,
‘Dubs planet stranger,
‘And dazzles crew and skipper.’

Aunt Hilda looked thoughtful. “That’s not the classic version. I like the sentiment better… though the scansion limps.”
“Sharpie darling, you are a floccinaucinihilipilificatrix.”
“Is that a compliment?”
“Certainly! Means you’re so sharp you spot the slightest flaw.”
I kept quiet. It was possible that Zebadiah meant it as a compliment. Just barely –
“Maybe I’d better check it in a dictionary.”
“By all means, dear – after you are off watch.” (I dismissed the matter. Merriam Microfilm was all we had aboard and Aunt Hilda would not find that word in anything less than the O.E.D.)
“Copilot, got it logged?”
“Captain, I didn’t know we had a log.”
“No log? Even Vanderdecken keeps a log. Deety, the log falls in your department. Take your father’s notes, get what you need from Gay, and let’s have a taut ship. First time we pass a Woolworth’s we’ll pick up a journal and you can transcribe it – notes taken now are your rough log.”
“Aye aye, sir. Tyrant.”
“‘Tyrant,’ sir, please. Meanwhile let’s share the binoculars and see if we can spot any colorful exotic natives in colorful exotic costumes singing colorful exotic songs with their colorful exotic hands out for baksheesh. First one to spot evidence of intelligent life gets to wash the dishes.”

Chapter XV

“We’ll hit so hard we’ll hardly notice it.”

Hilda:
I was so flattered by Cap’n Zebbie’s crediting me with “discovering” Barsoom that I pretended not to understand the jibe he added. It was unlikely that Deety would know such a useless word, or my beloved Jacob. It was gallant of Zeb to give in all the way, once he realized that this planet was unlike its analog in “our” universe. Zebbie is a funny one – he wears rudeness like a Hallowe’en mask, afraid that someone will discover the Galahad underneath.
I knew that “my” Barsoom was not the planet of the classic romances. But there are precedents: The first nuclear submarine was named for an imaginary undersea vessel made famous by Jules Verne; an aircraft carrier of the Second Global War had been named “Shangri La” for a land as nonexistent as “Erewhon”; the first space freighter had been named for a starship that existed only in the hearts of its millions of fans – the list is endless. Nature copies art.
Or as Deety put it: “Truth is more fantastic than reality.”
During that hour Barsoom rushed at us. It began to swell and swell, so rapidly that binoculars were a nuisance – and my heart swelled with it, in childlike joy. Deety and I unstrapped so that we could see better, floating just “above” and behind our husbands while steadying ourselves on their headrests.
We were seeing it in half phase, one half dark, the other in sunlight – ocher and umber and olive green and brown and all of it beautiful.
Our pilot and copilot did not sightsee; Zebbie kept taking sights, kept Jacob busy calculating. At last he said, “Copilot, if our approximations are correct, at the height at which we will get our first radar range, we will be only a bit over half a minute from crashing. Check?”
“To the accuracy of our data, Captain.”
“Too close. I don’t fancy arriving like a meteor. Is it time to hit the panic button? Advise, please – but bear in mind that puts us – should put us – two klicks over a hot, new crater… possibly in the middle of a radioactive cloud. Ideas?”
“Captain, we can do that just before crashing – and it either works or it doesn’t. If it works, that radioactive cloud will have had more time to blow away. If it doesn’t work – “
“We’ll hit so hard we’ll hardly notice it. Gay Deceiver isn’t built to reenter at twenty-four klicks per second. She’s beefed up – but she’s still a Ford, not a reentry vehicle.”
“Captain, I can try to subtract the planet’s orbital speed. We’ve time to make the attempt.”
“Fasten seat belts and report! Move it, gals!”
Free fall is funny stuff. I was over that deathly sickness – was enjoying weightlessness, but didn’t know how to move in it. Nor did Deety. We floundered the way one does the first time on ice skates – only worse.
“Report, damn it!”
Deety got a hand on something, grabbed me. We started getting into seats – she in mine, I in hers. “Strapping down, Captain!” she called out, while frantically trying to loosen my belts to fit her. (I was doing the same in reverse.)
“Speed it up!”
Deety reported, “Seat belts fastened,” while still getting her chest belt buckled – by squeezing out all her breath. I reached over and helped her loosen it.
“Copilot.”
“Captain!”
“Along ‘L’ axis, subtract vector twenty-four klicks per second – and for God’s sake don’t get the signs reversed.”
“I won’t!”
“Execute.”
Seconds later Jacob reported, “That does it, Captain. I hope.”
“Let’s check. Two readings, ten seconds apart. I’ll call the first, you call the end of ten seconds. Mark!”
Zeb added, “One point two. Record.”
After what seemed a terribly long time Jacob said, “Seven seconds… eight seconds… nine seconds… mark!”
Our men conferred, then Jacob said, “Captain, we are still falling too fast.”
“Of course,” said Deety. “We’ve been accelerating from gravity. Escape speed for Mars is five klicks per second. If Barsoom has the same mass as Mars -“
“Thank you, Astrogator. Jake, can you trim off, uh, four klicks per second?”
“Sure!”
“Do it.”
“Uh… done! How does she look?”
“Uh… distance slowly closing. Hello, Gay.”
“Howdy, Zeb.”
“Program. Radar. Target dead ahead. Range.”
“No reading.”
“Continue ranging. Report first reading. Add program. Display running radar ranges to target.”
“Program running. Who blacked your eye?”
“You’re a Smart Girl, Gay.”
“I’m sexy, too. Over.”
“Continue program.” Zeb sighed, then said, “Copilot, there’s atmosphere down there. I plan to attempt to ground. Comment? Advice?”
“Captain, those are words I hoped to hear. Let’s go!”
“Barsoom – here we come!”

Chapter XVI

a maiden knight, eager to break a lance –

Jake:
My beloved bride was no more eager than I to visit “Barsoom.” I had been afraid that our captain would do the sensible thing: establish orbit, take pictures, then return to our own space-time before our air was stale. We were not prepared to explore strange planets. Gay Deceiver was a bachelor’s sports car. We had a little water, less food, enough air for about three hours. Our craft refreshed its air by the scoop method. If she made a “high jump,” her scoop valves sealed from internal pressure just as did commercial ballistic-hypersonic intercontinental liners – but “high jump” is not space travel.
True, we could go from point to point in our own or any universe in null time, but how many heavenly bodies have breathable atmospheres? Countless billions – but a small fraction of one percent from a practical viewpoint – and no publication lists their whereabouts. We had no spectroscope, no star catalogs, no atmosphere testing equipment, no radiation instruments, no means of detecting dangerous organisms. Columbus with his cockleshells was better equipped than we.
None of this worried me.
Reckless? Do you pause to shop for an elephant gun while an elephant is chasing you?
Three times we had escaped death by seconds. We had evaded our killers by going to earth – and that safety had not lasted. So again we fled like rabbits.
At least once every human should have to run for his life, to teach him that milk does not come from supermarkets, that safety does not come from policemen, that “news” is not something that happens to other people. He might learn how his ancestors lived and that he himself is no different – in the crunch his life depends on his agility, alertness, and personal resourcefulness.
I was not distressed. I felt more alive than I had felt since the death of my first wife.
Underneath the persona each shows the world lies a being different from the masque. My own persona was a professorial archetype. Underneath? Would you believe a maiden knight, eager to break a lance? I could have avoided military service – married, a father, protected profession. But I spent three weeks in basic training, sweating with the rest, cursing drill instructors – and loving it! Then they took my rifle, told me I was an officer, gave me a swivel chair and a useless job. I never forgave them for that.
Hilda, until we married, I knew not at all. I had valued her as a link to my lost love but I had thought her a lightweight, a social butterfly. Then I found myself married to her and learned that I had unnecessarily suffered lonely years. Hilda was what I needed, I was what she needed – Jane had known it and blessed us when at last we knew it. But I still did not realize the diamondhard quality of my tiny darling until I saw her dissecting that pseudo “ranger.” Killing that alien was easy. But what Hilda did – I almost lost my supper.
Hilda is small and weak; I’ll protect her with my life. But I won’t underrate her again!
Zeb is the only one of us who looks the part of intrepid explorer – tall, broadshouldered, strongly muscled, skilled with machines and with weapons, and (sine qua non!) cool-headed in crisis and gifted with the “voice of command.”
One night I had been forced to reason with my darling; Hilda felt that I should lead our little band. I was oldest, I was inventor of the time-space “distorter” – it was all right for Zeb to pilot – but I must command. In her eyes Zeb was somewhere between an overage adolescent and an affectionate Saint Bernard. She pointed out that Zeb claimed to be a “coward by trade” and did not want responsibility.
I told her that no born leader seeks command; the mantle descends on him, he wears the burden because he must. Hilda could not see it – she was willing to take orders from me but not from her pet youngster “Zebbie.”
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-against-time, 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, O, 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 –

Chapter XVII

The world wobbled –

Deety:
We spent our first hour on “Barsoom” getting oriented. Aunt Hilda stepped outside, then stayed out. “Isn’t cold,” she told us. “Going to be hot later.”
“Watch where you step!” my husband warned her. “Might be snakes or anything.” He hurried after her – and went head over heels.
Zebadiah was not hurt; the ground was padded, a greenish-yellow mat somewhat like “ice plant” but looking more like clover. He got up carefully, then swayed as if walking on a rubber mattress. “I don’t understand it,” he complained. “This gravity ought to be twice that of Luna. But I feel lighter.”
Aunt Hillbilly sat down on the turf. “On the Moon you were carrying pressure suit and tanks and equipment.” She unfastened her shoes. “Here you aren’t.”
“Yeah, so I was,” agreed my husband. “What are you doing?”
“Taking off my shoes. When were you on the Moon? Cap’n Zebbie, you’re a fraud.”
“Don’t take off your shoes! You don’t know what’s in this grass.”
The Hillbilly stopped, one shoe off. “If they bite me, I bite ’em back. Captain, in Gay Deceiver you are absolute boss. But doesn’t your crew have any free will? I’ll play it either way: free citizen… or your thrall who dassn’t even take off a shoe without permission. Just tell me.”
“Uh -“
“If you try to make all decisions, all the time, you’re going to get as hysterical as a hen raising ducklings. Even Deety can be notional. But I won’t even pee without permission. Shall I put this back on? Or take the other off?”
“Aunt Hilda, quit teasing my husband!” (I was annoyed!)
“Dejah Thoris, I am not teasing your husband; I am asking our captain for instructions.”
Zebadiah sighed. “Sometimes I wish I’d stayed in Australia.”
I said, “Is it all right for Pop and me to come out?”
“Oh. Certainly. Watch your step; it’s tricky.”
I jumped down, then jumped high and wide, with entrechats as I floated – landed sur les pointes. “Oh, boy! What a wonderful place for ballet!” I added, “Shouldn’t do that on a full bladder. Aunt Hilda, let’s see if that powder room is unoccupied.”
“I was about to, dear, but I must get a ruling from our captain.”
“You’re teasing him.”
“No, Deety; Hilda is right; doctrine has to be clear. Jake? How about taking charge on the ground?”
“No, Captain. Druther be a Balkan general, given my druthers.”
Aunt Hilda stood up, shoe in hand, reached high with her other hand, patted my husband’s cheek. “Zebbie, you are a dear. You worry about us all – me especially, because you think I’m a featherhead. Remember how we did at Snug Harbor? Each one did what she could do best and there was no friction. If that worked there, it ought to work here.”
“Well… all right. But will you gals please be careful?”
“We’ll be careful. How’s your E.S.P.? Any feeling?”
Zebadiah wrinkled his forehead. “No. But I don’t get advance warning. Just barely enough.”
“‘Just barely’ is enough. Before we had to leave, you were about to program Gay to listen at high gain. Would that change ‘just barely’ to ‘ample’?”
“Yes! Sharpie, I’ll put you in charge, on the ground.”
“In your hat, Buster. Ole Massa done freed us slaves. Zebbie, the quicker you quit dodging, the sooner you get those hot cakes. Spread my cape down and put the hot plate on the step.”
We ate breakfast in basic Barsoomian dress: skin. Aunt Hilda pointed out that laundries seemed scarce, and the car’s water tanks had to be saved for drinking and cooking. “Deety, I have just this dress you gave me; I’ll air it and let the wrinkles hang out. Panties, too. An air bath is better than no bath. I know you’ll divvy with me but you are no closer to a laundry than I am.”
My jump suit joined Hilda’s dress. “Aunt Hilda, you could skip bathing a week. Me, right after a bath I have a body odor but not too bad. In twenty four hours I’m whiff. Forty-eight and I smell like a skunk. An air bath may help.”
The same reasoning caused our men to spread their used clothing on the port wing, and caused Zebadiah to pick up Hilda’s cape. “Sharpie, you can’t get fur Hollanderized in this universe. Jake, you stowed some tarps?”
After dishes were “washed” (scoured with turf, placed in the sun) we were sleepy. Zebadiah wanted us to sleep inside, doors locked. Aunt Hilda and I wanted to nap on a tarpaulin in the shade of the car. I pointed out that moving rear seats aft in refitting had made it impossible to recline them.
Zebadiah offered to give up his seat to either of us women. I snapped, “Don’t be silly, dear! You barely fit into a rear seat and it brings your knees so far forward that the seat in front can’t be reclined.”
Pop intervened. “Hold it! Daughter, I’m disappointed – snapping at your husband. But, Zeb, we’ve got to rest. If I sleep sitting up, I get swollen ankles, half crippled, not good for much.”
“I was trying to keep us safe,” Zebadiah said plaintively.
“I know, Son; you’ve been doing so – and a smart job, or we all would be dead three times over. Deety knows it, I know it, Hilda knows it -“
“I sure do, Zebbie!”
“My Captain, I’m sorry I snapped at you.”
“We’ll need you later. Flesh has its limits – even yours. If necessary, we would bed you down and stand guard over you -“
“No!”
“We sure would, Zebbie!”
“We will, my Captain.”
“But I doubt that it’s necessary. When we sat on the ground to eat, did anyone get chigger bites or anything?”
My husband shook his head.
“Not me,” Aunt Hilda agreed.
I added, “I saw some little beasties but they didn’t bother me.”
“Apparently,” Pop went on, “they don’t like our taste. A ferocious-looking dingus sniffed at my ankle – but it scurried away. Zeb, Gay can hear better than we can?”
“Oh, much better!”
“Can her radar be programmed to warn us?”
Zebadiah looked thoughtful. “Uh… anti-collision alarm would wake the dead. If I pulled it in to minimum range, then – No, the display would be cluttered with ‘grass.’ We’re on the ground. False returns.”
I said, “Subtract static display, Zebadiah.”
“Eh? How, Deety?”
“Gay can do it. Shall I try?”
“Deety, if you switch on radar, we have to sleep inside. Microwaves cook your brains.”
“I know, sir. Gay has sidelookers, eyes fore and aft, belly, and umbrella – has she not?”
“Yes. That’s why -“
“Switch off her belly eye. Can sidelookers hurt us if we sleep under her?” His eyes widened. “Astrogator, you know more about my car than I do. I’d better sign her over to you.”
“My Captain, you have already endowed me with all your worldly goods. I don’t know more about Gay; I know more about programming.”

We made a bed under the car by opening Zebadiah’s sleeping bag out flat, a tarpaulin on each side. Aunt Hilda dug out sheets: “In case anyone gets chilly.”
“Unlikely,” Pop told her. “Hot now, not a cloud and no breeze.”
“Keep it by you, dearest. Here’s one for Zebbie.” She dropped two more on the sleeping bag, lay down on it. “Down flat, gentlemen” – waited for them to comply, then called to me: “Deety! Everybody’s down.”
From inside I called back, “Right with you!” – then said, “Hello, Gay.”
“Hi, Deety!”
“Retrieve newest program. Execute.”
Five scopes lighted, faded to dimness; the belly eye remained blank. I told her, “You’re a good girl, Gay.”
“I like you, too, Deety. Over.”
“Roger and out, sister.” I scrunched down, got at the stowage under the instrument board, pulled out padding and removed saber and sword, each with belt. These I placed at the door by a pie tin used at breakfast. I slithered head first out the door, turned without rising, got swords and pie plate, and crawled toward the pallet, left arm cluttered with hardware.
I stopped. “Your sword, Captain.”
“Deety! Do I need a sword to nap?”
“No, sir. I shall sleep soundly knowing that my captain has his sword.”
“Hmm – ” Zebadiah withdrew it a span, returned it with a click. “Silly… but I feel comforted by it, too.”
“I see nothing silly, sir. Ten hours ago you killed a thing with it that would have killed me.”
“I stand – sprawl – corrected, my Princess. Dejah Thoris is always correct.”
“I hope my Chieftain will always think so.”
“He will. Give me a big kiss. What’s the pie pan for?”
“Radar alarm test.”
Having delivered the kiss, I crawled past Hilda and handed Pop his saber. He grinned at me. “Deety hon, you’re a one! Just the security blanket I need. How did you know?”
“Because Aunt Hilda and I need it. With our warriors armed, we will sleep soundly.” I kissed Pop, crawled out from under. “Cover your ears!”
I got to my knees, sailed that pan far and high, dropped flat and covered my ears. As the pan sailed into the zone of microwave radiation, a horrid clamor sounded inside the car, kept up until the pan struck the ground and stopped rolling – chopped off. “Somebody remind me to recover that. Good night, all!”
I crawled back, stretched out by Hilda, kissed her goodnight, set the clock in my head for six hours, went to sleep.

The sun was saying that it was fourteen instead of fourteen-fifteen and I decided that my circadian did not fit Barsoom. Would the clock in my head “slow” to match a day forty minutes longer? Would it give me trouble? Not likely – I’ve always been able to sleep anytime. I felt grand and ready for anything.
I crept off the pallet, snaked up into the car’s cabin, and stretched. Felt good!
I crawled through the bulkhead door back of the rear seats, got some scarves and my jewelry case, went forward into the space between seats and instrument board.
I tried tying a filmy green scarf as a bikini bottom, but it looked like a diaper. I took it off, folded it corner to corner, pinned it at my left hip with a jeweled brooch. Lots better! “Indecently decent” Pop would say.
I looped a rope of imitation pearls around my hips, arranged strands to drape with the cloth, fastened them at the brooch. I hung around my neck a pendant of pearls and cabochon emeralds – from my father the day I received the title doctor of philosophy.
I was adding bracelets and rings when I heard “Psst!” – looked down and saw the Hillbilly’s head and hands at the doorsill. Hilda put a finger to her lips. I nodded, gave her a hand up, whispered, “Still asleep?”
“Like babies.”
“Let’s get you dressed… ‘Princess Thuvia.'” Aunt Hilda giggled. “Thank you… ‘Princess’ Dejah Thoris.” “Want anything but jewelry?”
“Just something to anchor it. That old-gold scarf if you can spare it.”
“Course I can! Nothing’s too good for my Aunt Thuvia and that scarf is durn near nothing. Baby doll, we’re going to deck you out for the auction block. Will you do my hair?”
“And you mine. Deety – I mean ‘Dejah Thoris’ – I miss a three-way mirror.”
“We’ll be mirrors for each other,” I told her. “I don’t mind camping out. My great-great-great-grandmother had two babies in a sod house. Except” – I ducked my head, sniffed my armpit – “we’d better find a stream.” I added, “Hold still. Or shall I pin it through your skin?”
“Either way, dear. We’ll find water – all this ground cover.”
“Ground cover doesn’t prove running water. This place may be a ‘dead sea bottom of Barsoom.'”
“Doesn’t look dead,” Aunt Hilda countered. “It’s pretty.”
“Yes, but this looks like a dead sea bottom. Which gave me an idea. Hold up your hair; I want to arrange your necklaces.”
“What idea?” Aunt Hilda demanded.
“Zebadiah told me to figure a third escape program. The first two – I’ll paraphrase, Gay is awake. One tells her to take us back to a height over Snug Harbor; the other tells her to scoot back to where she was before she was last given the first order.”
“I thought that one told her to place us over the Grand Canyon?”
“It does, at present. But if she got the first order now, that would change the second order. Instead of over the Grand Canyon, we would be back here quicker’n a frog could wink its eye.”
“Okay if you say so.”
“She’s programmed that way. Hit the panic button and we are over our cabin site. Suppose we arrive there and find trouble, then use the ‘C’ order. She takes us back to wherever she last got the ‘T’ order. Dangerous or we would not have left in a rush. So we need a third escape program, to take us to a safe place. This looks safe.”
“It’s peaceful.”
“Seems so. There! – more doodads than a Christmas tree and you look nakeder than ever.”
“That’s the effect we want, isn’t it? Sit down in the copilot’s seat; I’ll do your hair.”
“Want shoes?” I asked.
“On Barsoom? Dejah Thoris, thank you for your little-girl shoes. But they pinch my toes. You’re going to wear shoes?”
“Not bleedin’ likely, Aunt Nanny Goat. I toughened my feet for karate – I can break a four-by-nine with my feet and get nary a bruise. Or run on sharp gravel. What’s a good escape phrase? I plan to store in Gay an emergency signal for every spot we visit that looks like a safe hidey-hole. So give me a phrase.”
“Your mudder chaws terbacker!”
“Nanny Goat! A code-phrase should have a built-in mnemonic.”
“‘Bug Out’?”
“A horrid expression and just what we need. ‘Bug Out’ will mean to take us to this exact spot. I’ll program it. And post it and others on the instrument board so that, if anyone forgets, she can read it.”
“And so could any outsider, if she got in.”
“Fat lot of good it would do her! Gay ignores an order not in our voices. Hello, Gay.”
“Hello, Deety!”
“Retrieve present location. Report.”
“Null program.”
“Are we lost?”
“Not at all, Aunt Hilda. I was sloppy. Gay, program check. Define ‘Home.'”
“Cancel any-all transitions translations rotations inertials. Return to zerodesignated latitude longitude two klicks above ground level hovering.”
“Search memory reversed-real-time for last order execute-coded Gay Deceiver take us home.”
“Retrieved.”
“From time of retrieved order integrate to time-present all transitions translations rotations inertials.”
“Integrated.”
“Test check. Report summary of integration.”
“Origin ‘Home.’ Countermarch program executed. Complex maneuver inertials. Translation Tau axis ten minimals positive. Complex maneuver inertials. Translation Ell axis two-two-four-zero-nine-zero-eight-two-seven point zero klicks. Negative vector Ell axis twenty-four klicks per sec. Negative vector Ell axis four klicks per sec. Complex maneuver inertials. Grounded here-then oh-eight-oh-two-forty-nine. Grounded inertials continuing eight hours three minutes nineteen seconds mark! Grounded inertials continue running realtime.”
“New program. Here-now grounded inertial location real-time running to real-time new execute order equals code-phrase bug-out. Report new program.”
Gay answered: “New program code-phrase bug-out: Definition: Here-now grounded inertials running real-time to future-time execute order code-phrase bug-out.”
“Gay, I tell you three times.”
“Deety, I hear you three times.”
“New program. Execute-coded Gay Deceiver Bug Out. At execute-code move to location coded ‘bug-out.’ I tell you three times.”
“I hear you three times.”
“Gay Deceiver, you’re a smart girl.”
“Deety, why don’t you leave that big ape and live with me? Over.”
“Good night, Gay. Roger and out. Hillbilly, I didn’t give you that answer.” I tried to look fierce.
“Why, Deety, how could you say such a thing?”
“I know I didn’t. Well?”
“I ‘fess up, Deetikins. A few days ago while you and I were working, you were called away. While I waited, I stuck that in. Want it erased?”
I don’t know how to look fierce; I snickered. “No. Maybe Zebadiah will be around the next time it pops up. I wish our men would wake, I do.”
“They need rest, dear.”
“I know. But I want to check that new program.”
“It sounded complex.”
“Can be, by voice. I’d rather work on paper. A computer doesn’t accept excuses. A mistake can be anything from ‘null program’ to disaster. This one has features I’ve never tried. I don’t really understand what Pop does. Non-Euclidean n-dimensional geometry is way out in left field.”
“To me it’s not in the ball park.”
“So I’m itchy.”
“Let’s talk about something else.”
“Did I show you our micro walky-talkies?”
“Jacob gave me one.”
“There’s one for each. Tiny but amazingly long-ranged. Uses less power than a hand calculator and weighs less – under two hundred grams. Mass, I mean – weight here is much less. Today I thought of a new use. Gay can accept their frequency.”
“That’s nice. How do you plan to use this?”
“This car can be remote-controlled.”
“Deety, who would you want to do that?”
I admitted that I did not know. “But Gay can be preprogrammed to do almost anything. For example, we could go outside and tell Gay, via walky-talky, to carry out two programs in succession: H, O, M, E, followed by B, U, G, O, U, T. Imagine Zebadiah’s face when he wakes up from sun in his eyes – because his car has vanished – then his expression two hours later when it pops back into existence.”
“Deety, go stand in the corner for thinking such an unfunny joke!” Then Aunt Hilda looked thoughtful. “Why would it take two hours? I thought Gay could go anywhere in no time.”
“Depends on your postulates, Princess Thuvia. We took a couple of hours to get here because we fiddled. Gay would have to follow that route in reverse because it’s the only one she knows. Then – ” I stopped, suddenly confused. “Or would it be four hours? No, vectors would cancel and – But that would make it instantaneous; we would never know that she had left. Or would we? Aunt Hilda, I don’t know! Oh, I wish our men would wake up, I do!” The world wobbled and I felt scared.
“I’m awake,” Pop answered, his head just showing above the doorsill. “What’s this debate?” He gave Aunt Hilda a lecherous leer. “Little girl, if you’ll come up to my room, I’ll give you some candy.”
“Get away from me, you old wolf!”
“Hilda my love, I could sell you down to Rio and retire on the proceeds. You look like expensive stuff.”
“I’m very expensive stuff, darling wolf. All I want is every cent a man has and constant pampering – then a fat estate when he dies.”
“I’ll try to die with plenty of money in the bank, dearest.”
“Instead we’re both dead and our bank accounts have gone Heaven knows where and I haven’t a rag to my back – and I’m wonderfully happy. Come inside – mind the radar! – and kiss me, you old wolf; you don’t have to buy me candy.”
“Pop,” I asked, “is Zebadiah asleep?”
“Just woke up.”
I spoke to Gay, then to Pop: “Will you tell Zebadiah radar is off? He can stand up without getting his ears fried.”
“Sure.” Pop ducked down and yelled, “Zeb, it’s safe; her husband left.”
“Coming!” Zebadiah’s voice rumbled back. “Tell Deety to put the steaks on.” My darling appeared wearing sword, carrying pie pan and sheets. “Are the steaks ready?” he asked, then kissed me.
“Not quite, sir,” I told him. “First, go shoot a thoat. Or will you settle for peanut butter sandwiches?”
“Don’t talk dirty. Did you say ‘thoat’?”
“Yes. This is Barsoom.”
“I thoat that was what you said.”
“If that’s a pun, you can eat it for supper. With peanut butter.”
Zebadiah shuddered. “I’d rather cut my thoat.”
Pop said, “Don’t do it, Zeb. A man can’t eat with his thoat cut. He can’t even talk clearly.”
Aunt Hilda said mildly, “If you three will cease those atrocities, I’ll see what I can scrape up for dinner.”
“I’ll help,” I told her, “but can we run my test first? I’m itchy.”
“Certainly, Deety. It will be a scratch meal.”
Pop looked at Aunt Hilda reproachfully. “And you told us to stop.”
“What test?” demanded my husband.
I explained the Bug-Out program. “I think I programmed it correctly. But here is a test. Road the car a hundred meters. If my program works – fine! If it tests null, no harm done but you and Pop will have to teach me more about the twister before I’ll risk new programming.”
“I don’t want to road the car, Deety; I’m stingy with every erg until I know when and where I can juice Gay. However – Jake, what’s your minimum transition?”
“Ten kilometers. Can’t use spatial quanta for transitions – too small. But the scale goes up fast – logarithmic. That’s short range. Middle range is in light-years – logarithmic again.”
“What’s long range, Jake?”
“Gravitic radiation versus time. We won’t use that one.”
“Why not, Jacob?” asked Aunt Hilda.
Pop looked sheepish. “I’m scared of it, dearest. There are three major theories concerning gravitic propagation. At the time I machined those controls, one theory seemed proved. Since then other physicists have reported not being able to reproduce the data. So I blocked off long range.” Pop smiled sourly. “I know the gun is loaded but not what it will do. So I spiked it.”
“Sensible,” agreed my husband. “Russian roulette lacks appeal. Jake, do you have any guess as to what options you shut off?”
“Better than a guess, Zeb. It reduces the number of universes accessible to us on this axis from the sixth power of six-to-the-sixth-power to a mere six to the sixth power. Forty-six thousand, six hundred, fifty-six.”
“Gee, that’s tough!”
“I didn’t mean it as a joke, Zeb.”
“Jake, I was laughing at me. I’ve been looking forward to a lifetime exploring universes – and now I learn that I’m limited to a fiddlin’ forty-six thousand and some. Suppose I have a half century of exploration left in me. Assume that I take off no time for eating, sleeping, or teasing the cat, how much time can I spend in each universe?”
“About nine hours twenty minutes per universe,” I told him. “Nine hours, twenty-three minutes, thirty-eight point seven-two-two seconds, plus, to be more nearly accurate.”
“Deety, let’s do be accurate,” Zebadiah said solemnly. “If we stayed a minute too long in each universe, we would miss nearly a hundred universes.”
I was getting into the spirit. “Let’s hurry instead. If we work at it, we can do three universes a day for fifty years – one of us on watch, one on standby, two off duty – and still squeeze in maintenance, plus a few hours on the ground, once a year. If we hurry.”
“We haven’t a second to lose!” Zebadiah answered. “All hands! – places! Stand by to lift! Move!”
I was startled but hurried to my seat. Pop’s chin dropped but he took his place. Aunt Hilda hesitated a split second before diving for her seat, but, as she strapped herself in, wailed, “Captain? Are we really leaving Barsoom?”
“Quiet, please. Gay Deceiver, close doors! Report seat belts. Copilot, check starboard door seal.”
“Seat belt fastened,” I reported with no expression.
“Mine’s fastened. Oh, dear!”
“Copilot, by low range, ‘H’ axis upward, minimum transition.”
“Set, Captain.”
“Execute.”
Sky outside was dark, the ground far below. “Ten klicks exactly,” my husband approved. “Astrogator, take the conn, test your new program. Science Officer observe.”
“Yessir. Gay Deceiver – Bug Out!” We were parked on the ground.
“Science Officer – report,” Zebadiah ordered.
“Report what?” Aunt Hilda demanded.
“We tested a new program. Did it pass test?”
“Uh, we seem to be back where we were. We were weightless maybe ten seconds. I guess the test was okay, Except -“
“‘Except’ what?”
“Captain Zebbie, you’re the worst tease on Earth! And Barsoom! You did so put lime Jello in my pool!”
“I was in Africa.”
“Then you arranged it!”
“Hilda – please! I never said we were leaving Barsoom. I said that we haven’t a second to waste. We don’t, with so much to explore.”
“Excuses. What about my clothes? All on the starboard wing. Where are they now? Floating up in the stratosphere? Coming down where? I’ll never find them.”
“I thought you preferred to dress Barsoomian style?”
“Doesn’t mean I want to be forced to! Besides, Deety lent them to me. I’m sorry, Deety.”
I patted her hand. “‘S’all right, Aunt Hilda. I’ll lend you more. Give them, I mean.” I hesitated, then said firmly, “Zebadiah, you should apologize to Aunt Hilda.”
“Oh, for the love of – Sharpie? Sharpie darling.”
“Yes, Zebbie?”
“I’m sorry I let you think that we were leaving Barsoom. I’ll buy you clothes that fit. We’ll make a quick trip back to Earth -“
“Don’t want to go back to Earth! Aliens! They scare me.”
“They scare me, too. I started to say: ‘Earth-without-a-J.’ It’s so much like our own that I can probably use U.S. money. If not, I have gold. Or I can barter. For you, Sharpie, I’ll steal clothes. We’ll go to Phoenix-without-a-J – tomorrow – today we take a walk and see some of this planet – your planet – and we’ll stay on your planet until you get tired of it. Is that enough? Or must I confess putting Jello into your pool when I didn’t?”
“You really didn’t?”
“Cross my heart.”
“Be darned. Actually I thought it was funny. I wonder who did it? Aliens, maybe?”
“They play rougher than that. Sharpie darling, I’m not the only weirdo in your stable – not by dozens.”
“Guess maybe. Zebbie? Will you kiss Sharpie and make up?”

On the ground, under the starboard wing, we found our travel clothes, and under the port wing, those of our husbands. Zebadiah looked bemused. “Jake? I thought Hilda was right. It had slipped my mind that we had clothing on the wings.”
“Use your head, Son.”
“I’m not sure I have one.”
“I don’t understand it either, darling,” Aunt Hilda added.
“Daughter?” Pop said.
“Pop, I think I know. But – I pass!”
“Zeb, the car never moved. Instead -“
Aunt Hilda interrupted, “Jacob, are you saying that we did not go straight up? We were there – five minutes ago.”
“Yes, my darling. But we didn’t move there. Motion has a definable meaning: A duration of changing locations. But no duration was involved. We did not successively occupy loci between here-then and there-then.”
Aunt Hilda shook her head. “I don’t understand. We went whoosh! up into the sky… then whoosh! back where we started.”
“My darling, we didn’t whoosh! Deety! Don’t be reticent.”
I sighed. “Pop, I’m not sure there exists a symbol for the referent. Aunt Hilda. Zebadiah. A discontinuity. The car -“
“Got it!” said Zebadiah.
“I didn’t,” Aunt Hilda persisted.
“Like this, Sharpie,” my husband went on. “My car is here. Spung! – it vanishes. Our clothes fall to the ground. Ten seconds later – flip! – we’re back where we started. But our clothes are on the ground. Get it now?”
“I – I guess so. Yes.”
“I’m glad you do… because I don’t. To me, it’s magic.” Zebadiah shrugged. “‘Magic.'”
“‘Magic’,” I stated, “is a symbol for any process not understood.”
“That’s what I said, Deety. ‘Magic.’ Jake, would it have mattered if the car had been indoors?”
“Well… that fretted me the first time Deety and I translated to Earth-without-the-letter-J. So I moved our car outdoors. But now I think that only the destination matters. It should be empty – I think. But I’m too timid to experiment.”
“Might be interesting. Unmanned vehicle. Worthless target. A small asteroid. A baby sun?”
“I don’t know, Zeb. Nor do I have apparatus to spare. It took me three years to build this one.”
“So we wait a few years. Jake? Air has mass.”
“That worried me also. But any mass, other than degenerate mass, is mostly empty space. Air – Earth sea-level air – has about a thousandth the density of the human body. The body is mostly water and water accepts air readily. I can’t say that it has no effect – twice I’ve thought that my temperature went up a trifle at transition or translation in atmosphere but it could have been excitement. I’ve never experienced caisson disease from it. Has any of us felt discomfort?”
“Not me, Jake.”
“I’ve felt all right, Pop,” I agreed.
“I got space sick. Till Deety cured it,” Aunt Hilda added.
“So did I, my darling. But that was into vacuo and could not involve the phenomenon.”
“Pop,” I said earnestly, “we weren’t hurt; we don’t have to know why. A basic proposition of epistemology, bedrock both for the three basic statements of semantics and for information theory, is that an observed fact requires no proof. It simply is, self-demonstrating. Let philosophers worry about it; they haven’t anything better to do.”
“Suits me!” agreed Hilda. “You big brains had Sharpie panting. I thought we were going to take a walk?”
“We are, dear,” agreed my husband. “Right after those steaks.”

Chapter 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, O, U, N, C, E – a new fast-escape with no execution word necessary. Then I’ll recall her by B, U, G, O, U, T. If one works via walky-talky, 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 of ten 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 two-seven-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-two-four-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-eight-zero-six-two-four-seven – “
“Hold it! I believe you. What other ways can you program Gay to find you, using her present vocabulary?”
“Uh… burn 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.”

PART TWO – The Butterfly’s Mandarin

Chapter XIX

Something is gained in translation –

Hilda:
Jacob tightened his arm around me. “Zeb,” he said softly, “I don’t believe it.” He was staring (we all were) at this mechaniwockle pteranodon coming at us over the hills in the west.
“Neither do I,” Zebbie answered. “Wrong wing loading. Impossible articulation. There’s a second one. A third! All hands! Grab your clothes! Man the ship! Prepare to lift! Move! Jake, unbuckle your saber and into your jump suit, fast!”
Cap’n Zebbie was unhooking his sword belt and grabbing his coveralls as he yelped. I was inside first as I didn’t stop to dress – grabbed Deety’s baby shoes with one hand, my dress and panties with the other.
I wiggled into panties, slid the dress over my head, slipped on Deety’s Keds.
I anticipated the order to fasten seat belts – stopped suddenly and eased my belt. I had not stopped to take off the doodads that proclaimed me a Barsoomian “princess.” Now it seemed that every item of frippery was about to imprint me for life.
Deety was cursing softly over the same problem. Deety’s jump suit was harder to reach into, even when she unbelted and opened the zipper all the way. I helped readjust the hardware but cautioned her not to remove it and to close the zipper clear to her chin. “Deety, if you get holes in your hide, you’ll get well. But if something loose catches our captain in the eye, the culprit will be broken on the wheel.”
I clucked-clucked at her answer but big ones do get in the way. Meanwhile our men were having problems. That space under the instrument board could not be seen by a full-sized male. The best position to reach it was impossible for Jacob, ridiculously impossible for Zebbie.
Zebbie’s profanity was louder than Deety’s but not as colorful. My own darling was keeping quiet which meant that he was really in trouble. I said, “Gentlemen -“
Zebbie grunted, “Shut up, Sharpie; we’ve got problems! Deety! How did you get these toadstickers into this compartment?”
“I didn’t. Aunt Hilda did.”
“Sharpie, can I apologize later? Those Martians are circling us now!”
So they were, at least a dozen flapping monstrosities. One appeared about to ground. “Captain, I’ll do it – but there is a faster way.”
“How?”
“Unhook your scabbards, put on your sword belts. Saber and sword in scabbards fit easily if you point one right, the other left. They will rattle unless you stuff clothing around them.”
“They can bloody well rattle!” In seconds, our gallants had blades and scabbards stowed. As Cap’n Zebbie resumed sword belt and started on his seat belt he called out, “Fasten belts, prepare to lift! Sharpie, have I told you today that in addition to loving you, I admire you?”
“I think not, Captain.”
“I do. Enormously. Report! Science Officer?”
“Seat belt fastened. Thank you, Zebbie.”
“Seat belt fastened,” reported Deety. “Bulkhead door dogged.”
“Seat belt fastened, starboard door seal checked, copilot ready, sir!”
“Port door seal checked, pilot strapped down; we’re ready – and none too soon! One has grounded and somebody is getting out. Hey! They’re human!”
“Or disguised aliens,” said my darling.
“Well… yes, there’s that. I may lift any second. Deety – that new program: Just G, A, Y, B, O, U, N, C, E? No ‘do-it’ word?”
“Check.”
“Good. I won’t use it unless forced to. This may be that ‘first contact’ the world has been expecting.”
“Cap’n Zebbie, why would aliens disguise themselves when they outnumber us? I think they are human.”
“I hope you’re right. Copilot, should I open the door? Advice, please.”
“Captain, you can open the door anytime. But if it is open, it takes a few seconds to close it and the ship won’t lift with a door open.”
“Too right. Gay Deceiver.”
“Hi, Boss. Where did you pick up the tarts?”
“Gay, check and report.”
“All circuits checked, all systems go, juice point seven-eight – and I’m in the mood.”
“Cast loose L-gun. Prepare to burn.”
“Done!”
“Captain,” my husband said worriedly, “are you planning to blast them?”
“I hope not. I’d rather run than fight. I’d rather stay and get help than either. But they grounded where I can burn them – using offset.”
“Captain, don’t do it!”
“Copilot, I don’t plan to. Now drop it!”
The grounded flappy bird was about two hundred meters and a few degrees left of dead ahead. Two men – they looked like men – had disembarked and headed toward us. They were dressed alike – uniforms? They seemed vaguely familiar – but all uniforms seem vaguely familiar, do they not?
They were less than a hundred meters from us. Cap’n Zebbie did something at his instrument board and suddenly their voices were inside, blastingly loud. He adjusted the setting and we could hear clearly. Zebbie said, “That’s Russian! Isn’t it, Jake?”
“Captain, I think so. A Slavic language, in any case.” Jacob added, “Do you understand it?”
“Me? Jake, I said that I can swear in Russian; I didn’t say I could speak it. I can say ‘thank you’ and ‘please’ and ‘da’ and ‘nyet’ – maybe six more. How about you?”
“I can puzzle out a paper about mathematics with the aid of a dictionary. But speak it? Understand it? No.”
I tried to remember whether or not I had ever told Zebbie that I know Russian. My husband and Deety I had not told. Well, if Zebbie knew, he would call on me. It is not something I mention as it does not fit my persona. I started it out of curiosity; I wanted to read those great Russian novelists – Dostoievsky, Tolstoy, and so forth – in the original in order to find out why they were so celebrated. Why I had never been able to read one of those classic novels all the way through? (They had cured me of sleeping pills.)
So I set out to learn Russian. Soon I was wearing earphones to bed, listening to Russian in my sleep, working with a tutor in the daytime. I never mastered a good accent; those six-consonants-in-a-row words tie knots in my tongue. But one cannot read a language easily unless one can “hear” the words. So I learned the spoken language along with the written.
(Oh, yes, those “classic novels”: Having invested so much effort I carried out my purpose: War and Peace, The Idiot, The Brothers Karamazov, Anna Karenina, and so forth. Would you believe it? Something is gained in translation; the originals are even more depressing and soporific than translations. I’m not sure what purpose Russian fiction has, but it can’t be entertainment.)
I decided to wait. I was not eager to be interpreter and it would not be necessary if it turned out that Zebbie or Jacob had a language in common with our visitors – and I rationalized my decision by telling myself that it might turn out to be an advantage if the strangers thought that no one of us understood Russian.
(At that point I realized that I had been thinking in Russian. It’s a wonderful language for paranoid thoughts.)
When Zebbie switched on the outside mikes, the older was telling the Younger: ” – not let Fyodor Ivanovitch get wind of such thoughts, Yevgeny. He does not believe that (no good? stupid?) Britishers can excel us in anything. So don’t refer to that curious craft as ‘advanced engineering.’ A ‘weird assemblage of poorly organized experiments’ would be better.”
“I will remember. Shall I loosen my holster and take off the safety? To guard you, sir?”
The older man laughed. “You haven’t dealt with the damned British as long as I have. Never let them suspect that you are even mildly nervous. And always be sure to insult him first. Bear in mind that the lowliest serf in Ykraina is better than their so-called King-Emperor. That serf -“when Zebbie interrupted: “Arrêtez-là!”
The younger hesitated but the older never broke stride. Instead he answered in French: “You are telling me to halt, you British swine? An officer of the Tsar on Russian soil! I spit on your mother. And your father if your mother can remember who he was. Why are you speaking French, you soiled British spy? You fool no one. Speak Russian – or, if you are uncultured, speak English.”
Zebbie thumbed a button. “What about it, Jake? Switch to English when he’s so hipped on the subject of Englishmen? Or bull it through in French? My accent is better than his.”
“Maybe you can get away with it, Captain. I can’t.”
Zebbie nodded and opened the mike, spoke in English: “We are not British, not spies. We are American tourists and -“
“‘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-10 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 people near it, nowhere else. That’s why I’m certain there is no one where we were. B, U, G, O, U, T is safe.”
Zebbie was slow to answer. “How about it, folks? It would 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 long as Atropos permits – meanwhile I intend to enjoy every minute. Zebbie waited, then said, “Here we go. Gay – Bug Out!”

Chapter XX

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.”
“Oh. What altitude do you want, Captain – Captain darling? A tangent does little in three minima, just a touch over a hundred meters. Is ten kilometers about right?”
“Ten klicks is fine. I could aim at the horizon, make transition, then at once give the B, O, U, N, C, E order.”
“So you could, Zebadiah, but if you will use the horizon as reference and aim eighteen and a half degrees above it – Will your gunsight depress that far?”
“No, but I’ll tell Gay. No problem.”
“Three minima on that upward slant will place you ten klicks H-above-G and a couple of klicks short of three minima on the curve.”
“Plus my present altitude.”
“No, no! Visualize the triangle, Zebadiah. It makes no real difference whether you do this from ten klicks H-above-G, or parked on the ground. Do you want exact figures?”
“You visualize triangles, Deety; that’s your department. I’ve got air bite now; I’m going to head west; I want to see where those ornithopters came from. Meantime work out that new fail-safe.” Did it really make no difference whether I started from ten thousand meters or right on deck? Didn’t I have to add in – No, of course not … but one way was sine and the other way was tan. But which one? Hell, it didn’t matter; Deety was right. She always is, on figures – but someday I’m going to work it carefully, on paper, with diagrams and tables. “Copilot.”
“Captain.”
“L axis, transit, three minima.”
“Transition, L axis, thirty kilometers – set!”
“Gay Deceiver.”
“I’m not at home but you may record a message.”
“Change attitude to climb eighteen point five degrees and report.”
“Roger Wilco. Climbing. Ten. Twelve. Fourteen. Sixteen. Eighteen. Mark!”
“Execute!”
We were somewhere else with black sky. “Gay, vertical dive. Execute.”
“No trouble, Clyde; enjoy the ride.”
“Zebadiah, may I talk with Gay while you look over the terrain? To reprogram that fail-safe.”
“Sure, go ahead. Jake, want to scan with binox while I eyeball it? I’ll warn before transition.”
“Zebadiah, I could give her a scouting program, automatic. Skip the vernliers, skip the climb order; just an ‘execute’ code word. Place her on course… or I could include course.”
“I’ll head her manually; the rest is swell – after that fail-safe. What’s the code word?”
“‘Scout’?”
“Good. Include the ‘execute’ idea in the code word. Deety, I’ve decided that I love you for your brain. Not those irrelevant physical attributes.”
“Zebadiah, once I’ve had a bath you may change your mind. I’ve had a sudden attack of brain fever. You had better program her yourself.”
“Mutiny again. I retract and apologize. You smell yummy and should marinate another week. It’s not your cortex or your character I love but your carcass – delectable! If it weren’t for these seat belts, it would be rape, rape, rape, all the way to the ground. Actually you’re sort o’ stupid-but what a chassis!”
“That’s better. Although I’m not stupid.”
“You married me. Res ipsa loquitur! Jake, are you spotting anything?”
“Dry hills, Captain. Might as well move on.”
“Zebadiah, will you place her in glide and hold a few minutes?”
“Sure. See something you want to check?”
“No, sir, But when we emerged here, we had seventy-three seconds to impact. We’ve used twenty-one seconds. I’d like a few moments to insert those preprograms.”
I overrode manually and started Gay into a stretched glide while I extended her wings. Then I let Deety and Gay talk to each other. Deety had both changes fully worked out; not once did Gay answer, “Null program.”
I was about to warn Deety that Gay was not a sailplane when she reported, “All done, Captain. For the ‘S’ program I added in an alarm for two klicks H-above-G.”
“Good idea. So now I head west again and give her that ‘S’ code word – no ‘Execute’?”
“Yessir. ‘Cept I’d like to try the revised B, U, G, O, U, T program. It has been less than four minutes since we left. Someone may be in that exact spot.”
“Deety, I share your curiosity. But it’s like testing a parachute the hard way. Can’t we save it until we need it? Then, if there is a glitch, we’ll be dead so fast we’ll hardly notice it.”
Deety said nothing. I waited, then said, “Comment, please.”
“No comment, Captain.” Deety’s answer was toneless. “Hmm – Science Officer… comment, please.”
“I have no comment to offer, Captain.” (A slight chill?)
“Copilot, I require your advice.”
“Uh, if the Captain please. Am I privileged to ask for written orders?”
“Well, I’ll be dipped in – Gay Bounce! Is there such a thing as a ‘space lawyer’? Like ‘sea lawyer’? Jake, in general, anyone, save in the face of the enemy, may demand written orders… if he’ll risk his career to ‘perpetuate evidence for the court-martial he knows will follow. Did it myself once and saved my neck and cost my temporary boss fifty numbers – and I wound up senior to him and he resigned.
“But a second-in-command is in a special position; it is his duty to advise his C.O., even if the C.O. doesn’t ask for advice. So I don’t see how you can demand written orders on a point already one of your duties. But I won’t make an issue of it. I’ll direct the Astrogator to log your request, then I can dictate my reply into the log. Then I am going to ground this go-buggy and turn command over to you. Maybe you’ll have more luck chairing this debating society than I have had. I wish you luck – you’ll need it!”
“But, Captain, I did not ask for written orders.”
“Eh?” I thought back. He hadn’t, quite. “It sounded as if you were about to.”
“I was stalling. I must advise you to follow the prudent course. Unofficially, I prefer to risk the test. But I should not have stalled. I’m sorry that my intransigence caused you to consider relinquishing command.”
“I didn’t just consider it; I have. Resignation effective the first time we ground. You’ve bought it, Jake.”
“Captain -“
“Yes, Deety?”
“You are correct; the test I suggested is useless, and could be fatal. I should not have asked for it. I’m sorry… sir.”
“Me, too! I felt you were being too strict with Deety. But you weren’t; you were taking care of us, as you always do, Zebbie. Captain Zebbie. Of course you shouldn’t make a risky test we don’t need.”
I said, “Anyone anything to add?” No one spoke up, so I added, “I’m heading west,” and did so. “Gay Deceiver – Bug Out!”
Black sky above us; that “dead sea bottom” far below… I remarked, “Looks as if a Russian, or one of their flappy craft, is in our parking spot. Deety, your revised program worked perfectly.”
“But, Zebadiah – why did you risk it?” She sounded terribly distressed.
“Because all of you wanted to, despite what you said later. Because it’s my last chance to make such a decision.” I added, “Jake, I’m going to tilt her over. Grab the binox and see if you can identify where we were parked. If that fire is smoking, you can use it for reference.”
“But, Captain, I’m not taking command. I won’t accept it.”
“Pipe down and carry out your orders! It’s this damned yack-yack and endless argument that’s giving me ulcers. If you won’t accept command, then it’s up for grabs. But not me! Oh, I’ll pilot as the new C.O. orders. But I won’t command. Deety, how long did Gay pause to make that radar check? At what height?”
“H-above-G was half a klick. Duration I don’t know but I can retrieve it. Darling – Captain! You’re not really going to quit commanding us?”
“Deety, I don’t make threats. Pipe down and retrieve that duration. Jake, what do you see?”
“I’ve located the fire. Several ornithopters are on the ground. My guess places one of them about where we were parked. Captain, I advise not dropping lower.”
“Advice noted. Deety, how about that duration?” I didn’t know how to ask for it myself, not having written the program.
Deety retrieved it smoothly: 0.071 seconds – call it a fifteenth of a second. Radar is not instantaneous; Gay had to stop and sweep that spot long enough for a “picture” to form in her gizzards, to tell her whether or not she could park there. A fifteenth of a second is loads of time for the human eye. I hoped that Colonel Frimpsky had been watching when Gay popped up and blinked out.
“Five klicks H-above-G, Captain.”
“Thanks, Jake.” The board showed dive rate – straight down! – of over seven hundred kilometers per hour, and increasing so fast that the units figure was an unreadable blur, and the tens place next to it was blinking one higher almost by the second.
Most carefully I eased her out of dive, and gently, slowly opened her wings part way for more lift as she slowed, while making a wide clockwise sweep to the east – slowed her dive, that is, not her speed through the air. When I had completed that sweep, and straightened out headed for that column of smoke on course west, I was making over eight hundred kilometers per hour in unpowered glide and still had almost a klick H-above-G I could turn into greater speed.
Not that I needed it – I had satisfied myself by eye of what I had been certain of by theory: an ornithopter is slow.
Jake said worriedly, “May I ask the Captain his plans?”
“I’m going to give Colonel Pistolsky something to remember us by! Gay Deceiver.”
“Still aboard, Boss.”
I kept my eye on the flappy birds still in the air while I let Gay fly herself. Those silly contraptions could not catch us but there was always a chance that a pilot might dodge the wrong way.
Most of them seemed anxious to be elsewhere: they were lumbering aside right and left. I looked at the smoke – dead ahead – and saw what I had not noticed before: an ornithopter beyond the smoke.
Jake gasped but said nothing. We were on collision course closing at about 900 kms/hr, most of it ours. Suicide pilot? Idiot? Panicked and frozen?
I let him get within one klick of us, which brought us almost to the smoke and near the deck, about 200 meters H-above-G-and I yelped, “Scout!”
Yes, Deety is a careful programmer; the sky was black, we were ten klicks H-above-G, and so far as I could tell, the same barren hills under us that we had left five minutes earlier – and I was feeling cocky. My sole regret was that I would not hear Colonel Snarfsky try to explain to the Grand Duke the “ghost” craft now used by “British spies.”
Did Russian nobility practice “honorable hara-kiri”? Perhaps the loaded-pistol symbol? You know that one: The officer in disgrace returns to his quarters and finds that someone has thoughtfully loaded his pistol and placed it on his desk… thereby saving the regiment the scandal of a court.
I didn’t want the bliffy dead but busted to buck private. With time to reflect on politeness and international protocol while he cleaned stables.
I checked our heading, found that we were still pointed west. “Gay Deceiver, Scout!”
Black sky again, the same depressing landscape – “Copilot, is it worthwhile to tilt down for a better look? That either takes juice – not much but some – or it takes time to drop far enough to bite air and do it with elevons. We can’t afford to waste either time or juice.”
“Captain, I don’t think this area is worth scouting.”
“Careful of that participle; better say ‘exploring.'”
“Captain, may I say something?”
“Deety, if you are speaking as Astrogator, you not only may but must.”
“I could reprogram to put us lower if I knew what altitude was just high enough to let you use elevons. Conserve both time and juice, I mean.”
“It seems to be about eight klicks H-above-G, usually. Hard to say since we don’t have a sea-level.”
“Shall I change angle to arrive at eight klicks H-above-G?”
“How long does it take us to fall two klicks when we arrive?”
She barely hesitated. “Thirty-two and a half seconds.”
“Only half a minute? Seems longer.”
“Three-two point six seconds, Captain, if this planet has the same surface gravity as Mars in our own universe – three-seven-six centimeters per second squared. I’ve been using it and haven’t run into discrepancies. But I don’t see how this planet holds so much atmosphere when Mars – our Mars – has so little.”
“This universe may not have the same laws as ours. Ask your father. He’s in charge of universes.”
“Yes, sir. Shall I revise the program?”
“Deety, never monkey with a system that is working well enough – First Corollary of Murphy’s Law. If it is an area as unattractive as this, we’ll simply get out. If it has possibilities, half a minute isn’t too long to wait, and the additional height will give us a better idea of the whole area. Gay Deceiver, Scout!”
We all gasped. Thirty kilometers and those barren hills were gone; the ground was green and fairly level – and a river was in sight. Or a canal.
“Oh, boy! Copilot, don’t let me waste juice – be firm with me. Deety, count seconds. Everybody eyeball his sector, report anything interesting.”
Deety started chanting “… thirteen… . fourteen… . fifteen – ” and each second felt like ten. I took my hands off the controls to keep from temptation. That was either a canal or a stream that had been straightened, revetted, and maintained for years, maybe eons. Professor Lowell had been right – right theory, wrong universe.
“Deety, how far is the horizon?”
” – seventeen – about two hundred fifty klicks – twenty -“
I placed my hands gently on the controls. “Hon, that’s the first time you’ve ever used the word ‘about’ with reference to a number.”
” – twenty-four – insufficient data! – twenty-six -“
“You can stop counting; I felt a quiver.” I put a soft nose-down pressure on the elevons and decided to leave her wings spread; we might want to stretch this one. “Insufficient data?”
“Zebadiah, it was changing steadily and you had me counting seconds. Horizon distance at ten klicks height above ground should be within one percent of two hundred and seventy kilometers. That assumes that this planet is a perfect sphere and that it is exactly like Mars in our universe – neither is true. It ignores refraction effects, tricky even at home – and unknown to me here. I treated it as geometry, length of tangent for an angle of four degrees thirty-seven minutes.”
“Four and half degrees? Where in the world did you get that figure?”
“Oh! Sorry, dear, I skipped about six steps. On Earth one nautical mile is one minute of arc – check?”
“Yes. Subject to minor reservations. With a sextant, or in dead reckoning, or on a chart, a mile is a minute, a minute is a mile. Makes it simple. Otherwise we would be saying a minute is one thousand eight hundred fifty-three meters and the arithmetic would get hairy.”
“One-eight-five-three point one-eight-seven-seven-oh-five plus,” she corrected me. “Very hairy. Best not convert to MKS until the last step. But, Zebadiah, there is a simpler relation here. One minute of arc equals one kilometer, near enough not to matter. So I treated H-above-G, ten klicks, as a versine, applied the haversine rule and got four degrees thirty-seven minutes or two hundred seventy-seven kilometers to the theoretical horizon. You see?”
“I see everything but how you hide haversine tables in a jump suit. Me, I hide ’em in Gay… and make her do the work.” Yes, I could nose her over now – easy does it, boy.
“Well, I didn’t, exactly. I calculated it, but I did it the easy way: Naperian logarithms and angles in radians, then converted back to degrees to show the relationship to kilometers on the ground.”
“That’s ‘the easy way’?”
“It is for me, sir!”
“If you’re quivering your chin, stop it. I told you it was your luscious body, not your brain. Most idiots-savants are homely and can’t do anything but their one trick. But you’re an adequate cook, as well.”
That got me a stony silence. I kept easing her nose down. “Time for binox, Jake.”
“Aye aye, sir. Captain, I am required to advise you. With that last remark to the Astrogator you risked your life.”
“Are you implying that Deety is an inadequate cook? Why, Jake!”
Hilda interrupted. “She’s a gourmet cook!”
“I know she is, Sharpie… but I don’t like to say it where Gay can hear – Gay can’t cook. Nor has she Deety’s other talent which ’tis death to hide. Jake, that’s a settlement below.”
“Of sorts. A one-church village.”
“Do you see ornithopters? Anything that could give us trouble?”
“Depends. Are you interested in church architecture?”
“Jake, this is no time for a cultural chat.”
“I’m required to advise you, sir, This church has towers, something like minarets topped off with onion-shaped structures.”
“Russian Orthodox!”
Hilda said that. I said nothing. I eased Gay’s nose up to level flight, lined her up with what I thought was downstream, and snapped, “Gay, Scout!”
The canal was still in sight, almost under us and stretching over the horizon. I was almost lined up with it. Gay, Scout!
“Anybody see that settlement that was almost ahead before this last transition? Report.”
“Captain Zebbie, it’s much closer now but on this side.”
“I see. Or don’t. Jake isn’t transparent.”
“Captain, the city – quite large – is about a forty-five-degree slant down to starboard, not in sight from your seat.”
“If forty-five degrees is a close guess, a minimum transition on that bearing should place us over the city.”
“Captain, I advise against it,” Jake told me.
“Reasons, please.”
“This is a large city that might be well defended. Their ornithopters look odd and ineffective but we must assume they have spaceships as good or better than ours or the Tsar could not have a colony here. This causes me to suspect that they may have smart missiles. Or weapons utterly strange. I would rather check for onion towers from a distance. And not stay long in one place – I think we’ve been here too long. I’m jumpy.”
“I’m not” – my sixth sense was not jabbing me – “but set verniers for a minimum transition along L axis, then execute at will. No need to be a slow fat target.”
“One minimum, L axis – set!”
Suddenly my guardian angel goosed me. “Execute!”
I noticed the transition principally because Gay was now live under my hand – air bite. Perhaps she had not been quite level. I turned her nose down to gather maneuvering speed unpowered, then did a skew turn – and yelped, “Gay Bounce!” having seen all that I wanted to see: an expanding cloud. Atomic? I think not. Lethal? You test it; I’m satisfied.
I told Gay to bounce three more times, placing us a bit less than fifty klicks above ground. Then I spent a trifle of power to nose her over. “Jake, use the binox to see how far this valley runs, whether it is all cultivated, whether it has more settlements. We are not going to get close enough to look for onion spires; that last shot was unfriendly. Rude. Impetuous. Or am I prejudiced? Science Officer? Le mot juste, s’il vous plait.”
“Nye kultoorni.”
“I remember that one! Makes Russians turn green. What does it mean? How did you happen to know it, Sharpie?”
“Means what it sounds like: ‘uncultured.’ I didn’t just ‘happen,’ Cap’n Zebbie; I know Russian.”
I was flabbergasted. “Why didn’t you say so?”
“You didn’t ask me.”
“Sharpie, if you handled the negotiations, we might not have had trouble.”
“Zebbie, if you’ll believe that, you’ll believe anything. He was calling you a spy and insulting you while the palaver was still in French. I thought it might be advantageous if they thought none of us knew Russian. They might spill something.”
“Did they?”
“No. The colonel was coaching his pilot in how to be arrogant. Then you told them to halt, in French, and no more Russian was spoken save for meaningless side remarks. Zebbie, when they tried to shoot us down just now, would they have refrained had they known that I had studied Russian?”
“Mmm – Sharpie, I should know better than to argue with you. I’m going to vote for you for captain.”
“Oh, No!”
“Oh, Yes. Copilot, I’m going to assume that everything this side of the hills and involved with this watercourse – courses – twin canals – is New Russia and that honorary Englishmen – us! – aren’t safe here. So I’m going to look for the British colony. It may turn out that they won’t like us, either. But the British are strong on protocol; we’ll have a chance to speak our piece. They may hang us but they’ll give us a trial, with wigs and robes and rules of evidence and counsel who will fight for us.” I hesitated. “One hitch. Colonel Snotsky said there was no such country as the United States of America and I had the impression that he believed it.”
Sharpie said, “He did believe it, Cap’n Zebbie. I caught some side chatter. I think we must assume that, in this universe, there was no American Revolution.”
“So I concluded. Should we all be from the East Coast? I have a hunch that the West Coast may be part Russian, part Spanish – but not British. Where are we from? Baltimore, maybe? Philadelphia? Suggestions?”
Sharpie said, “I have a suggestion, Cap’n Zebbie.”
“Science Officer, I like your suggestions.”
“You won’t like this one. When all else fails, tell the truth.”

Chapter XXI

three seconds is a long time –

Deety:
Zebadiah is convinced that I can program anything. Usually I can, given a large and flexible computer – but my husband expects me to manage it with Gay Deceiver and Gay is not big. She started life as an autopilot and is one, mostly.
But Gay is sweet-tempered and we both want to please him.
While he and my father were looking over the area that we thought of as “Russian Valley” or “New Russia,” he asked me to work up a program to locate the British colony in minimum time, if it were in daylight. If not, then we would sleep near the sunrise line, and find it on the new daylight side.
I thought of bouncing out about a thousand kilometers and searching for probable areas by color. Then I realized that I didn’t know that much about this planet. “Dead sea bottoms” from space looked like farm land.
At last I recalled something Zebadiah had suggested yesterday – no, today! less than two hours ago. (So much had happened that my sense of time played tricks. It was still accurate – but I had to think instead of just knowing.)
Random numbers – Gay had plenty of them. Random numbers are to a computer what free will is to a human being.
I defined a locus for Gay: nothing east of where we were, nothing in “Russian Valley,” nothing on the dark side, nothing north of 45°, nothing south of 45° south. Yesterday I could not have told her the latter; but Mars has a good spin, one a gyrocompass can read. While we slept, Gay had noted that her gyrocompass did not have its axis parallel to that of this strange planet and had precessed it until it did.
Inside that locus I told Gay to take a Drunkard’s Walk, any jumps that suited her, a three-second pause at each vertex, and, if one of us yelled “Bingo!” display latitude, longitude, and Greenwich, and log all three, so we could find it again.
Oh, yes – she was to pause that three seconds exactly one minimum H-above-G at each vertex.
I told her to run the program for one hour … but that any of us could yell “Stop!” and then say “Continue” and that would be time-out, not part of the hour. But I warned my shipmates that yelling “Stop!” not only slowed things but also gave Russians (or British or anybody) a chance to shoot at us. I emphasized that three seconds is a long time (most people don’t know it).
One hour –
Three seconds for each check –
Twelve hundred random spot checks – This is not a “space-filling” curve. But it should locate where the British were most thickly settled. If one hour did not do it, ten hours certainly would.
Without Gay, without her ability to do a Drunkard’s Walk, we could have searched that planet for a lifetime, and never found either colony. It took the entire human race (of our universe) thirty centuries to search Terra… and many spots were missing until they could be photographed from space.
My husband said, “Let’s get this straight.” He bounced us four minima. “These subprograms – Gay, are you listening?”
“Of course. Are you?”
“Gay, go to sleep.”
“Roger and out, Boss.”
“Deety, I want to make sure of these subprograms but couldn’t use code words while she was awake. I -“
“Excuse me, Zebadiah, but you can. She will ignore code words for subprograms except while the general program is running. The code for the general program is unusual and requires the execution command, so it can’t be started by accident. You can wake Gay. We need her on some points.”
“You’re a smart girl, Deety.”
“I’ll bet you tell that to all adequate cooks, Boss.”
“Ouch!”
“Captain, it is not difficult to program a computer to supervise cooking machines. The software sold under the trademark ‘Cordon Bicu’ is reputed to be excellent. Before you wake Gay, would you answer a hypothetical question concerning computers and cooking?”
“Captain!”
“Copilot?”
“I advise against permitting the Astrogator to discuss side issues – such as cooking – while we have this problem facing us.”
“Thank you, Copilot. Astrogator, what was your hypothetical question?”
Pop had been careful not to interfere between Zebadiah and me, But his advice from copilot to captain was intended for my ears – he was telling me to shut up, and I suddenly heard Jane saying, “Deety, anytime a wife thinks she has won an argument, she has lost it.”
I’m not Jane, I’m Deety. I get my temper from my father. I’m not as quick to flare up as he is, but I do have his tendency to nurse a grievance. Zebadiah is sometimes a tease and knows how to get my goat.
But Pop was telling me: “Drop it, Deety!”
Maybe Zebadiah was right – too much argument, too much discussion, too much “sewing circle & debating society.” We were all intensely interested as we were all in the same peril… but how much tougher is it to be captain rather than one of the crew? Twice? Ten times?
I didn’t know, Was my husband cracking under the pressure? “Getting ulcers”?
Was I adding to his burden?
I didn’t have to stop to think this through; it was preprogrammed below the conscious level; Pop pushed the “execute” button and the answers spilled out. I answered my husband at once,
“What hypocritical question, sir?”
“You said, ‘hypothetical.’ Something about computers and cooking.”
“Captain, my mind has gone blank. Perhaps we had better get on with the job before I forget how it works.”
“Deety, you wouldn’t fib to your pool’ old broken-down husband?”
“Sir, when my husband is poor and old and broken-down, I will not fib to him.”
“Hmm – If I hadn’t already promised my support to Hilda, I would vote for you for captain.”
Aunt Hilda cut in: “Zebbie, I release you! I’m not a candidate.”
“No, Sharpie, once having promised political support an honorable man never welches. So it’s all right for Gay to listen in?”
“Certainly, sir. For display I must have her. Hello, Gay.”
“Hi, Deety.”
“Display dayside, globe.” At once Gay’s largest screen showed the western hemisphere of Earth, our Earth in our universe – Terra. Early afternoon at Snug Harbor? Yes, the clock in my head said so and GMT on the instrument board read 20:23:07. Good heavens, it had been only twenty hours since my husband and my father had killed the fake “ranger.” How can a lifetime be crowded into less than a day? Despite the clock in my head it seemed years since I had walked down to our pool, a touch tiddly and hanging onto my bridegroom for support.
“Display meridians parallels. Subtract geographical features,” Gay did so. “From program coded ‘A Tramp Abroad’ display locus.”
Gay used orthographic projection, so the 45th parallels were straight lines. Since I had told her to display dayside, these two bright lines ran to the left edge of the display, that being the sunrise line. But the right edge of the locus was an irregular line running southwest. “Add display Russian Valley.”
To the right of the locus and touching it, Gay displayed as solid brightness a very long and quite wide blotch. “Subtract Russian Valley.” The area we had sketchily explored disappeared.
“Deety,” my husband asked, “how is Gay doing this? Her perms have no reference points for Mars – not even Mars of our own universe.”
“Oh. Gay, display ‘Touchdown.'”
“Null program.”
“Mmm, yes, that’s right; the Sun has just set where we were parked. Zebadiah, shall I have her rotate the globe enough to show it? All she would show would be a bright spot almost on the equator. I have defined the spot where we grounded as zero meridian – Greenwich for Mars. This Mars.”
“And zero parallel? An arbitrary equator?”
“Oh, no, no! While we slept Gay adjusted her gyrocompass to match this planet. Which gave her true north and latitude. She already knows the radius and curvature of Mars – I started to tell her and found she had retrieved it from her perms. Aerospace Almanac?”
“I suppose so. But we discussed Mars’ diameter last night while Gay was awake. Both you and Hilda knew it; Jake and I did not.”
As I remembered it, Aunt Hilda spoke up – then Pop kept quiet. If Pop wanted to sit back and be proud of Aunt Hilda’s encyclopedic memory that was all right with me. If my husband has a flaw, it is that he has trouble believing that females have brains… probably because he is so intensely interested in the other end. I went on with my lecture:
“Once I start Gay, she will say and record nothing unless ordered. She will make random transitions inside that locus until someone yells ‘Bingo!’ She won’t slow down even then. She will place a bright point on the map at that latitude and longitude, record both latitude and longitude, and the exact time. She will display the Bingo time, too, for one second. If you want to retrieve that Bingo, you had better jot down that time – to the second. Because she’ll be doing twenty jumps each minute. Don’t worry about the hour, just the minute and the second. Oh, you could still retrieve it if you had the minute right, as I can ask her to run through all Bingoes in a given minute. Can’t be more than twenty and your Bingo might be the only one.
“When we’ve done one hour of this, that map could, at most, have twelve hundred dots on it – but may have only a few – or none. If they are clustered, I’ll reduce the locus and we’ll run it again. If not, we can sleep and eat and do it for the other day side, the one twelve hours away. Either way, Gay will find the British – and we’ll be safe.”
“I hope you’re right. Ever heard of the Opium Wars, Deety?”
“Yes, Captain. Sir, every nation is capable of atrocities, including our own. But the British have a tradition of decent behavior no matter what blemishes there are.”
“Sorry. Why a one-hour program?”
“We may have to shorten it. A decision every three seconds for sixty minutes may be too tiring. If we start showing a marked hot spot sooner than that, we can shorten the first run and reduce the locus. We’ll have to try it and see. But I feel certain that a one-hour run, a short rest, then another one-hour run, will locate the British if they are now on the day side.”
“Deety, what do you define as ‘Bingo’?”
“Anything that suggests human settlement. Buildings. Roads. Cultivated fields. Walls, fences, dams, aircraft, vehicles – But it is not ‘Bingo’just because it looks interesting. Although it might be ‘Stop!”
“What’s the difference?”
“‘Stop’ does not tell Gay to record or to display. For that you must add ‘Bingo.’ ‘Stop’ is for anything you want to look at more than three seconds. Maybe it looks promising and a few seconds more will let you decide. But please, everyone! There should not be more than a dozen calls for ‘Stop!’ in the hour. Any more questions?”
We started. Hilda gave the first Bingo. I saw it, too – farm buildings. Aunt Hilda is faster than I. I almost broke my own injunction; I had to bite down on “Stop!” The temptation to take a longer look was almost overpowering.
All of us made mistakes – but none serious. Hilda racked up the most Bingoes and Zebadiah the fewest – but I’m fairly certain that my husband was “cheating” by waiting to give Pop or me first crack at it. (He would not be competing with Aunt Hilda; port-forward and starboard-after seats have little overlapping coverage.)
I thought it would be tedious; instead it was exciting – but dreadfully tiring. Slowly, less than one a minute, bright dots appeared on the display. I saw with disappointment that most Bingoes were clustered adjacent to the irregular margin marking Russian territory. It seemed probable that these marked Russian territory, so very probable that it hardly seemed worthwhile to check for onion spires.
Once my husband called “Stop” and then “Bingo” at a point north and far west, at least fifteen hundred kilometers from the nearest Bingo light. I noted the time – Greenwich 21:16:51 – then tried to figure out why Zebadiah had stopped us. It was pretty country, green hills and lightly wooded and I spotted a wild stream, not a canal. But I saw no buildings or anything suggesting settlement.
Zebadiah wrote something on his knee pad, then said, “Continue.” I was itching to ask why he had stopped, but when a decision must be made every three seconds there is no time to chat.
When the hour was nearly up, a single Bingo light in the far west that had been shining since the first five minutes was joined by another when Hilda scored another Bingo and two minutes later Pop said “Bingo!” and we had an equilateral triangle twenty kilometers on a side. I noted the time most carefully – then told myself not to be disappointed if inspection showed onion towers; we still had a hemisphere to go.
I decided to believe in that British colony the way one has to believe hard in fairies to save Tinker Bell’s life. If there were no British colony, we might have to risk Earth-without-a-J. Gay Deceiver was a lovely car but as a spaceship she had shortcomings. No plumbing. Air for about four hours and no way to recycle. No plumbing. Limited food storage. No plumbing. No comfortable way to sleep in her. No plumbing.
But she had talents no other spaceship had. Her shortcomings (according to my father and husband) could be corrected at any modern machine shop. But in the meantime we did not have even an outhouse behind the barn.
At last Gay stopped, continued to display, and announced, “One hour of ‘A Tramp Abroad’ completed. Instructions, please.”
“Gay, Bounce,” said Zebadiah. “Deety, I don’t think we’ve nailed down the piece The Sun Never Sets On. But this dense cluster here to the right – Too close to the Little Father’s little children. Eh?”
“Yes. Zebadiah, I should tell Gay to trim the locus on the east to eliminate the clustered lights, and now we can add almost nine hundred kilometers on the west, to the present sunrise line. Gay can rotate the display to show the added area. I suspect that one more hour will fill in the picture sufficiently.”
“Maybe even less. You were right; three seconds is not only a long time; it is excessively long. Isn’t two seconds enough? Can you change that without starting from scratch?”
“Yes to both, Captain.”
“Good. You can add thirty degrees on the west instead of fifteen. Because we are going to kill an hour – stretch our legs, eat a snack… and I for one want to find a bush. How do I tell Gay to return to a particular Bingo? Or will that mess up your program?”
“Not a bit. Tell her to return to Bingo such-and-such, stating the time.”
I was unsurprised when he said, “Gay, return to Bingo Greenwich twenty-one sixteen fifty-one.”
It was indeed a pretty stream. Zebadiah said happily, “That beats burning juice. Who sees a clearing close to that creek, big enough for Gay? Hover and squat, I mean; I don’t dare make a glide landing, dead stick – the old girl is loaded.”
“Zebbie, I’m sober as you are!”
“Don’t boast about it, Sharpie. I think I see a spot. Close your eyes; I’m going to.”
I almost wish I had.
Zebadiah came in on a long glide, everything set for maximum lift – but no power. I kept waiting for that vibration that meant that Gay was alive and roaring… and waited… and waited –
He said, “Gay – ” and I thought that he was going to tell her to turn herself on. No. We actually dropped below the level of that bank.
Then he suddenly switched on power by hand but in reverse – flipped us up on that bank; we stalled, and dropped perhaps a meter – we just barely missed that bank.
I didn’t say anything. Aunt Hilda was whispering, “Hail Mary Mother of God Om Mani Padme Hum There is No God but God and Mahomet is His Prophet – ” then some language I did not know but it sounded very sincere.
Pop said, “Son, do you always cut it that fine?”
“I saw a man do it that way when he had to; I’ve always wondered if I could. But what you didn’t know was – Gay, are you listening?”
“Sure thing, Boss. You alerted me. Where’s the riot?”
“You’re a smart girl, Gay.”
“Then why am I pushing this baby carriage?”
“Gay, go to sleep.”
“Sleepy time. Roger and out, Boss.”
“Jake, what you didn’t know was that I had my cheeks puffed to say B, O, U, N, C, E, explosively. Your gadget has made Gay’s reflexes so fast that I knew I could come within a split second of disaster and she would get us out. I wasn’t cutting didoes. Look at that meter. Seventy-four percent of capacity. I don’t know how many landings I’m going to have to make on that much juice.”
“Captain, it was brilliant. Even though it almost scared it out of me.”
“Wrong honorific, Captain. I’m the pilot going off duty. We’re landed; my resignation is effective; you’re holding the sack.”
“Zeb, I told you that I would not be captain.”
“You can’t help it; you are. The second-in-command takes command when the captain dies, or goes over the hill – or quits. Jake, you can cut your throat, or desert, or go on the binnacle list, or take other actions – but you can’t say you are not captain, when you are – Captain!”
“If you can resign, I can resign!”
“Obviously. To the Astrogator, she being next in line of command.”
“Deety, I resign! Captain Deety, I mean.”
“Pop, you can’t do this to me! I’ll – I’ll – ” I shut up because I didn’t know what to do. Then I did. “I resign… Captain Hilda.”
“What? Why, that’s silly, Deety. A medical officer is not in line of command. But if ‘medical officer’ is a joke and ‘science officer,’ too, then I’m a passenger and still not in line of command.”
My husband said, “Sharpie, you have the qualifications the rest of us have. You can drive a duo -“
“Suddenly I’ve forgotten how.”
” – but that’s not necessary. Mature judgment and the support of your crew are the only requirements, as we are millions of miles and several universes from licenses and such. You have my support; I think you have it from the rest. Jake?”
“Me? Of course!”
“Deety?”
“Captain Hilda knows she has my support,” I agreed. “I was first to call her ‘Captain.'”
Aunt Hilda said, “Deety, I’ve just resigned.”
“Oh, no, you haven’t anybody to resign to!” I’m afraid I was shrill.
“I resign to the Great Spirit Manitou. Or to you, Zebbie, and it comes around in a circle and you are captain again… as you should be.”
“Oh, no, Sharpie. I’ve stood my watch; it’s somebody else’s turn. Now that you have resigned, we have no organization. If you think you’ve stuck me with it, think again. You have simply picked an unusual way to homestead on this spot. In the meantime, while nobody is in charge, I hope that you all are getting both ears and a belly full of what got me disgusted. Yack yack yack, argue, fuss, and jabber – a cross between a Hyde Park open forum and a high school debating society.”
Aunt Hilda said, in sober surprise, “Why, Zebbie, you almost sound vindictive.”
“Mrs. Burroughs, it is possible that you have hit upon the right word. I have taken a lot of guff… and quite a bit of it has been from you.”
I haven’t seen Aunt Hilda look so distressed since Mama Jane died. “I am very sorry, Zebbie. I had not realized that my conduct had displeased you so. I did not intend it so, ever. I am aware – constantly! – that you have saved our – my – life five distinct times… as well as continuously by your leadership. I’m as grateful as my nature permits – a giant amount, even though you consider me a shallow person. But one can’t show deepest gratitude every instant, just as one cannot remain in orgasm continuously; some emotions are too strong to stay always at peak.”
She sighed, and tears rolled down her face. “Zebbie, will you let me try again? I’ll quit being a Smart Aleck. It will be a hard habit to break; I’ve been one for years – my defense mechanism. But I will break it.”
“Don’t be so tragic, Hilda,” Zebadiah said gently. “You know I love you… despite your little ways.”
“Oh, I know you do! – you big ugly giant. Will you come back to us? Be our captain again?”
“Hilda, I’ve never left. I’ll go right on doing the things I know how to do or can learn. And as I’m told. But I won’t be captain.”
“Oh, dear!”
“It’s not tragic. We simply elect a new C.O.”
My father picked this moment to get hairy. “Zeb, you’re being pretty damned stiff-necked and self-righteous with Hilda. I don’t think she has misbehaved.”
“Jake, you are in no position to judge. First, because she’s your bride. Second, because you haven’t been sitting in the worry seat; I have. And you have supplied some of the worst guff yourself.”
“I was not aware of it… Captain.”
“You’re doing it now… by calling me ‘Captain’ when I’m not. But do you recall a couple of hours ago when I asked my second-in-command for advice – and got some back chat about ‘written orders’?”
“Mmm… I was out of line. Yes, sir.”
“Do you want other examples?”
“No. No, I stipulate that there are others. I understand your point, sir.” Pop gave a wry smile. “Well, I’m glad Deety hasn’t given you trouble.”
“On the contrary, she has given me the most.”
I had been upset – iI had never really believed that Zebadiah would resign. But now I was shocked and bewildered and hurt. “Zebadiah, what have I done?”
“The same sort of nonsense as the other two… but harder for me because I’m married to you.”
“But – But what?”
“I’ll tell you in private.”
“It’s all right for Pop and Aunt Hilda to hear.”
“Not with me. We can share our joys with others but difficulties between us we settle in private.”
My nose was stuffy and I was blinking back tears. “But I must know.”
“Dejah Thoris, you can list the incidents if you choose to be honest with yourself. You have perfect memory and it all took place in the last twenty-four hours.”
He turned his face away from me. “One thing I must urge before we choose a captain. I let myself be wheedled and bullied into surrendering authority on the ground. That was a bad mistake. A sea captain is still captain when his ship is anchored. Whoever becomes captain should profit by my mistake and not relinquish any authority merely because Gay is grounded. She can relax the rules according to the situation. But the captain must decide. The situation can be more dangerous on the ground than in air or in space. As it was today when the Russians showed up. Simply grounding must not be: ‘School’s out! Now we can play!'”
“I’m sorry, Zebbie.”
“Hilda, I was more at fault than you. I wanted to be free of responsibility. I let myself be talked into it, then my brain went on vacation. Take that ‘practice hike.’ I don’t recall who suggested it -“
“I did,” said my father.
“Maybe you did, Jake; but we all climbed on the bandwagon. We were about to run off like a bunch of Scouts with no Scoutmaster. If we had started as quickly as we had expected to, where would we be now? In a Russian jail? Or dead? Oh, I’m not giving myself high marks; one reason I’ve resigned is that I haven’t handled it well. Planning to leave Gay Deceiver and everything we own unguarded while we made walkabout – good God! If I had felt the weight of command I would never have considered it.”
Zebadiah made a sour face, then looked at my father. “Jake, you’re eldest. Why don’t you take the gavel while we pick a new C.O.? I so move.”
“Second!”
“Question!”
“White ballot!”
“What gavel? I’ll bet there isn’t a gavel on this planet.” In a moment Father quit stalling. We all voted, using a page from Zebadiah’s notebook torn in four. They were folded and handed to me and I was required to declare the vote. So I did:

Zeb
Zebadiah
Zebbie
Sharpie

Zebadiah reached back, got the ballots from me, handed back the one that meant “Aunt Hilda,” took the other three and tore them into small pieces.
“Apparently you did not understand me. I’ve stood my watch; someone else must take it – or we’ll park on this bank until we die of old age. Sharpie seems to have an overwhelming lead – is she elected? Or do we ballot again?”
We balloted again:

Sharpie
Jacob
Jacob
Hilda

“A tie,” Father said. “Shall we invite Gay to vote?”
“Shut up and deal the cards.”

Sharpie
Deety
Deety
Hilda

“Hey!” I protested. “Who switched?” (I certainly didn’t vote for me.)

Sharpie
Hilda
Zebbie
Hilda

“One spoiled ballot,” said my husband. “A non-candidate. Will you confirm that, Mr. Chairman?”
“Yes,” Pop agreed. “My dear … Captain Hilda. You are elected without a dissenting vote.”
Aunt Hilda looked as if she might cry again. “You’re a bunch of stinkers!”
“So we are,” agreed my husband, “But we are your stinkers, Captain Hilda.” That got him a wan smile. “Guess maybe. Well, I’ll try.”
“We’ll all try,” said Pop.
“And we’ll all help,” said my husband.
“Sure we will!” I said, and meant it.
Pop said, “If you will excuse me? I’ve been anxious to find a handy bush since before this started.” He started to get out.
“Just a moment!”
“Eh? Yes, my dear? Captain.”
“No one is to seek out a bush without an armed guard. Not more – and not less – than two people are to leave the car’s vicinity at one time. Jacob, if your need is urgent, you must ask Zebbie to hurry – I want the guard to carry both rifle and pistol.”
I think it worked out that Pop got the use of a bush last – and must have been about to burst his bladder. Later I overheard Pop say, “Son, you’ve read Aesop’s Fables?”
“Certainly.”
“Does anything remind you of King Log and King Stork?”

Chapter XXII

“‘From each according to his ability, to each according to his needs.'”

Hilda:
I could tell from the first ballot that Zebbie was determined to make me take a turn as captain. Once I realized that, I decided to be captain – let them get sick of me and anxious to have Zebbie back.
Then suddenly I was captain – and it’s different. I did not ever again think of trying to make them sick of me; I just started to worry. And try.
First my husband wanted to find a bush for the obvious reason – and I suddenly realized that a banth might get him. Not a Barsoomian banth but whatever this planet held in dangerous carnivores.
So I ordered armed guards. With rules about not getting separated. It was a nuisance but I was firm… and knew at last what a crushing load there had been on Zebbie.
But one thing I could improve: Arrange for us to sleep inside the car.
The space back of the bulkhead behind the rear seats was not organized. We had about six hours till sundown (having gained on the Sun in going west), so I had everything in that space pulled out.
Space enough for Zebbie and Deety, on his sleeping bag opened out, blankets over them. Jacob and I? The piloting chairs we moved forward all the set screws would allow, laid them back almost fh~t and padded the cracks with pillows, and, to support our legs, the cushions from the rear seats were placed on boxes we would otherwise discard once I had the car organized. It wasn’t the best bed but low gravity and my cuddlesome husband made it a most attractive one.
Baths – In the stream and cold! Same rules as for bushes: armed guards. Soap thoroughly on the bank, get in and rinse fast, bounce out and towel till you glowed. Primitive? Luxurious!
This did not go smoothly. Take the “handy bush” problem. I did not have to be told that a latrine should be downstream or that our shovel should be carried every time without fail – rules for a clean camp are as old as the Old Testment.
But my first order called for no more than two and no less than two to leave the car at any time, and one must be armed – the other rifle and pistol must guard Gay.
I blurted out that order when the truth landed on me like a load of bricks that I, the runt who had never grown up, was now responsible for the lives of four people. At the time my orders seemed not only logical but necessary and feasible: Jacob would guard me, Zebbie would guard Deety, our men would guard each other.
There was a flaw. I did not realize that my edict required: a) one rifleman always to be at the car; b) both men to be away from the car from time to time.
Since this is not possible I amended it: When the men had to answer calls of nature, we women would lock ourselves in. I didn’t know that this planet had anything more dangerous than Alice’s Bread-and-Butter Fly. But that was the point: I didn’t know and until I did, I must assume that something as dangerous as a tiger lurked behind every bush.
Heavens! the bush might be carnivorous.
I was learning, with breath-snatching speed, something that most people never learn: A commanding officer’s “unlimited” authority isn’t freedom; it’s a straitjacket. She can’t do as she pleases; she never can – because every minute, awake and asleep, she must protect those under her command.
She can’t take any avoidable risk herself; her life does not belong to her; it belongs to her command.
When the captaincy was thrust on me, I decided that we would stay where we were until Gay Deceiver was reorganized so that all four of us could sleep comfortably and safely – no swollen ankles.
Sharpie hadn’t thought of this; Captain Hilda Burroughs thought of it at once. Captain Zebbie had thought of it when we first grounded, then had let himself be overruled.
I knew that I could rearrange the car to let us all sleep behind locked doors. But it would take time, sweat, and muscles, and I had just proclaimed an order that would take one or both sets of big muscles off the job for… how many times a day? Four people? Such needs can’t be hurried. I had a horrid suspicion that having someone standing over you with a rifle, even your nearest and dearest, might cause a healthy reflex to fail.
What to do?
Cancel the order?
No!
Cancel if a better scheme turned up. But don’t cancel without finding something better. This was a pretty spot, but there still might be that “banth.” Or bandersnatch. Or boojum. Especially a boojum. What if Zebbie should wander off that distance dictated by modesty and/or relaxation of nerves… and “softly and silently vanish away”?
And it was Zebbie I was having trouble with – Zebbie, who wasn’t going to give the new captain any back talk whatsoever. “Cap’n Hilda honey, I don’t need a chaperon, honest. I’ll carry my rifle and guard myself. No problem. Safety off and a cartridge under the firing pin. Promise.”
“Zebbie, I am not asking you, I am telling you.”
“But I don’t like to leave you girls unguarded!”
“Chief Pilot.”
“Ma’am. Captain.”
“I am not a girl. I am eleven years your senior.”
“I simply meant -“
“Pipe down!”
The poor dear’s ears turned red but he shut up. I said, “Astrogator!”
“Huh? Yes, Captain Auntie.”
“Can you use a rifle?”
“Oh, sure, Pop made me learn. But I don’t like a rifle; I like my shotgun.”
“Take the Chief Pilot’s rifle and guard the camp -“
“Look, I can do it better with my shotgun.”
“Pipe down and carry out your orders.”
Deety looked startled, trotted over to Zebbie, who surrendered his rifle without comment, face frozen.
“Copilot,” I said to my husband, “arm yourself with rifle and pistol, go with the Chief Pilot, guard him while he does what he has to do.”
Zebbie swallowed. “Sharpie – I mean ‘Captain Sharpie.’ It won’t be necessary. The golden moment has passed. All this talk.”
“Chief Pilot, please refrain from using my nickname while I am your commanding officer. Copilot, carry out your orders. Remain with the Chief Pilot and guard him continuously as long as necessary to accomplish the purpose of the trip.” (If Zebbie meant “constipation” – an emotional to-do can have that effect – I would act later in my capacity as “medical officer” – and it would not take four husky orderlies to make Zebbie hold still. The authority of a commanding officer almost never requires force. Odd but true – I wondered how I knew that.)
Once our men were out of earshot, I said, “Deety, could I learn to shoot that rifle?”
“I’m not sure I’m speaking to you. You humiliated my husband… when we all owe him so much.”
“Astrogator!”
Deety’s eyes got wide. “Good God – it’s gone to your head!”
“Astrogator.”
“Uh… yes, Captain.”
“You will refrain from personal remarks to me or about me during my tenure as commanding officer. Acknowledge that order, then log it.”
Deety’s face assumed the expression that means that she has shut out the world. “Aye aye, Captain. Gay Deceiver!”
“Hello, Deety!”
“Log mode. The Captain has ordered the Astrogator to refrain from personal remarks to her or about her during her tenure as commanding officer. I acknowledge receipt of order and will comply. Log date, time, and Bingo code. I tell you three times.”
“Deety, I hear you three times.”
“Back to sleep, Gay.”
“Roger and out.”
Deety turned to me, face and voice normal again. “Captain, I can teach you to shoot in such a way that you won’t get a sore shoulder or be knocked down. But to become a good shot with a rifle takes a long time. My shotgun doesn’t kick as hard… and you won’t need skill.”
“I thought a shotgun was more difficult.”
“Depends. A shotgun is usually for surprise targets in the air. That takes skill. But for a stationary target – within range – it’s about like a garden hose. The shot spreads in a cone. So easy that it’s not sporting.”
“‘Not sporting’ suits me. Will you show me how? What kind of target do we need?”
“It ought to be a large sheet of paper to show how the shot spreads. But, Captain, you know what will happen if I fire a gun?”
“What?”
“We will have two men back here at a dead run – one of them trying to dress as he runs. I don’t think he’ll be pleased.”
“Meaning I shouldn’t get Zebbie angry twice in ten minutes.”
“It might be your husband. Stands to reason that they’ll both take care of needs before returning. If I fire a shot, I’d better have a dead body to show for it, or one or the other will blow his top. Or both.”
“Both! Thanks, Deety – I didn’t think it through.”
“But also, the Captain will recall that she ordered me to guard camp. I can’t teach shooting at the same time.”
(Sharpie, can’t you do anything right?) “No, of course you can’t! Deety, I’m off to a bad start. All of you annoyed at me and one, maybe two, really angry.”
“Does the Captain expect me to comment?”
“Deety, can’t you call me ‘Aunt Hilda’?” I wasn’t crying – I’ve trained myself not to. But I needed to. “Yes, I want your comment.”
“Captain Aunt Hilda, I need to call you by your title to keep myself reminded that you are captain. Since you ordered me to refrain from personal remarks to you or about you, I needed a second order before I could comment.”
“As bad as that? Don’t spare me but make it quick.”
“The Captain hasn’t done badly.”
“I haven’t? Deety, don’t fib to Hilda; you never used to.”
“And I’m not going to now. Captain, I think you are off to a good start.”
“But you said it had gone to my head!”
“I was wrong. I realized how wrong when I was logging your order to me. What I said was worse than anything I said to Zebadiah while he was captain – he required me to review in my mind all the things I’ve said… and at least twice he should have given me a fat lip” – Deety smiled grimly – “‘cept that Zebadiah couldn’t bring himself to strike a woman even if she weren’t pregnant. Captain – Captain Aunt Hilda honey – Zebadiah didn’t crack down on us when he should have. He turned over to you a gang of rugged individualists, not one with any concept of discipline. I certainly had none. But I do now.”
“I’m not sure that I do,” I said miserably.
“It means obeying orders you don’t like and strongly disagree with – with no back talk. ‘Into the jaws of death rode the six hundred.’ Zebadiah would not do that to us… but he did let us annoy him into testing my new Bug-Out program. He had told me that the test was a useless risk; I should have agreed because it was useless. Instead I gave him a snooty ‘No comment,’ and you were as bad and Pop was worse. Mmm… I don’t think Zebadiah has had much experience as a commanding officer.”
“Why so, Deety? He is a captain.”
“That doesn’t mean that he has ever been a commanding officer. He has soloed quite a lot, in fighters. He has logged control time in larger craft or he wouldn’t hold a command pilot rating. But has he ever actually commanded? Nothing he has said to me indicated it… but he did tell me that before the last war a major was often captain of an air-and-space craft but now it almost always took a lieutenant colonel while majors wound up as copilots. He was explaining why he liked one-man fighters so well. Aunt Hilda – Captain – I think commanding was as new to Zebadiah as it is to you. Like sex, or having a baby, you can’t understand it till you’ve tried it.” She suddenly grinned. “So don’t hold Zebadiah’s mistakes against him.”
“What mistakes? He’s saved our lives again and again. I don’t blame him – now – for wanting a rest from commanding. Deety, it’s the hardest work possible even if you don’t lift a finger. I never suspected it. I don’t expect to sleep a wink tonight.”
“We’ll guard you!”
“No.”
“Yes, we will!”
“Pipe down.”
“Sorry, Ma’am.”
“What mistakes did Zebbie make?”
“Well… he didn’t crack down. You wasted no time in letting us know who is boss. You didn’t let us argue; you slapped us down at once. I hate to say this but I think you have more talent for command than Zebadiah has.”
“Deety, that’s silly!”
“Is it? Napoleon wasn’t tall.”
“So I have a Napoleonic complex. Humph!”
“Captain, I’m going to ignore that because, under that order you made me log, I’m damned if I do and damned if I don’t.”
“Well… I know how not to get a Napoleonic complex. Deety, you’re my second-in-command.”
“But Pop is second-in-command.”
“Wrong tense. ‘Was’ – he is no longer. As astrogator you may have inherited it anyhow; you can ask Zebbie – but in private; my decision is not subject to debate. Simply acknowledge it.”
“I – Aye aye, Captain.”
“You are now required to advise me whenever you think that I am about to make a serious mistake. You are also required to advise me on request.”
“My advice isn’t worth much. Look how I goofed a few minutes ago.”
“That was before you were appointed second-in-command. Deety, actually holding an office makes a big difference.”
Deety blinked and looked solemn, then said soberly, “Yes, I think it does. Yes, it does. I feel it, I do! Weird.”
“Wait till you’re captain. Eight times as weird.”
“Never. Pop wouldn’t go for it, Zebadiah wouldn’t, I won’t – that’s three votes.”
“I said No right up to the point where I could not avoid it. Don’t worry about it now. I’ll boss and you’ll advise me.”
“In that case, Captain, I advise you to reconsider letting us guard you. After we eat and start scouting again, I advise that, even if we find the British quickly, instead of making contact, we should find a spot as deserted as this at the sunrise line and get a long day’s sleep. We crew can get eight hours – I’ll take the middle watch; the men can get eight hours solid each… and the Captain can get anything up to twelve.”
“Advice noted. It’s good advice. But that’s not the program; we’re going to sleep here.” I told Deety what I had in mind. “When the car is restowed, we’ll eat. If there is daylight left, we’ll bathe before we eat. Otherwise in the morning.”
“I’d rather hurry through eating and get a bath… since you tell me I’m going to be able to sleep with my husband. When I’m frightened I stink worse… and I’ve been much more scared than I’ve tried to let on.”
“Into cold water after eating? Deety, you know better.”
“Oh. I’ll skip eating, if necessary, to bathe.”
“Astrogator, we’ll do it my way.”
“Yes, Captain. But I stink, I do.”
“We’ll all stink by the time we restow this car and may wind up eating sandwiches in the dark because everything that we don’t throw away is going to be inside with us and Gay locked and not a light showing by sundown.” I cocked my head. “Hear something, Deety?”

Our men came back looking cheerful, with Zebbie carrying Jacob’s rifle and wearing Jacob’s pistol. Zebbie gave me a big grin. “Cap’n, there wasn’t a durn thing wrong with me that Carter’s Little Liver Pills couldn’t have fixed. Now I’m right.”
“Good.”
“But just barely,” agreed my husband. “Hilda – Captain Hilda my beloved – your complex schedule almost caused me to have a childish accident.”
“I think that unnecessary discussion wasted more time than did my schedule. As may be, Jacob, I would rather have to clean up a ‘childish accident’ than have to bury you.”
“But -“
“Drop the matter!”
“Pop, you had better believe it!” sang out Deety.
Jacob looked startled (and hurt, and I felt the hurt). Zebbie looked sharply at me, no longer grinning. He said nothing, went to Deety, reached for his rifle. “I’ll take that, hon.”
Deety held it away from him. “The Captain has not relieved me.”
“Oh. Okay, we’ll do it by the book.” Zebbie looked at me. “Captain, I thoroughly approve of your doctrine of a continuous guard; I was too slack. It was my intention to relieve the watch. I volunteer to stand guard while you three eat -“
” – then I’ll guard while Zeb eats,” added Jacob. “We already worked it out. When do we eat? I could eat an ostrich with the feathers left on.” He added, “Hilda my love, you’re captain… but you’re still cook, aren’t you? Or is Deety the cook?”
(Decisions! How does the captain of a big ship cope?) “I’ve made changes. Deety remains astrogator but is now second-in-command and my executive officer. In my absence she commands. When I’m present, Deety’s orders are my orders; she will be giving them to implement what I want done. Neither she nor I will cook. Uh, medical officer – ” (Damn it, Sharpie, all those hours in the emergency room make you the only candidate. Or does it? Mmm – ) “Zebbie, does ‘command pilot’ include paramedical training?”
“Yes. Pretty sketchy. What to do to keep the bloke alive until the surgeon sees him.”
“You’re medical officer. I am assistant medical officer when you need me – if I don’t have something else that must be done.”
“Captain, may I put in a word?”
“Please do, Chief Pilot.”
“Sometimes you have to let the bloke die because there is something else that has to be done.” Zebbie looked bleak. “Saw it happen. Does no good to worry ahead of time or grieve about it afterwards. You do what you must.”
“So I am learning, Zebbie. Cook – Gentlemen, I’ve never eaten your cooking. You must assess yourselves. Which one of you is ‘adequate’ -“
“Ouch.”
“Your wording, Zebbie. – and which one is inadequate?”
They backed and filled and deferred to each other, so I put a stop to it. “You will alternate as first and second cook until evidence shows that one is chief cook and the other assistant. Jacob, today you are first cook -“
“Good! I’ll get busy at once!”
“No, Jacob.” I explained what we were going to do. “While you two get everything out of the car, Deety will teach me the rudiments of shotgun. Then I will take over guard duty and she can help unload. But keep your rifles loaded and handy, ’cause if I shoot, I’ll need help in a hurry. Then, when we restow, I’ll do it because I’m smallest and can stand up, mostly, behind the bulkhead. While Zebbie stands guard, and Deety and Jacob pass things in to me.”
Jacob wasn’t smiling – and I suddenly recognized his expression. I once had a dog who (theoretically) was never fed at the table. He would sit near my knee and look at me with that same expression. Why, my poor darling was hungry! Gut-rumble hungry. I had such a galloping case of nerves from becoming captain that I had no appetite.
“Deety, in the pantry back at Snug Harbor I noticed a carton of Milky Way bars. Did that get packed?”
“Certainly did! Those are Pop’s – his vice and eventual downfall.”
“Really? I don’t recall seeing him eat one.”
My husband said, “I haven’t been eating them lately. All things considered, my dear – my dear Captain – I prefer you to candy bars.”
“Why, thank you, Jacob! Will you share those candy bars? We understand that they are your personal property.”
“They are not my personal property; they belong to all of us. Share and share alike.”
“Yup,” agreed Zebbie. “A perfect communism. ‘From each according to his ability, to each according to his needs.’ With the usual communist dictator on top.”
“Zebbie, I’ve been called everything from a black reactionary to a promiscuous old whore – but never before a communist dictator. Very well, you may address me as ‘Comrade Captain.’ When we come across those candy bars, everybody grab one for quick energy – unless somebody remembers where they were packed?”
“Gay knows!” said Deety, and backed toward the car’s open door while still keeping her eyes swinging the arc away from the river-perfect sentry and looking cute at it. “Gay Deceiver!”
“Hi, Deety! Getting any?”
“Inventory. Food supplies. Candy. Milky Way bars. Report location.”
“Frame twenty. Starboard. Closed storage seven-Ess-high. Bottom shelf.”

Five hours later everything was back inside except a heap of wrapping, packaging, and such – yet the increase in space was far greater than that pile. This was because storage did not have to be logical. Just tell Gay. A left shoe could fill an odd space in with the swords while the right shoe from the same pair was a space filler in a tool storage far to the rear – yet the only inconvenience lay in having to go to two places to get them.
I did the stowing; Deety stayed in the cabin, received items handed from outside, described the item to Gay, then described to Gay where the item was stowed, as I reported it. Gay was under instruction to hear only Deety’s voice – and what Deety told Gay was so logical that no one need remember it. Like this: “Gay Deceiver.”
“Boss, when will you learn to say ‘Please’?”
“Clothing. Zeb. Shoes. Field boots.”
“Right boot. Abaft bulkhead. Starboard. Frame forty. Under deckplate. Outboard compartment. Left boot. Abaft bulkhead. Portside. Frame sixty. Under deckplate, middle compartment. Warning: Both boots filled with rifle ammo padded with socks.”
You see? If you got categories in the wrong order, Gay would restring them. Give her the basic category and the identification, leaving out the other steps, and Gay would search the “tree” (Deety’s words) and get the “twig” you identified. You could even fail to give category and she would search until she found it.
But hardest was to build up the decking of the rear compartment about twenty centimeters with chattels or stores that would not crush, fasten it down to keep it from floating in free fall, and make it smooth enough that it would not be unbearably lumpy as a bed – while making some effort neither to build into this platform nor to store in compartments under it things needed frequently or quickly.
I had to lower my standards. It is impossible to store so many things in such limited space and have all readily at hand.
I studied things outside, admitted that I could not do it, then asked for advice. Zebbie solved it: “Captain, do a dry run.”
“Uh… go on, Zebbie.”
“Take my sleeping bag inside, open it out. It is too wide for the space, especially at the rear. So keep it as far forward as you can and still miss Jake’s twister and the bulkhead door. Mark the amount you have to lap it. Mark on the deck the foot of the opened-out bag. You’ll find space abaft that, frustum of a cone, sort of. Drag the sleeping bag outside, mark the tuck-in, build your platform on it. Then fill that rear space and build a bulkhead. Better get Jake; he’s a born mechanic.”
“Zebbie, would you prefer to build this bed yourself?”
“Nope.”
“Why not? I’m not speaking as captain; I’m inquiring as your old friend Sharpie.”
“Because I’m twice as big as you, which makes that space half as big for me. Tell you what, Cap’n Sharpie – excuse me! – Captain Hilda – do the measuring. Meanwhile we’ll pick out plunder that might be bricks in that platform. Then drag the sleeping bag outside. If you’ll let Jake relieve me, Deety and I can piece together the platform in jig time.”
It changed “impossible” to “possible.” The cubbyhole was filled, contents held in place with opened-out cartons tied with wire to hold-downs – “padeyes” Jacob called them. The platform was built, chinked with this and that, covered with more flattened-out cartons, and topped off with sleeping bag and blankets.
It was still light. Deety assured me that there was one hour and forty-three minutes till sundown. “Time enough if we hurry. Jacob, first bath. Deety, guard him. Both come back so Jacob can start dinner – then Zebbie and Deety go down – goodness, this sounds like the farmer and the rowboat with the fox and the geese – and bathe, taking turns guarding. Both come back; Deety relieves me; Zebbie takes me down to bathe while he guards. But please hurry; I want a bath, too. Forty minutes before sundown bathing stops and we eat – at sundown we are inside, dirty dishes and all, locked in till sunrise. If that does me out of a bath, we still hold to it. Jacob, how far is this ‘easy way’ down? I mean, ‘How many minutes?'”
“Maybe five. Hilda my love, if you weren’t insisting on always-two-together there would be no hurry. All go down together; I hurry through my bath, grab my rifle and trot back. The rest needn’t hurry. You’ve got us going down and up, down and up, four times – forty minutes. Which squeezes four baths into twenty minutes, five minutes to undress, soap, squat down and rinse off, towel dry, and dress. Hardly worth the trip.”
“Jacob, who guards you while you’re getting supper? No. I can bathe in the morning.” (Damn! I wanted that bath. I’m used to a shower in the morning, a tub at night, a bidet at any excuse. Decadent – that’s me.)
“Beloved, this place is safe. While we were out earlier, Zeb and I scouted for sign. None. That’s when we found this way down to the creek. It would be a natural watering place. No sign. I don’t think there are any large fauna here.”
I was wavering when Deety spoke up. “Pop, that’s three down-and-ups, not four, as Zebadiah and I get baths on one. But, Captain Hilda, if we all go down and come back together, there can’t be danger. Put that stuff back inside and lock up, of course.” She pointed at Jacob’s preparations. While Jacob had been handing stuff to Deety, he had set aside a hot plate, cooking and eating utensils, a tarpaulin, comestibles for supper and breakfast, and had passed word for me please to store food so that it could be reached easily.
Jacob said hastily, “Deety, I’ve got it planned for minimum therbligs. Dried apricots soaking in that pan, soup mix in that one. There’s no level deck space left inside.”
Deety started to say, “But, Pop, if we – ” when I cut in with, “Quiet, please” – not shouted.
They kept quiet – “Captain Bligh” was being listened to. “Gay Deceiver will not be left unguarded. My orders will not be discussed further. One modification: Supper is cut from forty minutes to twenty-five. Astrogator adjust schedule accordingly. Sound a blast on the siren five minutes before suppertime. We lock up on the dot. I placed the honey bucket just beyond the swing of the bulkhead door as the car will not be unlocked for any reason until sunrise. Questions?”
“Yes, Captain. Where are the towels?”

An hour later I was squatting in the stream, rinsing off and hurrying – covered with goose bumps. As I stepped out, Zebbie put down his rifle and had a big, fluffy towel, long as I am tall, waiting to wrap me. I should have required him to behave as a guard should.
But I told myself that he was still wearing his revolver and, anyhow, he has this sixth sense about danger – lying in my teeth. Nothing makes a woman feel more cherished than to have a man wrap her in a big towel the instant she’s out of the water. I lack character, that’s all. Every woman has her price, and a big, fluffy towel at the right time comes close to being mine.
Zebbie was rubbing firmly, getting me not only dry but warm. “Feels good, Captain?”
“‘Captain Hilda’ never came down the bank, Zebbie. Feels swell!”
“Remember the first time I gave you a rubdown?”
“Sure do! Dressing room at my pool.”
“Yup. I tried to lay you. I’ve never been turned down so smoothly.”
“You tried to lay me, Zebbie? Truly?” I looked up at him, my best innocent look.
“Sharpie darling, you lie as easily as I do. A man does this” – and he did – “even with a towel, a woman is certain what he means. But you refused to notice it, turned me down, without hurting my pride.”
“I’m refusing to notice it now and find it just as difficult as I did that afternoon. Stop it, please!” He did. “Thanks, dear. You got me all shaky. Zebbie, do you think Deety thinks I rigged this to get you alone? I would not willingly upset her.”
“On the contrary. She gave me a hunting license concerning you – you, not females in general – ten days back. In writing.”
“Really?”
“In writing so that she could limit it. I am required not to run any risk of hurting Jake.”
“You haven’t tried to use that license.”
“I took it as a compliment to you and to me, kissed Deety and thanked her. You settled this four years ago. But I’ve sometimes wondered why. I’m young, healthy, take care of my teeth, and keep my nails clean – mostly – and you seemed to like me. What made me ineligible? Not complaining, dear, just asking.”
I tried to explain the difference between a male friend and a bedmate – the scarcity of the first, the boring plethora of applicants for the other.
He listened, then shook his head. “Masochism.”
“Hasn’t it worked out better this way? I do love you, Zebbie.”
“I know you do, Sharpie.” Zebbie turned me around and looked down into my eyes. “And I love you and you know that, too” – and he kissed me.
That kiss went on and neither of us seemed inclined to stop. My towel slipped to the ground. I noticed because it felt better to be closer and ever so much nicer to have his hands on me. Zebbie hadn’t given me a sexy kiss since the day I hadinvited a pass and then ignored it.
I began to wonder why I had decided to ignore it. Then I was wondering how much time we had left in our schedule. Then I knew the exact time… for that infernal, earsplitting siren sounded. God watches over Hilda Mae and that’s why I keep Him on my payroll. But sometimes He is rough about it.
We let go. I put on Deety’s Keds, slid my borrowed dress over my head, hung the towel over my arm – elapsed time: nine seconds. Zebbie was again carrying his rifle at the ready (is that correct? – both hands, I mean).
“Captain, shall we go?”
“Yes, Chief Pilot. Zebbie, when did I become ‘captain’ again? Just from putting on clothes? You’ve seen this old hide before.”
“Skin has nothing to do with it, Captain. Quoting Deety quoting the Japanese: ‘Nakedness is often seen but never noticed.’ Except that sometimes I do notice, hot diggity dog and other comments. You have superior skin, Captain. You went back to being Captain when I picked up my rifle. But I was never off duty. Did you notice, when I dried you, that I picked you up and swung you around, so that I faced the bank? I kept alert even while I was nuzzling you… and you make fine nuzzle, Captain Step-Mother-in-Law Hilda.”
“So do you, Zebbie. I’m still Sharpie till we get to your car.” We reached the top of the bank. “Ten seconds to catch my breath. Zebbie -“
“Yes, Sharpie?”
“Four years ago – I’m sorry I turned away your pass.”
He patted my bottom. “So am I, dear. But it has worked out quite well. And” – he grinned that irresistible, ugly grin – “who knows? – we aren’t dead yet.”
When we arrived, Jacob was slurping soup. “You’re late,” he stated. “So we waited.”
“So I see.”
“Don’t listen to Pop, Captain Auntie; you are two minutes seventeen seconds ahead of time. Are you sure you stayed in long enough to get clean?”
“I stayed in long enough to get freezing cold. Aren’t you chilly?” Deety had worn skin most of the day and so had I; we had been doing sweaty work. But she had been dressed when I last saw her. “Jacob, is there no soup for Zebbie and me?”
“A smidgen. You get this pan as soon as I’m through – now! – and that means one less dish to wash.”
“And Zebadiah gets mine – also now – and I took that jump suit off because it’s dirty and I’m clean. I still haven’t figured out how to do a laundry. Nothing for a tub, no way to heat water. What’s that other way? Pound them on a rock the way it shows in National Geographic? I don’t believe it!”
We were in bed by sundown, Gay’s doors locked – pitch dark in minutes. According to Deety and Gay sunrise was ten hours and forty-three minutes away. “Deety, please tell Gay to wake us at sunrise.”
“Aye aye, Captain Auntie.”
“Zebbie, you told us that the air in the car was good for about four hours.”
“In space; The scoops are open now.”
“But do you get air back there? Should the bulkhead door be open?”
“Oh. Top scoop serves this space. The cabin is ventilated by the chin scoop. Scoops stay open unless internal pressure closes them.”
“Can anything get in through them? Snakes or such?”
“Hilda my dear, you worry too much.”
“My very own darling Copilot, will you please pipe down while I’m speaking to the Chief Pilot? There are many things about this car that I do not know – yet I am responsible.”
Zebbie answered, “Each scoop has a grid inside and a fine screen at the inner end; nothing can get in. Have to clean ’em occasionally. Remind me, Deety.”
“I’ll tell Gay.” She did – and almost at once there was a crash of metal. I sat up abruptly. “What’s that?”
“Hilda, I am afraid that I have kicked over the supper dishes.” My husband added, “Zeb, how do I find the cabin light?”
“No, no! Jacob, don’t try to find it. No light at all until sunrise. Don’t fret about dishes. But what happened? I thought they were under the instrument board.”
“I couldn’t quite reach with this bed made up. But the carton that supports my feet sticks out beyond the seat cushion on it. So I stacked them there.”
“No harm done. We can expect bobbles as we shake down.”
“I suppose so.”
“We can cope. Jacob, that was an excellent dinner.”
Deety called out, “Good night, chatterboxes! We want to sleep.” She closed the bulkhead door, dogged it.

Chapter XXIII

“The farce is over.”

Jake:
For me, the best soporific is to hold Hilda in my arms. I slept ten hours.
I might have slept longer had I not been blasted by a bugle call: Reveille.
I thought I was back in basic, tried to rouse out fast – banged my head. That slowed me; I reoriented, saw my lovely bride beside me, yawning prettily – realized that we were on Mars.
Mars! Not even our own Mars but another universe.
That hateful tune started to repeat, louder.
I banged on the bulkhead. “How do you shut this thing off?”
Shortly I saw dogs of the bulkhead door turning, then the door swung – as the call went into its third time around still louder. Zeb showed, blinking.
“Do you have a problem?”
I couldn’t hear but I could piece out what he meant.
“HOW DO YOU SHUT OFF THIS RACKET?”
“No problem.” (I think that’s what he said.) “Good morning, Gay.”
The bugle faded into the distance. “Good morning, Boss.”
“I’m awake.”
“Ah, but will you stay awake?”
“I won’t go back to bed. Promise.”
“I’ve dealt with your sort before, me bucko. If you aren’t out of here before my landlady wakes up, I’ll lose this room. Then another hassle with the cops. It’s not worth it… you cheapskate!”
“You’re a smart girl, Gay.”
“So smart I’m looking for another job.”
“Back to sleep, Gay. Over.”
“Roger and out, Boss” – and blessed silence.
I said to my daughter, “Deety, how could you do this to us?”
Her husband answered. “Deety didn’t, Jake. She was told to place a call for sunrise. But didn’t know what a morning call means to Gay.”
I grumped, and opened the starboard door. Hilda’s rearrangements had given me the best rest I had had in days. But two double beds in a sports car left no room on arising to do anything but get out.
So I slid out the door, groped for the step, paused to ask Hilda for shoes and coverall – caught sight of something and said quietly, “Hilda. My rifle. Quickly!”
My little treasure is always reliable in emergency; her clowning is simply persona. (A most pleasant one; the worst aspect of the jest of making her “captain” was that she lost her smile – I hoped that Zeb would soon resume command. We had needed the lesson – but no need to go on.)
I digress – I asked for my rifle; she whispered, “Roger,” and had it in my hand at once with the quiet report: “Locked, one in the chamber. Wait – I’m getting Zeb.”
That made sense. By staying on the step in the corner formed by door and car, my rear was safe and I need cover only a small sector. I prefer a bolt action – correction: I have a bolt-action rifle I inherited from my father’s eldest brother, who had “liberated” it on leaving the Marine Corps.
I unlocked it, opened the bolt slightly, saw that a cartridge was in the chamber, closed the bolt, left the piece unlocked.
Zeb said at my ear, softly, “What’s the excitement?”
“Over there.” I pulled my head out of the way, saw Hilda and Deety almost on top of Zeb – Hilda with Deety’s shotgun, Deety with her husband’s police special.
Zeb said, “Pixies. They may still be around; let’s check. Cover me from here?”
“No, Zeb. You to the right, me to the left, we check the port side, meet back at the dump. Make it fast.”
“Say the word.” Zeb said over his shoulder, “You girls stay in the car. Jake?”
“Now!” We came bursting out like greyhounds, guns at high port. The reason for my disquiet was simple: The dump of wrappings and cartons was no longer a heap. Something had spread it over many meters, and the litter was not nearly enough to account for the pile. Wind? Zeb had left the wings extended; the slightest wind would wake him, warn him of change in weather. The car had not rocked in the night; ergo, no wind. Ergo, nocturnal visitors. Nor were they small.
I rounded the car to the left, seeing nothing until I spotted Zeb – waved at him, started back around to join him at the dump.
He arrived before I did. “I told you girls to stay in the car!” He was quite angry, and the cause, both of them, were also at the dump.
My darling answered, “Chief Pilot.”
Zeb said, “Huh? Sharpie, there’s no time for that; there’s something dangerous around! You girls get inside before I -“
“Pipe DOWN!”
One would not believe that so small a body could produce such a blast. It caught Zeb mouth open and jammed his words down his throat.
Hilda did not give him opportunity to answer. She continued, forcefully: “Chief Pilot, there are no ‘girls’ here; there are four adult humans. One of them is my second-in-command and executive officer. My executive officer; I am in command.” Hilda looked at my daughter. “Astrogator, did you tell anyone to remain in the car?”
“No, Captain.” Deety was wearing her “Name, rank, and serial number” face.
“Nor did I.” Hilda looked at Zeb. “There is no need to discuss it.” She stirred litter with a toe. “I had hoped that we could find salvage. But three fourths of it has been eaten. By large animals from those tooth marks. I would have trouble visualizing a large animal that eats cellulose but is nevertheless carnivorous – save that I know one. So we will get as much done as possible while keeping a tight guard. I have the program planned but I’m open to advice.”
“Hilda!” I let my tone get a bit sharp.
My wife looked around with features as impassive as those of my daughter. “Copilot, are you addressing me officially or socially?”
“Uh… as your husband! I must put my foot down! Hilda, you don’t realize the situation. We’ll lift as soon as possible – and Zeb will be in command. The farce is over.”
I hated to speak to my beloved that way but sometimes one must. I braced myself for a blast.
None came. Hilda turned to Zeb and said quietly, “Chief Pilot, was my election a farce?”
“No, Captain.”
“Astrogator, did you think of it as farce?”
“Me? Heavens, no, Captain Auntie!”
Hilda looked at me. “Jacob, from the balloting you voted for me at least once, possibly three times. Were you joking?”
I could not remember how I had felt when it dawned on me that Zeb really did intend to resign – panic, I think, that I was about to be stuck with the job. That was now irrelevant as I knew that I was not more than one micron from again being a bachelor… so I resorted to Higher Truth.
“No, no, my darling – my darling Captain! I was dead serious!”
“Did you find some malfeasance?”
“What? No! I – I made a mistake. Jumped to conclusions. I assumed that we would be leaving at once… and that Zeb would command once we lifted. After all, it’s his car.”
Hilda gave me the briefest smile. “There is something to that last argument. Zebbie, did you intend – “
“Wait a half! Cap’n, that car belongs to all of us just like Jake’s Milky Way bars; we pooled resources.”
“So I have heard you all say. Since I had nothing to pool but a fur cape, I took it with a grain of salt. Zebbie, do you intend to resume command when we lift?”
“Captain, the only way you can quit is by resigning… whereupon Deety would be captain.”
“No, sirree!” (My daughter is not often that shrill.)
“Then Jake would wind up holding the sack. Captain, I’ll pilot when ordered, chop wood and carry water between times. But I didn’t sign up to boss a madhouse. I think you’re finding out what I mean.”
“I think so, too, Zebbie. You thought there was an emergency and started giving orders. I would not want that to happen in a real emergency -“
“It won’t! Captain.”
“And I find to my chagrin that my husband considers me to be a play captain. I think I must ask for a vote of confidence. Will you please find something to use as white and black balls?”
“Captain Auntie!”
“Yes, dear?”
“I am required to advise you. A commanding officer commands; she doesn’t ask for votes. You can resign – or – die – or lose to a mutiny and get hanged from your own yardarm. But if you take a vote, you’re not a captain; you’re a politician.”
“Deety’s right, Captain,” Zeb told my wife. “Had a case-law case in R.O.T.C. Naval vessel. Department told the skipper to pick one of two ports for ho1idays. He let his crew vote on it. Word got back to Washington and he was relieved at sea by his second-in-command and never again ordered to sea. C.O.’s don’t ask; they tell ’em. However, if it matters to you, I’m sorry I goofed, and you do enjoy my confidence.”
“Mine, too!”
“And mine, Hilda my dear Captain!” (In truth I wanted Zeb and only Zeb to command when the car was off the ground. But I made myself a solemn vow never again to say or do anything that might cause Hilda to suspect it. We would crash and die together rather than let her suspect that I thought her other than the ideal commanding officer.)
Hilda said, “The incident is closed. Who can’t wait? Speak up.”
I hesitated – my bladder is not used to bedtime right after dinner. When no one else spoke, I said, “Perhaps I had better be first; I have breakfast to prepare.”
“Dear, you are not First Cook today; Zebbie is. Deety, grab a rifle and take your father to his ‘handy bush’ – and do make it handy; that giant termite might be lurking. Then hand Jacob the rifle and it’s your turn. Don’t dally.”

It was a busy day. Water tanks had to be topped off. Zeb and I used two collapsible buckets, taking turns (that hill got steeper every trip, even at 0.38 gee), while Deety guarded us. Endless trips –
That afternoon I was a ladies’ tailor. Hilda had something for Deety to do.
Zeb had a job to complete. The space behind the bulkhead has padeyes every 30 cms or so. No one wants the center of gravity to shift when one is in the air. Zeb’s arrangements were Samson cord in many lengths with snap hooks. Zeb told Hilda he wanted to secure the bed aft for air or space, and to store items used in rigging the forward bed so that they would be secure but available – and where were his Samson ties? – Gay didn’t know. He had to explain to Hilda what they looked like – whereupon Hilda said, “Oh! Thingammies! Gay Deceiver. Inventory. Incidentals. Small. Thingammies.” Zeb spent the afternoon making certain that the “bed” could not slide, then built a net of Samson cord to hold the items for turning seats into a bed, then, finding that he had Samson ties left, Zeb removed the wires with which I had secured the aftermost storage, and replaced them with ties. When he was through, he relieved me as guard, and I wound up as seamstress.
Our wives had decided that one of Deety’s jump suits should be altered for Hilda until we reached some place where clothes could be purchased. Hilda had vetoed Earth-without-a-J. “Jacob, as captain I look at things from another perspective. It is better to be a lively frump than a stylish corpse. Wups! You pinned Sharpie.”
“Thorry,” I said, around a mouthful of pins. Hilda was wearing the suit inside out; I was pinning excess material. Once this caused it to fit, lines held by pins would be tacked, pins removed, tacked lines sewed in short stitches (by hand; Deety’s sewing machine was ashes in another universe), and excess cloth trimmed away.
Such was theory.
I tackled reducing the waist line by pinning darts on both sides. Then I folded up the trousers so that the crease came at the instep – but had to pin them up 17 cms!
Seventeen centimeters! I had taken in the waist first, knowing that doing so would, in effect, shorten the trousers. It did – one centimeter.
The appearance was as if I were trying to fit her with a chimpanzee suit for a masquerade. Lift it at the shoulders? I tried, almost cutting off circulation. Still a horrid case of droopy drawers –
Take a tuck all the way around the waist? That suit closed with one zipper. Have you ever tried to take a tuck in a zipper?
I stepped back and looked at my creative artistry.
Ghastly.
“Hilda my love, Deety was better at this by the age of ten. Shall I fetch her?”
“No, no!”
“Yes, yes. If at first you don’t succeed, find the mistake. I’m the mistake. You need Deety.”
“No, Jacob. It would be better for me to get along without clothes than to interrupt the work I have assigned to the Astrogator. With you at the verniers and Zebbie at the controls, Gay can do almost anything and quickly. Yes?”
“I wouldn’t phrase it that way. But I understand you.”
“If she’s been preprogrammed, she can do it even faster?”
“Certainly. Why the quiz, dear?”
“How much faster?”
“Without preprogramming, it takes a few seconds to acknowledge and set it, about as long to check what I’ve done, then I report ‘Set!’ Zeb says ‘Execute!’ I punch the button. Five to fifteen seconds. With a preprogram – is it debugged in all ways, no conflicts, no ambiguities, no sounds easy to confuse?”
“Darling, that is why I won’t let Deety be disturbed. Yes.”
“So. Maximum time would be with Gay asleep. Wake her, she acknowledges, you state the preprogram in the exact words in her memory, then say ‘Execute!’ Call it three seconds. Minimum – That would be an emergency preprogram with ‘Execute’ included in the code word. My dear, we saw minimum time yesterday. When that Russian tried to shoot Zeb.”
“Jacob, that is what caused me to put Deety to work. I saw his pistol in the air. His fingers were curled to catch it. Then we were in the sky. How long?”
“I saw him start to reverse his weapon, and bent over my verniers to bounce us by switch… then stopped. Not needed. Mmm – A tenth of a second? A fifth?”
“Whichever, it is the fastest we can manage. While you dears were carrying water, I was preparing a list of preprograms. Some are to save juice or time or to carry out something we do frequently; those require ‘Execute!’ Some are intended to save our lives and don’t require ‘Execute.’ Like ‘Bounce’ and ‘Bug Out’ and ‘Take us home!’ But more. Jacob, I did not tell Deety how to phrase these; that’s her specialty. I wrote out what I thought we ought to be able to do and told her to add any she wished.”
“Did you consult Zeb?”
“Copilot, the Captain did not consult the Chief Pilot.”
“Whew! I beg your pardon – Captain.”
“Only if I get a kiss – mind the pins! Deety will post a copy on the instrument board. After you and Zebbie read them, I want your advice and his.”

I gave up on that jump suit. I took out eighty-five or a thousand pins. Hilda was covered with sweat so I invited her to order me to take her down to bathe. She hesitated.
I said, “Does the Captain have duties of which I am unaware?”
“No. But everyone else is working, Jacob.”
“Captain, Rank Hath Its Privileges. You are on duty twenty-four hours a day – twenty-four and a half here – “
“Twenty-four hours, thirty-nine minutes, thirty-five seconds – local day, not sidereal.”
“Did you measure it? Or remember what some professor said?”
“Neither, Jacob. It’s the figure Gay uses. I suppose she got it from the Aerospace Almanac.”
“Are you going to believe an almanac? Or your husband?”
“Excuse me, Jacob, while I tell Gay the correct figure.”
“Hand back my leg, beloved. Captain, since you are on duty all the time, you are entitled to bathe, rest, or relax, at any time.”
“Well… two seconds while I grab a towel – and tell Zebbie that I will start dinner while he is down bathing.”
“Captain, I am number-two cook today. You said so.”
“You will guard, Jacob, which you do better than I. While the Carters are guarding each other.”
Hilda came trotting back with a towel. I said, “Cap’n, I’ve figured out clothes for you.”
“Goody. Yes, dear?” We headed for the path down.
“Were my Hawaiian shirts packed?” I had her fall in behind me.
“Inventory. Clothing. Jacob. Shirts. Aloha.”
“Do you recall a blue one with white flowers?”
“Yes.”
“I take ‘medium’ but can get into a ‘small’ and Andrade’s didn’t have this in ‘medium.’ But this one is so small I haven’t been wearing it. Hilda, you’ll like it – and it will be easy to cut down.” (A steep pitch – no place to lose your footing while carrying a gun.)
“I won’t cut it down. Jacob, your shirt is my first maternity smock.”
“A happy thought! Did Deety fetch sailor pants? White.”
“I recall white duck slacks.” Hilda kicked off her Keds, stepped into the water.
“That’s the pair. She wore them one summer while maturing. The following summer they were too tight. She was always about to alter them but never did.”
“Jacob, if Deety likes those pants so well that she saved them and fetched them along, I won’t ask her to give them to me.”
“I will ask her. Hilda, you worry about the wrong things. We pooled resources. I chucked in my candy bars, Zeb chucked in his car, Deety chucks in her sailor pants.”
“And what did I chuck in? Nothing!”
“Your mink cape. If you offered it to Deety in exchange for a pair of old white -“
“It’s a deal!”
“It is like hell, Mistress Mine. That cape is valuta. Only days ago each of us was wealthy. Now we are unpersons who can’t go home. What happens to our bank accounts I do not know but it seems certain that we will never realize anything from them, or from stocks, bonds, and other securities. Any paper money we have is worthless. As you know, I have bullion and gold coins and Jake has, also; we each like money that clinks and we don’t trust governments. Gay must be juiced from time to time; that calls for valuta. Such as gold. Such as mink coats. Come out of there before you freeze! I would rub you dry but that giant termite worries me.”
“Last night Zebbie rubbed me dry.”
(Why do women have this compulsion to confess? It is not a typical male vice.) “He did? I should speak to him.”
“Jacob, you are angry.”
“Only somewhat, as yesterday we didn’t know about the giant termite, and Zeb and I considered your guard rules silly. Nevertheless Zeb neglected his duty.”
“I meant ‘angry with me’!”
“For what? Did you force it on him?”
“No. He offered it – towel open and ready, just as you do. I went straight into it, let him wrap me and rub me down.”
“Feel good?”
“Golly, yes! I’m a bad girl, Jacob – but I loved it.”
“Don’t give yourself airs, my darling; you are not a bad girl. Yesterday was not the first time Zeb has rubbed you dry.”
“Well… no.” (They have to confess, they have to be shrived.)
“Do you any harm, then or now?”
“I don’t think so.”
“I’m sure it didn’t. Listen, beloved – you are twenty-nine going on forty-two. You’ve had three term contracts and now have a traditional marriage. In college you were a scandal to the jaybirds. Zeb has been your chum for years. Both of you horny as goats. My darling, I assumed what is called ‘the worst’ and is often the best.”
“But, Jacob, we didn’t, we didn’t! And we haven’t!”
“So? People who pass up temptations have only themselves to blame. Just one thing, my only love, if you and Zeb ever pick up the matter, try not to look guilty.”
“But we aren’t going to, ever!”
“Should it come to pass, warn Zeb not to hurt Deety. She loves him deeply. Not surprising as Zeb is a lovable man. Get your shoes on, dearest one, and we’ll let someone else have the community bathtub.”
“Jacob? You still think we have. Zebbie and I.”
“Hilda, I married you convinced that Zeb was, at that time and for some years, your lover. Or one of them. Today you have convinced me that the matter is unproven… assuming that one or both of you have rocks in your head. But I can’t see that it makes a tinker’s dam either way. Jane taught me that the only important rule is not to hurt people… which very often – Jane’s words! – consists in not talking unnecessarily.”
“Jane told me that, too. Jacob? Will you kiss me?”
“Madame – what did you say your name was? – that is the toll I charge before a client starts up this bank.”
As we climbed, I asked Hilda, “Darling, what is the animal that eats cellulose but is carnivorous?”
“Oh. Two. H. sapiens and Rattus.”
“Men? Cellulose?”
“Sawdust is often processed as food. Have you ever eaten in a fast food joint?”

My daughter had done a wonderful job on preprograms; we all were eager to learn them. We placed guards, Zeb and me, at the doors, while Deety took Zeb’s seat and talked, and Hilda sat in mine.
“Captain Auntie had two ideas,” Deety told us. “To optimize emergency escapes and to work out ways to use as near to no juice as possible. The latter involves figuring ways to ground us in strange places without the skill Zebadiah has in dead-stick grounding.”
“I don’t depend on skill,” put in my son-in-law. “I won’t risk a dead-stick grounding other than on a hard-surfaced strip. You’ve seen me avoid it twice – by power-on just before grounding. Yesterday I cut it a bit fine.”
I shuddered.
My daughter continued, “We have this new program. Set it, by voice, for bearing and as many minima as you please. Our Smart Girl goes there and attempts to ground. She uses radar twice, once in range-finder mode, second time in precautionary mode as in ‘Bug Out.’ If her target is not clear, she does a Drunkard’s Walk in locus ten klicks radius, sampling spots two per second. When she finds a good spot, she grounds. Unless we don’t like it and order her to try again.
“Study that and you will see that you can cruise all over this or any planet, land anywhere, and not use juice.
“Escape programs – We must be most careful in saying G, A, Y. Refer to her as ‘smart girl’ or ‘the car’ or anything not starting with that syllable. That syllable will now wake her. If it is followed by her last name, she goes into ‘awaiting orders’ mode. But if G, A, Y, alone is followed by any of eight code words, she executes that escape instantly. I have tried to select monosyllables that ordinarily do not follow her first name. Gay Deceiver.”
“Hi, Deety!”
“Dictionary. G, A, Y. Read.”
“Gayety, gayfeather, Gayle, Gaylord, Gay-Pay-Oo, gaywings -“

Chapter XXIV

Captains aren’t supposed to cry.

Hilda:
I ordered an early dinner by starting it when Zebbie and Deety went down to bathe. I had ready a public reason but my motive was personal: I didn’t want a pillow talk with Jacob.
Annoyed at him? At me! I had had a perfect chance to keep my lip zipped – and muffed it! Was I boasting? Or confessing? Or trying to hurt Jacob? (Oh, no! – can the id be that idiotic!)
Don’t rationalize it, Sharpie! Had not your husband been kind, tolerant, and far more sophisticated than you ever dreamed, you would be in trouble.
When dinner was over, Zebbie said lazily, “I’ll do the dishes in the morning.”
I said, “I prefer that they be done tonight, please.”
Zebbie sat up and looked at me. His thoughts were coming through so strongly that I was getting them as words. I never allow myself to be close with a person whose thoughts I can’t sense at all; I distrust a blank wall. But now I could “hear” such names as “Queeg” and “Bligh” and “Vanderdecken” and “Ahab” – and suddenly Captain Ahab was harpooning the White Whale and I was the whale!
Zebbie bounced to his feet with a grin that made me uneasy. “Sure thing, Cap’n! Deety, grab a rifle and hold it on me to make sure I get ’em clean.”
I cut in quickly, “I’m sorry, Chief Pilot, but I need the Astrogator. Jacob is your assistant.”
When they were gone, Deety said, “Will my shotgun do? I don’t think the cardboard eater comes out in daylight.”
“Bring the guns inside; we’re going to close the doors.”
I waited until we were settled. “Deety, will you make me a copy of your new programs before our men come back?”
“If they take time to wash them properly. Men and dishes – you know.”
“I hope they stall -“
” – and get over their mad,” Deety finished.
“That, too. But I intend to write a sequential program and I want you to check me. After you make that copy.”

They did stay down – “man talk,” no doubt. Men need us but can just barely stand us; every now and then they have to discuss our faults. I think that is why they shut us out.
Deety made a copy while I wrote what I planned to do. Deety looked it over, corrected some wording. Looked it over again – and said nothing pointedly.
“Deety, can you handle your father’s lab camera?”
“Certainly.”
“Will you check its load and shoot when I ask for it?”
“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 could 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.'”
Deety answered, “Captain, I will do as you say. But we might be a billion klicks from nowhere and hit by a meteor. If anyone can gasp, ‘GayHome,’ then we are two klicks over our cabin site in air, not vacuum. Even if we’ve passed out, Gay won’t crash us; she’s built not to. If I’m gasping my last, I don’t want to have to say, ‘Gay Deceiver, take us home. Execute.’ That’s ten syllables against two… with air whooshing out.”
I said, “That settles it. The ‘Gay Home’ program stands unless my successor changes it.”
“You’re not talking to me, Captain Sharpie darling – I mean, Captain Hilda – because I’m not your successor. But Deety convinced me. I will not admit that those vermin have run me permanently off my own planet. At least I can return to it to die.”
“Son, let’s not speak of dying. We are going to stay alive and raise kids and enjoy it.”
“That’s my Pop! Say, doesn’t anybody want to see this picture?”

We made it a rest stop, worrying more about giant termites than about bushes… and Jacob found a can opener. The can opener. I put a stop to an attempt to fix the blame. Advice to all explorers: Do not roam the universes without a spare can opener.
Then it was “Prepare for lift!” and a new program. “Chief Pilot, switch on autopilot. Gay Deceiver. Explore. True bearing two-six-five. Unit jump five minima. Use bingo stop continue. End program short of sunrise line. Ground. Acknowledge by paraphrase.”
“Explore west five degrees south fifty-klick units. Two-second check each jump. Ground myself no power Greenwich time oh-three-seventeen.”
“Deety, is that time right?”
“For that program.”
“Gay Deceiver. Program revision. Cancel grounding. From program coded ‘A Tramp Abroad’ display locus. Display Bingoes.”
She displayed Mars at once, but gibbous. I scrawled a note to Deety: “How do I rotate to show day side only?”
Dear Deety! She wrote her answer. Passed it over – I doubt that our men saw it: “Program revision. Display locus real-time day side.”
Gay accommodated. It took several steps to define new locus as sunset line (right edge – east) to sunrise line (left edge – west), and between 50°N and 50°S (some Russian area had been close to 45°S, so I widened the search)-then let the locus move with the terminators. (Gay can “see” in the dark but I can’t.) I told her to end “Explore” at Greenwich oh-three-seventeen and start “A Tramp Abroad,” continue until directed otherwise, and had Gay repeat back in her phrasing.
I touched Zebbie’s shoulder, pointed to the switch that cut out Gay’s ears, drew a finger across my throat. He nodded and shut her out. I said, “Questions, gentlemen? Deety?”
“I do, Captain,” said our Chief Pilot. “Do you plan on sleeping tonight?”
“Certainly, Zebbie. An ideal sleeping spot would be one far from the Russians but close to the present sunset line. Or did you want to work all night?”
“If you wish. I noticed that you gave Gay a program that could keep her going for days or weeks – and that you had reduced H-above-G to six klicks. Breathable air. By rotating duties, with one or two always stretched out aft, we can stay up a week, easily, and still give Jake’s ankles a break.”
“I can skip a night’s sleep,” said Deety. “Captain Auntie honey, with enough random samples and a defined locus, sampling soon approaches a grid a fly couldn’t get through. Do you want the formula?”
“Heavens, no! As long as it works.”
“It works. Let’s make a long run, get a big sampling. But I’d like to add something. Let’s parallel the display onto a sidelooker screen, and light every vertex – while the main display shows Bingoes. You’ll see how tight a screen you’re building.”
“Sharpie, don’t let her do it!” Zebbie added, “‘Scuse, please! Captain, the Astrogator is correct on software but I know more about this hardware. You can crowd a computer into a nervous breakdown. I have safeguards around Smart Girl; if I give her too much to do, she tells me to go to hell. But she likes Deety. Like a willing horse, she’ll try hard for Deety even when it’s too much.”
Deety said soberly, “Captain, I gave you bad advice.”
Her husband said, “Don’t be so humble, Deety. You’re smarter than I am and we all know it. But we are dependent on Smart Girl and can’t let her break down. Captain, I don’t know how much strain the time-space twister puts on her but she has unnecessary programs. At the Captain’s convenience, I would like to review everything in her perms and wipe those we can do without.”
“My very early convenience, sir. Is the schedule okay?”
“Oh, sure. Just don’t add that side display.”
“Thank you, Chief Pilot. Anyone else? Copilot?”
“My dear… my dear Captain, is there some reason to find a spot near the sunset line? If you intend to work all night?”
“Oh! But, Jacob, I do not plan to work all night. It is now about twenty hundred by our personal circadians, as established by when we got up. I think we can search for three to four hours. I hope that we can find a spot to sleep near the sunset line, scout it in daylight, let Gay land herself on it for her perms – then return to it in the dark when we get tired”
“I see, in part. My dear, unless I misunderstood you, you are heading west. But you said that you wanted to find us a place to sleep near the presert sunset line. East. Or did I misunderstood you?”
“It’s very simply explained, Jacob.”
“Yes, dear Captain?”
“I made a horrible mistake in navigation.”
“Oh.”
“Chief Pilot, did you spot it?”
“Yup. Yes, Captain.”
“Why didn’t you speak up?”
“Not my business, Ma’am. Nothing you planned to do was any danger.”
“Zebbie, I’m not sure whether to thank you for keeping quiet, or to complain because you did. Deety, you spotted the mistake, I am certain. You are supposed to advise me.”
“Captain, I’m supposed to speak up to stop a bad mistake. This was not. I wasn’t certain that it was a mistake until you told on yourself. But you spotted the mistake when Gay predicted the time to end the ‘Explore’ program, then you corrected it by telling her to shift to ‘A Tramp Abroad.’ So there was never a reason to advise you.”
I let out a sigh. “You’re covering for me and I love you all and I’m no good as captain. I’ve served as many hours as Zebbie and we are on the ground, so now it’s time to elect someone who can do it right. You, Zebbie.”
“Not me. Jake and Deety must each do a stint before I’d admit that it might be my turn.”
“Captain -“
“Deety, I’m not captain; I resigned!”
“No, Aunt Hilda, you didn’t actually do it. It is my duty to advise you when you seem about to make a bad mistake. You made a minor mistake and corrected it. In my business we call that ‘debugging’-and spend more time on it than we do on writing programs. Because everybody makes mistakes.”
Jane’s little girl managed to sound the way Jane used to. I resolved to listen – because all too often I hadn’t listened to Jane. “Captain Auntie, if you were resigning because of the way your crew treated you – as Zebadiah did – I wouldn’t say a word. But that’s not your reason. Or is it?”
“What? Oh, no! You’ve all helped – you’ve been angels. Uh, well, mostly.”
“‘Angels’ – hummph! I can’t use the correct words; I’d shock our men. Aunt Hilda, I gave you far worse lip than I ever gave Zebadiah. You slapped me down hard – and I’ve been your strongest supporter ever since. Zebadiah, what you did was worse -“
“I know.”
” – but you admitted that you were wrong. Nevertheless you’ve been chewing the bit. Demanding explanations. Zebadiah, the captain of a ship doesn’t have to explain why she gives an order. Or does she?”
“Of course not. Oh, a captain sometimes does explain. But she shouldn’t do it often or the crew will start thinking they are entitled to explanations. In a crunch this can kill you. Waste that split second.” Zebbie brooded. “Captain says ‘Frog,’ you hop. Couple of times I failed to hop. Captain, I’m sorry.”
“Zebbie, we get along all right.”
He reached back and patted my knee. “Pretty well in the past. Better from now on.”
My darling Jacob said worriedly, “I’m afraid I have been remiss, too.”
I was about to reassure him when Deety cut in: “‘Remiss’! Pop, you’re the worst of all! If I had been your wife, I would have tossed you back and rebaited my hook. ‘Farce’ is worse than mutinous; it’s insulting. Be glad Jane didn’t hear you!”
“I know, I know!”
I touched Deety’s arm and whispered, “That’s enough, dear.”
Zebbie said soberly, “Captain, as I analyze it, you made a mistake in sign. Every navigator makes mistakes – and has some routine by which to check his work. If you’re going to get upset because recheck shows that you wrote down ‘plus’ when the declination is ‘south,’ you’re going to have ulcers. You’re just under strain from being C.O. We’ve all made the strain worse. But we want to do better. I’d hate to have you resign over a minor error… when we caused your upset. I hope you’ll give us another chance.”
Captains aren’t supposed to cry. I blinked ’em back, got my voice under control, and said, “All hands! Still ready for lift? Report.”
“Aye, Captain!” – “Affirmative!” – “Yes, my dear Hilda.”
“Zebbie, switch on Gay’s ears.” He did.
“Execute!” – Termite Creek was gone and we were fifty klicks west and a touch south. Pretty and green but no Bingo. It would take us about seven minutes to overtake the Sun and approach sunrise line, plus any holds we made. Then I would go east to the sunset line in nothing flat (have Zebbie and Jacob do it); then bounce & glide, bounce & glide, while looking for a place to sleep in a spot suitable for Gay to try her new unpowered autogrounding program – in daylight with the hottest pilot in two worlds ready to override any error.
If Gay could do this, we would be almost independent of juice – and have a new “bug-out” sanctuary each time she landed herself. Power packs – Zebbie had a hand-cranked D.C. generator – but heavy work for husky men for endless hours. (40 hrs from zero to full charge; you see why Zebbie would rather buy fresh charges.)
We had been skipping along nearly three minutes, over four thousand klicks, before spotting a Bingo (by Zebbie). I called a “Hold” and added, “Where, Zebbie?”
He nosed us down. Farm buildings and cultivated fields – a happy contrast to the terrain – barren, green, flat, rugged – all lacking any sign of humans, in the stops we had made. “Astrogator, record time. Continue.”
Then over three minutes with no Bingoes – At elapsed time 6m4s Jacob called out, “Bingo! A town.”
“Hold! Onion towers?”
“I think not, dear. I see a flag – dare we go nearer?”
“Yes! But anyone use a scram at will. Jacob, may I have the binoculars, please?”
The Stars and Stripes are engraved on my heart, but in the next moments the Cross of Saint Andrew and the Cross of Saint George were added. It was an ensign with a blue field and some white shapes – three half moons in three sizes.
“Gay Deceiver.”
“I’m all ears, Hilda.”
“Move current program to standby.”
“Roger Wilco Done.”
“Gay Bounce. Zebbie, let’s sweep this area for a bigger settlement.”
Zebbie placed a locus around the town, radius five hundred klicks, and started “A Tramp Abroad” with vertex time cut to one second. Thirty-one minutes later we had a city. I guessed it at a hundred thousand plus.
“Captain,” Zebbie said, “may I suggest that we bounce and try to raise them by radio? This place is big enough for A.A. guns or missiles -“
“Gay Bounce!”
” – and we know that their Slavic neighbors have aircraft.”
“Is your guardian angel warning you?”
“Well… ’tain’t polite to ground without clearance; such rudeness can make one suddenly dead.”
“Gay Bounce, Gay Bounce. Are we out of reach of missiles?”
“Captain, British and Russians of this universe are ahead of us in spaceships or they wouldn’t be here. That requires us to assume that their missiles and lasers and X-weapons are better than ours.”
“What’s an ‘X-weapon’? And what do you advise?”
“I advise evasive tactics. An X-weapon is a ‘Nobody-Knows.'”
“Evasive tactics, your choice. I assume you won’t waste juice.”
“No juice. Jake, gallop in all directions. Up, down, and sideways. Don’t wait for ‘Execute’; jump as fast as you can. That’s it! Keep moving!”
“Captain Auntie, may I suggest an easier way?”
“Speak up, Deety.”
“Zebadiah, how big is that city? Kilometers.”
“That’s indefinite. Oh, call it eight klicks in diameter.”
“You’ve got that one-second ‘Tramp’ program on hold. Change locus. Center on that biggest building, make the radius six klicks. Then start program and Pop can rest.”
“Uh… Deety, I’m stupid. Six klicks radius, ten klicks is a minimum – A bit tight?”
“Meant to be. Shall I draw a picture?”
“Maybe you’d better.”
(Deety had defined an annulus two kilometers wide, outer radius six, inner radius four. We would “circle” the city six klicks above ground, random jumps, sixty per minute. I doubted that even robot weapons could find us, range us, hit us, in one second.)
Deety loosened her belt, slithered forward, and sketched. Suddenly Zebbie said, “Gotcha! Deety, you’re a smart girl.”
“‘Boss, I’ll bet you tell that to all the girls.'”
“Nope, just smart ones. Gay Deceiver!”
“Less noise, please.”
“Program revision. A Tramp Abroad. Locus a circle radius six klicks. Center defined by next Bingo. Acknowledge paraphrase.”
“Revised program A Tramp Abroad. Circle twelve klicks diameter center next real-time Bingo.”
“Jake, put us over that big building downtown. If necessary, make several tries but don’t hang around. Once I like the position I’ll say the magic word, then scram.”
“Aye aye, Chief.”
Jacob made a dozen jumps before Zebbie said, “Bingo Gay Bounce” and a light appeared on the display. He started the program and told Gay to increase scale; the light spread out into a circle with a lighted dot in the center. “Captain, watch this. I’ve told Gay that every stop is a Bingo. You may be surprised.”
“Thanks, Zebbie.” The circle was becoming freckled inside its perimeter. With no feeling of motion, the scene flicked every second. It was mid-morning; each scene was sharp. That big building would be dead ahead – blink your eye and you’re staring at fields – then again at the city but with that building off to starboard. It put me in mind of holovideo tape spliced to create confusion.
Zebbie had on his phones and was ignoring everything else. Jacob was watching the flickering scenery, as was I, as was Deety – when Jacob suddenly turned his head, said, “Deety-please-the-Bo – ” and clapped his hand over his mouth.
I said, “Two Bonines, Deety – quickly!”
Deety was reaching for them. “You, too, Auntie Cap’n?”
“It’s this flickering.” I gave one to Jacob, made certain that he saw me take one. I had not been motion-sick since I had been made Captain. But any time my husband must take one, I will keep him company.
Today I should have taken one as soon as I spotted that British flag; Bonine tranquilizes the nerves as well as the tummy… and soon I must act as – ambassador? Something of the sort; I intended to go straight to the top. Dealing with underlings is frustrating. In college I would not have lasted almost four years had it been up to the dean of women. But I always managed to take it over her head to the president; the top boss can bend the rules.
(But my senior year the president was female and as tough a bitch as I am. She listened to my best Clarence-Darrow defense, congratulated me, told me I should have studied law, then said, “Go pack. I want you off campus by noon.”)
Zebbie pushed the phone off his right ear. “Captain, I’ve got this loud enough to put on the horn. Want to talk to them?”
“No. I’ve never grounded outside the States. You know how, you do it. But, Chief Pilot -“
“Yes, Ma’am?”
“And Copilot and Astrogator. Stick to the truth at all times. But do not unnecessarily give information. Answer questions uninformatively – but truthfully. If pressed, tell them, ‘See the Captain.”
“My dear,” Jacob said worriedly, “I’ve been meaning to speak about this. Zeb has had diplomatic experience. Wouldn’t it be wise for us to place him in charge on the ground? Please understand, I’m not criticizing your performance as captain. But with his experience and in view of the fact that our principal purpose is to obtain certain things for his car -“
“Gay Bounce Gay Bounce Gay Bounce! Astrogator.”
“Yes, Captain.”
“Place us in a parking orbit. Soonest.”
“Aye aye, Ma’am! Copilot, don’t touch the verniers. Chief Pilot, check that the car is level. Gay Deceiver.”
“On deck, Deety.”
“Program. L axis add speed vector three point six klicks per second. Paraphrase acknowledge.”
“Increase forward speed three and six tenths kilometers per second.”
“Chief Pilot?”
“Level.”
“Execute.” Deety glanced at the board. “Gay Deceiver, H-above-G will soon stop decreasing, then increase very slowly. In about fifty minutes it will maximize. Program. When H-above-G is maximum, alert me.”
“Roger Wilco.”
“If-when one hundred klicks H-above-G, alert me.”
“Roger Wilco.”
“If-when air drag exceeds zero, alert me.”
“Roger Wilco.”
“Remain in piloting mode. Ignore voices including program code words until you are called by your full name. Acknowledge by reporting your full name.”
“‘Gay Deceiver,'” answered Gay Deceiver.
“Is that okay, Captain? Smart Girl can’t hear the short-form programs now, until she hears her full name first. Then you would still have to say ‘Gay’ to alert her, and ‘Home’ or whatever to scram. But there should be loads of time, as she’ll tell me if anything starts to go wrong. You heard her.”
“That’s fine, Astrogator.”
“I turned her ears off because there may be discussion in which you might not want to have to be careful to use code words… but still be able to put her ears back fast if you need them. Faster than the switch and besides the switch can be reached only from the left front seat.”
Deety had a touch of nervous chattering; I understood the reasons for each step. And I understood why she was chattering.
“Well done. Thank you. Remain at the conn. Chief Pilot, Copilot, the Second-in-Command has the conn. I am going aft and do not wish to be disturbed.” I lowered my voice, spoke directly to Deety. “You are free to call me. You only.”
“Aye aye, Captain,” Deety acknowledged quietly. “I must remind you: air for four hours only.”
“If I fall asleep, call me in three hours.” I kissed her quickly, floated out of my chair and started to undog the bulkhead door – got nowhere; Deety had to help me. Deety flipped a light switch for me. She closed me in and dogged one dog.
I got a blanket out of the cradle, took off my clothes, tried to wrap myself in the blanket. It kept slithering away.
No seat belts – But the web straps used to make a bedroll of Zebbie’s sleeping bag were attached through loops and tucked under thingammies. Soon I had a belt across my waist and the blanket around me.
Being a runt, the only way I can fight is with words. But best for me is to walk away. Fight with Jacob? I was so angry I wanted to slap him! But I never slap anyone; a woman who takes advantage of her size and sex to slap a man is herself no gentleman. So I walked away – got out of there before I said something that would tear it – lose me my lovable, cuddly, thoughtful – and sometimes unbearable! – husband.
I wept in my pillow – no pillow and no Kleenex. After a while I slept.

Chapter 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 to 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 thehead 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.”
“Eh?”
“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 safety-belted 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 I just 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.”
“Now, 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!”
“I 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 lieutenant’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-tell-them-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-nine-nine – 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.”

Chapter XXVI

The Keys to the City

Jake:
I do not believe that I am wrong in insisting that Zeb should lead us. I am forced to conclude that being right has little to do with holding a woman’s affections. I never intend to hurt Hilda’s feelings. I now plan to make a career of keeping my mouth shut.
But I do not think it was diplomatic to spat with that radio operator or proper to be – well, yes, rude – rude to his officer. As for grounding twelve miles, nineteen klicks, from where we were told to – is this the behavior of guests!
But we did ground where we should not have. I started to open the door to get out, then help Hilda to disembark, when I heard her say: “We wait.”
Hilda added, “Leave doors locked and belts fastened. Gay Deceiver, remain in maneuvering mode. Lock the bulkhead door.”
“Hot and rarin’ to go, Hilda. Bulkhead door locked.”
“You’re a smart girl, Gay.”
“That makes two of us, Hilda.”
“Chief Pilot, in this mode does she record outside as well as inside?”
“She does if I switch on outside speakers and mikes, Captain.”
“Please do.”
“What volume, Captain? Outside, and inside.”
“I didn’t know they were separate. Straight-line gain?”
“Logarithmic, Ma’am. From a gnat’s whisper to a small earthquake.”
“I would like outside pickup to amplify enough that we won’t miss anything. What I send out should be a bit forceful.”
“Captain, I’ll give you a decibel advantage. You want it louder, squeeze my shoulder. I won’t turn it higher than seven – unless you want to use it as a weapon. But to talk privately inside I have to keep switching off, then on. As with the Russians – remember?”
“Oh, yes. All hands, I will speak for all of us. If anyone needs to speak to me, attract Zebbie’s attention – “
“Slap my shoulder.”
” – and he’ll give us privacy and confirm it with thumbs-up. Don’t ask for it unnecessarily.”
“Hilda, why these complex arrangements? Here comes someone now; it would be polite to go meet them. In any case, we can open the door to talk – these are not Russians.” I simply could not bear to watch my darling handle this delicate matter with such – well, rudeness!
Was I thanked? “Copilot, pipe down. All hands, we may go upstairs any instant; report readiness for space. Astrogator.”
“Ready, Captain.”
“Chief Pilot.”
“Still ready. Outside audio hot.”
“Copilot.”
“I’m checking this door seal again. Earlier I started to open it. There! Ready for space. Hilda, I don’t think – “
“Correct! But the Chief Pilot did think, and gave me thumbs-up as soon as you started to talk. Pipe down! Chief Pilot, cut in our sender as soon as one of them speaks. Copilot, call me ‘Captain’ as the others do. Protocol applies; I’ll explain family relationships later, when appropriate.”
I resolved not to open my mouth for any reason, feeling quite disgruntled. Disgruntled? I found myself giving serious thought to whether or not Hilda’s temporary and inappropriate authority could do permanent harm to her personality.
But the top of my mind was observing the Lord High Executioner, approaching us flanked by two henchmen. He was wearing a uniform more suited to musical comedy than to the field. Fierce moustaches, sunburn-pink complexion, service ribbons, and a swagger cane completed the effect.
His henchmen were younger, not so fancy, fewer ribbons, and appeared to be sergeants. I could not read the officer’s shoulder straps. A crown, I thought, but was there a pip beside it?
He strode toward us and was ten meters from my door when Hilda said firmly, “That’s close enough. Please tell the Governor General that Captain Burroughs has grounded as directed and awaits his pleasure.”
He stopped briefly and bellowed, “You were not directed to land here! You’re supposed to be at the field! Customs, immigration, health inspection, visas, tourist cards, intelligence -“
I saw Hilda squeeze Zeb’s shoulder. “Quiet!” Her voice came more loudly from outside than from her despite Gay’s soundproofing. Zeb reduced gain as she continued, “My good man, send one of your ratings to the Governor General to deliver my message. While we wait, state your name, rank, and regiment; I shall make formal report of your behavior.”
“Preeeposterous!”
“Behavior ‘unbecoming an officer and a gentleman,'” Hilda said with gentle sweetness, “since you insist. While you won’t tell your name, like a naughty boy, others know it. The Paymaster. The Governor General. Others.” She squeezed Zeb’s shoulder. “Deliver my message!”
“I’m Colonel Brumby, Chief Constable of the Imperial Household, and not your messenger boy! Open up! I’m going to parade you before the Governor General – under arrest!”
Hilda said quietly to Zeb, “Seven” – allowed the Chief Constable to stride two more steps before saying, “STOP!”
My ears hurt.
All three stopped. The old fool braced himself and started again. Hilda must have poked Zeb; he answered with thumbs-up. “Back to normal volume but be ready with that earthquake.”
He nodded; she went on, “Leftenant Colonel, is it not? I don’t see that extra pip. Leftenant Colonel, I warn you for your own safety not to come closer.”
He did not answer, kept coming, took his cane from under his arm. His sergeants followed – slowly, at a respectful distance. Hilda let him reach my door – I could see a network of broken veins on his nose-and for the second time in two days someone started to pound on Gay’s door. He raised his cane –
“Stop that!”
I was deafened. The Chief Constable was missing. The sergeants were a long way back. They stopped running, turned and faced us. I looked down through my door’s port, saw a pair of legs and a swagger cane – inferred a torso.
I turned my head, saw that Zeb had his thumb up. “Captain,” he said, “I disobeyed you.”
“How, Zebbie?”
“I gave him an eight; I wasn’t sure his heart could take a ten. He looks like an old bottle-a-day man.”
“An eight may have been too much,” I commented. “He’s on the ground. Dead, maybe.”
“Oh, I hope not!”
“Unlikely, Captain,” Zeb told her. “Shall I tell his noncoms to come get him?”
“I’ll tell them, Zebbie. Normal level.” Hilda waited until he signalled, then called out, “Sergeants! Colonel Brumby needs help. There will be no more loud noises.”
The sergeants hesitated, then hurried. Shortly they were dragging him away. Presently he came to life, fought them off – sent one chasing back for his cane. The man caught my eye – and winked. I concluded that Brumby was not popular.
There was now a man standing on the entrance stairs. (Perhaps there had been people nearby earlier – but not after the noise started.) Imperial House had its ground floor with no doors on the front side. The first floor was the main floor and was reached by wide, sweeping stairs. The man near the top was small, dapper, dressed in mufti. As Brumby reached him, Brumby saluted, stopped, and they talked. Brumby’s ramrod stiffness spoke for itself.
Shortly the smaller man trotted down the long steps, moved quickly toward us, stopped about thirty meters away, and called out, “In the landing craft! Is it safe to come closer?”
“Certainly,” agreed Hilda.
“Thank you, Ma’am.” He approached, talking as he walked. “I dare say we should introduce ourselves. I’m Lieutenant General Smythe-Carstairs, the Governor hereabouts. I take it you are Captain Burroughs?”
“That is correct, Excellency.”
“Thank you. Although I can’t tell, really, to whom I am speaking. Awkward, is it not, chatting via an announcing system? An open door would be pleasanter, don’t you think? More friendly.”
“You are right, Excellency. But the Russians gave us so unpleasant, so dangerous, a reception that I am nervous.”
“Those bounders. They have been making a bit of fuss over you, on the wireless. That was how I recognized your craft – smaller than they claimed but an accurate description – for a Russian. But surely you don’t think that we British wear our shirt tails out? You will receive decent treatment here.”
“That is pleasing to hear, Excellency. I was tempted to leave. That policeman chap is most unpleasant.”
“Sorry about that. Sheer mischance that he was first to greet you. Important as this colony is to the Empire, no doubt you have heard that being posted to it is not welcome to some. Not my own case, I asked for it. But some ranks and ratings. Now let’s have that door open, shall we? I dislike to insist but I am in charge here.”
Hilda looked thoughtful. “Governor General, I can either open the doors or leave. I prefer to stay. But the shocking treatment by the Russians followed by the totally unexpected behavior of your chief constable causes me to worry. I need a guarantee that our party will be permitted to remain together at all times, and a written safe-conduct for us, signed and sealed by you on behalf of H.I.M.”
“My dear Captain, a captain does not bargain with one who stands in place of and holds the authority of His Imperial Majesty. As a man, and you being a delightful lady, I would be happy to bargain with you endlessly just for the pleasure of your company. But I can’t.”
“I was not bargaining, Excellency; I was hoping for a boon. Since you will not grant it, I must leave at once.”
He shook his head. “I cannot permit you to leave as yet.”
“Gay Bounce. Zebbie, will you try to reach that nice Mr. Bean?”
Zeb had him shortly. “Leftenant Bean heah.”
“Captain Burroughs, Leftenant. Our radio chopped off while you were talking. No harm done; the important part got through. We grounded where you told us to, due south of Imperial House.”
“So that’s what happened? I must admit to feeling relieved.”
“Is your post of duty in Imperial House?”
“Yes, Ma’am. On it, rather. We have a small housing on the roof.”
“Good. I have a message for the Governor General. Will you record?”
“Oh, certainly.”
“This is Hilda Burroughs speaking, Master of Spacecraft Gay Deceiver out of Snug Harbor. I am sorry that I had to leave without saying good-bye. But your last statement forced me to take measures to protect my craft and crew.” My darling Hilda cut the mike. “Zebbie, when you have air, glide away from the city.” She continued, “In a small way my responsibilities parallel yours; I cannot bargain concerning the safety of my crew and my craft. I hope that you will reconsider, as I have no stomach for dealing with the Russians – even though they have more to offer us in exchange. I still ask for safe-conduct but now must ask for a still third item in such a document: that all four of us be allowed to leave at will. You have my name. My second-in-command is Doctor D. T. Burroughs Carter, my chief pilot is Doctor Z. J. Carter, my copilot is Doctor Jacob Burroughs. You will have noticed surnames. Doctor Jacob is my husband; the other two are our daughter and her husband. I am Doctor Hilda Corners but I am much prouder of being Mrs. Jacob Burroughs – although at present I must use ‘Captain Hilda Burroughs’ since I am commanding. Sir, while dictating this I have made a decision. I will not make a second attempt to negotiate with Russians. We will wait thirty minutes in the warm hope of hearing from you… then return to Earth, report to our own government, send a detailed complaint to the Tsar of All the Russias, and make a formal report of our attempt here to His Imperial Majesty. Signed Respectfully yours, H. C. Burroughs, Commanding. Leftenant, what are the full names and titles of the Governor General?”
“Ah, His Excellency Lieutenant General the Right Honourable Herbert Evelyn James Smythe-Carstairs, K.G., V.C., C.B.E., Governor General of the Imperial Realms Beyond the Sky.”
“Preface it formally, please, and I will wait until oh-nine-hundred hours Greenwich time or thirty-six minutes from now. Mark!”
“I will add the heading, Captain, and deliver it by hand.”
After Hilda signed off she said, “I’m going to try to sleep thirty of those thirty-six minutes. Can anyone think of a program that will let all of us nap? This contact is more tiring than I had expected. Jacob, Deety, Zeb – don’t all speak at once.”
“I can, my dear,” I answered.
“Yes, Jacob?”
“Gay Termite.”
To my mild surprise it was night at our creek bank. To my pleasure my first attempt to maneuver by voice was smoothly successful. My daughter’s ingenuity in constructing voiced programs had left me little to do. While I did not resent it (I’m proud of Deety), nevertheless while sitting as copilot, I sometimes wondered whether anyone remembered that it was my brainchild that moved this chariot. Ah, vanity!
To my greater pleasure Hilda clapped her hands and looked delighted. “Jacob! How clever of you! How stupid of me! All right, everyone off duty for a half hour ‘cept the rule about always two and always a rifle. Gay, alert us in thirty minutes. And please unlock the bulkhead door.”
“Aunt Hillbilly, are you going to sleep back there?”
“I had thought of stretching out and inviting Jacob to join me. But the space belongs to you and Zebbie; I was thoughtless.”
“We aren’t going to sleep. But we had better drag those rifles out of that sack or you won’t sleep. I want to empty the oubliette and stow that pesky plastic potty under the cushion of my seat. Durned if I’ll use it when I have the whole outdoors at hand.”
“Most certainly – but stay inside Gay’s lights – and do please remind me before we leave. Deety, I’ve so much on my mind that I forget housekeeping details.”
“Hillbilly, you’re doing swell. I’ll handle housekeeping; you worry about the big picture.”
Hilda cuddled up to me in the after compartment and my nerves began to relax. Would the Governor General relent? Where would we go next? We had a myriad universes to choose from, a myriad myriad planets – but only one was home and we didn’t dare go there. What about juice for Zeb’s car and a thousand other things? Perhaps we should risk Earth-without-a-J. What about the time bomb, ticking away in my darling’s belly?
Hilda sniffed into my shoulder. I patted her head. “Relax, dearest.”
“I can’t. Jacob, I don’t like this job. I snap at you, you argue with me, we both get upset. It’s not good for us – we never behaved this way at Snug Harbor.”
“Then give it up.”
“I’m going to. After I finish the job I started. Jacob, when we lift from this planet, you will be captain.”
“Oh, no! Zeb.” (Hilda my only love, you should turn it over to him now.)
“Zebbie won’t take it. It’s you or Deety, Jacob. If Deety is our next captain, you will back-seat drive even more than you have with me. No, Jacob, you must be captain before Deety is, so that you will understand what she is up against.”
I felt that I had been scolded enough. I started to tell Hilda when that pejorative epithet played back in my mind: ” – back-seat drive -“
I trust that I am honest with myself. I know that I am not very sociable and I expect to go on being so; a man capable of creative work has no time to spare for fools who would like to visit. But a “back-seat driver”?
Some facts: Jane learned to drive before I did – her father’s duo. Our first car, a roadable, coincided with her pregnancy; I got instruction so that I could drive for Jane. She resumed driving after Deety was born but when both of us were in the car, I always drove. She drove with me as passenger once or twice before the custom became established – but she never complained that I had been back-seat driving.
But Jane never complained.
Deety laid it on the line. I don’t know who taught Deety to drive but I recall that she was driving, on roads as well as in the air, when she was twelve or thirteen. She had no occasion to drive for me until Jane’s illness. There was a time after we lost Jane that Deety often drove for me. After a while we alternated. Then came a day when she was driving and I pointed out that her H-above-G was, oh, some figure less than a thousand meters, with a town ahead.
She said, “Thanks, Pop” – and grounded at that town, an unplanned stop. She switched off, got out, walked around and said, “Shove over, Pop. From now on, I’ll enjoy the scenery while you herd us through the sky.”
I didn’t shove over, so Deety got into the back seat. Deety gets her stubbornness from both parents. Jane’s was covered with marshmallow that concealed chrome steel; mine is covered with a coat of sullen anger if frustrated. But Deety’s stubbornness isn’t concealed. She has a sweet disposition but Torquemada could not force Deety to do that which she decided against.
For four hours we ignored each other. Then I turned around (intending to start an argument, I suppose – I was in the mood for one) – and Deety was asleep, curled up in the back seat.
I wrote a note, stuck it to the wind screen, left the keys, got quietly out, made sure all doors were locked, hired another car and drove home – by air; I was too angry to risk roading.
Instead of going straight home I went to the Commons to eat, and found Deety already eating. So I took my tray and joined her. She looked up, smiled, and greeted me: “Hello, Pop! How nice we ran into each other!” She opened her purse. “Here are your keys.”
I took them. “Where is our car?”
“Your car, Pop. Where you left it.”
“I left it?”
“You had the keys; you were in the front seat; you hold title. You left a passenger asleep in the back seat. Good thing she’s over eighteen, isn’t it?” She added, “There is an Opel duo I have my eye on. Tried it once; it’s in good shape.”
“We don’t need two cars!”
“A matter of taste. Yours. And mine.”
“We can’t afford two cars.”
“How would you know, Pop? I handle the money.”
She did not buy the Opel. But she never again drove when we both were in our car.
Three data are not a statistical universe. But it appears that the three women I have loved most all consider me to be a back-seat driver. Jane never said so… but I realize today that she agreed with Deety and Hilda.
I don’t consider myself to be a back-seat driver! I don’t yell “Look out!” or “Watch what you’re doing!” But four eyes are better than two: Should not a passenger offer, simply as data, something the driver may not have seen? Criticism? Constructive criticism only and most sparingly and only to close friends.
But I try to be self-honest; my opinion is not important in this. I must convince Hilda and Deety, by deeds, not words. Long habit is not changed by mere good resolution; I must keep the matter at the top of my mind.
There was banging at the bulkhead; I realized that I had been asleep. The door opened a crack. “Lift in five minutes.”
“Okay, Deety,” Hilda answered. “Nice nap, beloved?”
“Yes indeed. Did you?”
As we crawled out, Deety said, “Starboard door is open; Pop’s rifle is leaning against it, locked. Captain, you asked to be reminded. Shall I take the conn?”
“Yes, thank you.”
We lost no time as Deety used two preprograms: Bingo Windsor, plus Gay Bounce. Zeb had the communication watch officer almost at once. ” – very well. I will see if the Captain will take the message. No over. Hold.”
Zeb looked around, ostentatiously counted ten seconds, then pointed at Hilda.
“Captain Burroughs speaking. Leftenant Bean?”
“Yes, yes! Oh, my word, I’ve been trying to reach you the past twenty minutes.”
“It is still a few seconds short of the time I gave you.”
“Nevertheless I am enormously relieved to hear your voice, Captain. I have a message from the Governor General. Are you ready to record?”
Zeb nodded; Hilda answered Yes; the lieutenant continued: “‘From the Governor General to H. C. Burroughs, Master Gay Deceiver.’ Hurry home, the children are crying. We all miss you. The fatted calf is turning on the spit. That document is signed and sealed, including the additional clause. Signed: “Bertie”‘ – Captain, that is the Governor’s way of signing a message to an intimate friend. A signal honor, if I may say so.”
“Gracious of him. Please tell the Governor General that I am ready to ground and will do so as soon as you tell me that the spot in which we were parked – the exact spot – is free of any obstruction whatever.”
Bean was back in about three minutes saying that our spot was clear and would be kept so. Hilda nodded to Deety, who said, “Gay Parade Ground.”
I had a flash of buildings fairly close, then we were back in the sky. Hilda snapped, “Chief Pilot, get Leftenant Bean!”
Then – c”Mr. Bean! Our spot was not clear.”
“It is now, Captain; I have just come from the parapet. The Governor’s poodle got loose and ran out. The Governor chased him and brought him back. Could that have been it?”
“It decidedly was it. You may tell the Governor – privately – that never in battle has he been so close to death. Astrogator, take her down!”
“GayParadeGround!”
Bean must have heard the gasp, then cheers, while Hilda’s words were still echoing in his radio shack. We were exactly as before, save that the wide, showy steps to the King-Emperor’s residence on Mars were jammed with people: officers, soldiers, civil servants with that slightly dusty look, women with children, and a few dogs, all under restraint.
I didn’t spot the Right Honourable “Bertie” until he moved toward us. He was no longer in mufti but in what I could call “service dress” or “undress” – not a dress uniform – but dressy. Ribbons, piping, wound stripes, etc. – sword when appropriate. Since he was not wearing sword I interpreted our status as “honored guests” rather than “official visitors” – he was ready to jump either way.
He had his wife on his arm – another smart move, our captain being female. His aide (? – left shoulder “chicken guts” but possibly a unit decoration) was with him, too – no one else. The crowd stayed back.
Hilda said, “Chief Pilot – ” then pointed to the mikes, drew her finger across her throat. Zeb said, “Outside audio is cold, Cap’n.”
“Thank you, Gay, lock the bulkhead door, open your doors.”
I jumped down and handed Hilda out, offered her my arm, while Zeb was doing the same with Deety portside. We met, four abreast at Gay’s nose, continued moving forward a few paces and halted facing the Governor’s party as they halted. It looked rehearsed but we had not even discussed it. This placed our ladies between us, with my tiny darling standing tall, opposite the Governor.
The aide boomed, “His Excellency Governor General the Lieutenant General the Right Honourable Herbert Evelyn James Smythe-Carstairs and Lady Herbert Evelyn James!”
The Governor grinned. “Dreadful,” he said quietly, “but worse with ruffles, flourishes, and the Viceroy’s March – I spared you that.” He raised his voice, did not shout but it projected – and saluted Hilda. “Captain Burroughs! We bid you welcome!”
Hilda bowed, returning the salute. “Excellency… Lady Herbert… thank you! We are happy to be here.”
Lady Herbert smiled at being included, and bobbed about two centimeters – a minimum curtsy, I suppose, but can’t swear to it, as she was swathed in one of those dreadful garden-party-formal things – big hat, long skirt, long gloves. Hilda answered with a smile and a minimum bow.
“Permit me to present my companions,” Hilda continued. “My family and also my crew. On my left my astrogator and second-in-command, our daughter Doctor D. T. Burroughs Carter, and on her left is her husband our son-in-law, my chief pilot, Doctor Zebadiah John Carter, Captain U.S. Aerospace Reserve.” Deety dropped a curtsy as her name was mentioned, a 6-cm job, with spine straight. Zeb acknowledged his name with a slight bow.
Hilda turned her head and shoulders toward me. “It gives me more pride than I can express,” she sang, her eyes and mouth smiling, her whole being speaking such serene happiness that it made me choke up, “to present our copilot, my husband Doctor Jacob Jeremiah Burroughs, Colonel of Ordnance A.U.S.”
The Governor stepped forward quickly and held out his hand. “Doctor, we are honored!” His handshake was firm.
I returned it in kind, saying in a nonprojecting voice, “Hilda should not have done that to me. Off campus, I’m ‘Mister’ to strangers and ‘Jake’ to my friends.”
“I’m Bertie, Jake,” he answered in his intimate voice, “other than on occasions when I can’t avoid that string of goods wagons. Or I’ll call you ‘Doctor.”
“You do and it’s fifty lines.” That made him laugh again.
“And I’m Betty, Jake,” Lady Herbert said, in closing in. “Captain Burroughs, may I call you ‘Hilda’?” (Was that a hiccup?)
“Call her ‘Doctor,'” I suggested. “She told on the rest of us. How many doctorates do you hold, dear? Seven? Or eight?”
“After the first one, it no longer matters. Of course I’m ‘Hilda,’ Betty. But, Bertie, we have yet to meet the Brigadier.”
I glanced at the tabs of the officer with the aiguillette and booming voice. Yes, A crown inboard and three pips – But when had Hilda learned British insignia? Many Americans can’t read their own. I am ceasing to be surprised at how many facts can be stuffed into so small a space.
“Sorry. Friends, this is Brigadier Iver Hird-Jones. Squeaky finds things I lose and remembers things I forget.”
“Ladies. Gentlemen. Charmed. Here is something you told me to remember, General.” The Brigadier handed a sealed envelope to his boss.
“Ah, yes!” Smythe-Carstairs handed it to my wife. “The Keys to the City, Ma’am. Phrased as you specified, each of you named, and that third factor included. Signed by me for the Sovereign and carrying the Imperial seal.”
“Your Excellency is most gracious,” Hilda said formally, and turned toward Deety. “Astrogator.”
“Aye, Captain.” Deety placed it in her purse.
Our host looked surprised. “Jake, doesn’t your wife have normal curiosity? She seems to have forgot my name, too.”
Hilda protested, “I haven’t forgotten your name, Bertie. It’s an official matter; I treated it formally. I shall read it when I have leisure to open that envelope without damaging the flap seal. To you this is one of thousands of papers; to me it is a once-in-a-lifetime souvenir. If I sound impressed, it’s because I am.”
Lady Herbert said, “Don’t flatter him, my deah.” (Yes, she had had a couple.) “You’ll turn his head, quite.” She added, “Bertie, you’re causing our guests to stand when we could be inside, sitting down.”
“You’re right, m’dear.” Bertie looked longingly at Zeb’s car.
Hilda played a trump. “Care to look inside, Bertie? Betty, you can sit down here; the captain’s chair is comfortable. Will you do me the honor? Someday I’ll tell my grandchildren that Lady Herbert sat in that very seat.”
“What a charming thought!”
Hilda tried to catch my eye but I was a jump ahead of her, handing Lady Herbert in, making certain that she didn’t miss the step, getting her turned around, making sure that she didn’t sit down on belts. “If we were about to lift,” I told her, while fastening the seat belt loosely (first, moving the buckle – she’s Hilda’s height but my thickness), “this safety belt would be fastened firmly.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t dare!”
“Gangway, Pop! Another customer.” I got out of the way, and Deety installed Brigadier Hird-Jones in her seat. Deety said, “Pop, if you’ll put the Governor in your seat, Zebadiah will take his own and give his two-hour lecture on the care and feeding of spacecraft, while you and I and Hilda hang in the doorways and correct his errors.”
“I’m only up to chapter four,” Zeb said defensively. “Jake, make her quit picking on me.”
“You’re her husband; I’m merely her father. Bertie, I must ask one thing. Don’t touch anything. This car is not shut down; it is ready to go, instantly.”
“I’ll be careful, Jake. But we’re leaving the ladies standing. The Captain herself! This is not right.”
Deety said, “Bertie, I don’t want to sit down. This trip doesn’t give me nearly the exercise I need.”
“But I can’t permit Captain Hilda to stand. Sit here and I’ll stand.” (I appreciated his gallantry but I could see an impasse coming: two people, each aware of her/his prerogatives and they conflicted.)
Hilda avoided it by something she had discovered in working out how to rig a double bed in the control compartment. Although pilots have separate seats, the passenger’s seats are really one, built all the way across but separated by armrests… which could be removed with screwdriver and sweat.
I had eliminated sweat and screwdriver; a natural mechanic, such as Zeb, accumulates miscellaneous hardware. Those armrests could now be removed and clamped out of the way with butterfly nuts. Hilda started to do so; the Brigadier dismounted them once he saw what she was doing.
It was a snug fit, but Hird-Jones has trim hips and Hilda has the slimmest bottom in town (any town).
“An important feature,” said Zeb, “of this design is a voice-controlled autopilot -“

Chapter XXXVII

“Are you open to a bribe?”

Deety:
Zebadiah, for seventeen dull minutes, said nothing and said it very well. During that plethora of polysyllabic nullities, I was beginning to think that I would have to take Pop to a quiet spot and reason with him with a club – when Captain Auntie showed that she needed no help.
Pop had interrupted with: “Let me put it simply. What Zeb said is -“
“Copilot.” Cap’n Hilda did not speak loudly but Pop should know that when she says “Copilot,” she does not mean: “Jacob darling, this is your little wifey.” Pop is a slow learner. But he can learn. Just drop an anvil on him.
“Yes, Hilda?” Aunt Hilda let the seconds creep past, never took her eyes off Pop. I was embarrassed; Pop isn’t usually that slow – then the anvil hit. “Yes, Captain?”
“Please do not interrupt the Chief Pilot’s presentation.” Her tone was warm and sweet: I don’t think our guests realized that Pop had just been courtmartialed, convicted, keelhauled, and restored to duty – on probation. But I knew it, Zeb knew it – Pop knew it. “Aye aye, Captain!”
I concluded that Captain Auntie never intended to stand outside. She had told me to offer my seat to Squeaky and had added, “Why don’t you suggest to your father that he offer his to the Governor?” I don’t need an anvil.
It was a foregone conclusion that Bertie would object to ladies having to stand while he sat. But if he had not, I feel certain that the Hillbilly would have held up proceedings until she was seated where she could watch everyone but our visitors could not watch her.
How tall was Machiavelli?
As they were climbing out the Brigadier was telling me that he understood how she was controlled – but how did she flap her wings? – land I answered that technical questions were best put to the Captain – I was unsurprised to hear Cap’n Auntie say, “Certainly, Bertie… if you don’t mind being squeezed between Deety and me.”
“‘Mind’? I should pay for the privilege!”
“Certainly you should,” I agreed – the Hillbilly’s eyes widened but she let me talk. “What am I offered to scrunch over?” I slapped myself where I’m widest. “Squeaky is a snake’s hips – not me!”
“Are you open to a bribe?”
“How big a bribe?”
“A purse of gold and half the county? Or cream tarts at tea?”
“Oh, much more! A bath. A bath in a tub, with loads of hot water and lots of suds. The last time I bathed was in a stream and it was coooold!” I shivered for him.
The Governor appeared to think. “Squeaky, do we have a bathtub?”
Lady Herbert interrupted. “Bertie, I was thinking of the Princess Suite. My deah, since you are all one family, it popped into mind. Two bedrooms, two bathrooms, two bathtubs. The drawing room is gloomy, rather.”
I answered, “Bertie, you didn’t talk fast enough; Betty gets the first ride.”
“Oh, no, no, no! I don’t fly even in our own flying carriage.”
“Hahrooomph!” Squeaky boomed. “Are you still open to a bribe?”
“You might try our captain; she’s as corruptible as I am.”
Aunt Hilda picked it up. “Now that I’ve heard that two bathtubs go with the suite, my cup runneth over. But my husband and my son-in-law have matters to discuss with the Governor’s technical staff. I don’t have to be bribed to offer a few joy rides, Brigadier – one passenger at a time and, as Deety implies, not too wide a passenger.” Aunt Hilda added, “Betty, I must confess my own weakness. Clothes. What I am wearing, for example. A Ferrara original. An exclusive – Mario himself created it for me. While it is intended for salt-water yachting, it is just as practical for space yachting – and I couldn’t resist it. Do you have nice shops here?”
Bertie answered for his wife. “Hilda, there are shops – but Windsor City is not London. However, Betty has a seamstress who is clever at copying styles from pictures in periodicals from home – old but new to us.” He added, “She’ll show you what we have. Now concerning this ride you so kindly offered me – does it suit you to give me an appointment?”
“Is right now soon enough?”

“Report readiness for space. Astrogator.”
“Ready!” I snapped, trying to sound efficient. “Belt tight.”
“Chief Pilot.”
“Belt fastened. Portside door locked, seal checked. Juice zero point seven-one. Wings subsonic full. Wheels down and locked. Car trimmed assuming passenger at six-six kilos.”
“General, is that your mass?”
“Dear me! I think in pounds. The factor is -“
I interrupted. “I’ll take it in pounds here or pounds London.”
“I weigh myself each morning and I have had the scale recalibrated. Eh, with these boots, one hundred forty-five pounds I dare say.”
“Correct to three significant figures, Zebadiah.” (I did not mention that weight bearing on each wheel shows on the instrument board. Let Bertie think my husband a magician; he’s a wizard to me.)
“Thank you, Astrogator. Car is trimmed, Captain.”
“Copilot.”
“Belt fastened. Door seal checked. Continua device ready.”
“Passenger,” said Cap’n Auntie.
“Eh? What should a passenger report?”
“Principally that your belt is secure, but I saw to that myself.” (By using a web belt from our sleeping bag to link Hilda’s seat belt to mine.) “I must ask one question,” Aunt Hilda went on: “Are you subject to motion sickness? The Channel can be rough and so can the Straits of Dover. Did mal de mer ever hit you?”
“Oh, I’ll be right. Short flight and all that.”
“One Bonine, Deety. General, Admiral Lord Nelson was seasick all his life. My husband and I are susceptible; we took our pills earlier today. Deety and Zebbie are the horrid sort who eat greasy sandwiches during a typhoon and laugh at the dying -“
“I don’t laugh!” I protested.
“But these pills enable us to laugh right back. Is this not so, Jacob?”
“Bertie, they work; you’d be a fool not to take one.”
“I must add,” Captain Auntie said sweetly, “that if you refuse, we will not lift.”
Bertie took it. I told him, “Chew it and swallow it; don’t hide it in your cheek. Captain, I think that does it.”
“Except that we are crowded. General, would you be more comfortable if you put an arm around each of us?”
The General did not refuse. It occurs to me that “take him for a ride” has several meanings. Captain Auntie has more twists than a belly dancer.
“Routine has been broken. Confirm readiness, please.” We reported while I snuggled into a firm male arm, realized that it was a pleasant contrast after getting used to my lovely giant.
“Gay Bounce.”
Bertie gasped and tightened his arms around us. Aunt Hilda said quietly, “Astrogator, take the conn. Schedule as I discussed it. Don’t hesitate to vary it. All of us – you, too, General – may suggest variations. This is a joy ride; let’s enjoy it.”
But she had told me earlier: “If I don’t like a suggestion, I will suggest that we do it later – but time will run out. The General told Lady Herbert:
‘I can go down to the end of the town
‘And be back in time for tea!” – so we will fetch him back on time. Sixteen-fifteen local, four-fifteen pip emma. What’s Greenwich?”
I converted it (GMT 12:44) and told Captain Hillbilly that I would watch both board and the clock in my head but was ordered to place an alert with Gay. If Aunt Hilda were a man, she would wear both suspenders and belt. No, that’s wrong; for herself she’s go-for-broke; for other people she is supercautious.
We lifted at 15:30 local and took Bertie for a mixed ride – Aunt Hilda had told me that Pop was feeling left out. “Gay Bounce, Gay Bounce. Chief Pilot, place us over the big Russian city at about a thousand klicks.”
“Roger Wilco,” my husband affirmed. “Copilot, one jump or two?”
“One. Level? Keep ‘er so. Six thousand thirty klicks, true bearing two-seven-three, offset L axis negative oh-seven-four-set!” – and I shuddered; Pop had set to take us through the planet!
“Execute! Bertie, what is the name of that city?”
“Eh? Zeb, I am quite bewildered!” Pop and Gay and Zebadiah, working together, displayed features simultaneously on the planet in front of us and on the sillyscope on the board. Pop bounced Gay around in ways I didn’t know could be done. Zebadiah had Gay rotate the display so that the point on Mars-ten opposite us was always the center of the display with scale according to H-above-G.
I learned a lot. The Russians claim the whole planet but their occupied area closely matches what we had bingo-mapped. Bertie pointed out a bit more Tsarist area; Gay changed the displayed locus to Zebadiah’s interpretation of Bertie’s information. Windsor City was zero Meridan for the British; Gay measured the arc to “Touchdown,” adjusted her longitudes – and now could use any British Martian colonial map.
Bertie assured us that Russian Ack-Ack could not shoot higher than three miles (less than five klicks) and seemed astonished that a spaceship might be considered dangerous. His explanation of spaceships was less than clear – great flimsy things that sailed from orbits around Earth to orbits around Mars, taking months for each voyage.
I was watching the time. “Chief Pilot, we will sight-see with Bertie another day; I am taking the conn. Copilot.”
“Verniers zeroed and locked, Astrogator.”
“Thanks, Pop. Gay B’gout. Bertie, this is where we first grounded – where the Russians attacked us. That trash ahead is what is left of Colonel Morinosky’s private flyer. Zebadiah was forced to retaliate.”
Bertie looked puzzled. “But the Russians have no settlement near here. I know that bounder Morinosky; he came to see me under diplomatic immunity. I had to be content with the sort of nasty remarks permitted by protocol. But how did Zeb burn the flyer?”
“Beautifully. Gay Home. Chief Pilot, dive. Captain?”
“I have the conn,” Aunt Hilda acknowledged. “Bertie, that crater was our home three days ago. They tried to kill us, we fled for our lives.”
“Who!”
“Gay Home, Gay Bounce. Pilots, may we have Earth-without-a-J?”
“Set it, Jake.”
“Tau axis positive one quantum – set!”
“Copilot, execute at will. Chief Pilot, dive again, please. Jacob, please set Bertie’s home universe and hold. Bertie, that house is like Snug Harbor before it was bombed – but one universe away. Zebbie, level glide please… Gay Bounce, Gay Bounce! Jacob, you have that setting?”
“Tau positive ten quanta, set.”
“Execute at will. Bertie, what antiaircraft defense does London – your London – have?”
“What, what? London has no defense against attack from above. The Concord of Brussels. But Hilda – my dear Captain – you are telling me that we have been to a different universe!”
“Three universes, Bertie, and now we are back in your own. Better to show than to tell; it is a thing one believes only through experience. Gay Bounce. Zebbie, Jacob, see how quickly you can put us over London. Execute at will.”
“Roger Wilco. Jake, do you want Gay?”
“Well – great-circle true bearing and chord distance, maybe. Or I can simply take her high and head northeast. The scenic route.”
Aunt Hilda caught my eye. “Camera ready, Deety?”
“Yes. Three shots.” I added, “Four more cartons, but when they’re gone, they’re gone.”
“Use your judgment.”
Suddenly we were in free fall over Arizona, then over the British Isles, then we were air supported, then we were diving and Zebadiah was shouting: “Tower of London, next stop!”
I shot a beauty of the Tower and Zebadiah’s right ear. “General, is there something you would like to photograph here? Or elsewhere?”
He seemed almost too overcome to talk. He muttered, “There is a place about twenty miles north of here, a country estate. Is it possible?”
Aunt Hilda said, “Take the conn, Deety.”
“Got it, Captain. Gay Bounce. Pop, Zebadiah, give me three minima north. Execute at will.”
Then I was saying, “Any landmarks, Bertie?”
“Uh, not yet.”
“Pop, may we have the binoculars?”
Pop handed them aft; I gave them to Bertie. He adjusted them and searched while Zebadiah made a wide sweep, spending altitude stingily. Bertie said, “There!”
“Where?” I said. “And what?”
“A large house, to the right of our course. Ah, now dead ahead!”
I saw it – a “Stately Home of England.” Lawns you make with a flock of sheep and four centuries. “This it?” asked Zebadiah. “I’m steady on it by gunsight,”
“That’s it, sir! Deety, I would like a picture.”
“Do my best.”
“Alert,” said Gay. “Memo for General Smythe-Carstairs: ‘I can go down to the end of the town and be back in time for tea.'”
“Aunt Hilda, Bertie, I left some leeway. Picture! Zebadiah, take it as close as you dare, then bounce, but warn me. I want a closeup.”
“Now, Deety!” I hit it and Zebadiah bounced us.
Bertie let out a sigh. “My home. I never expected to see it again.”
“I knew it was your home,” Aunt Hilda said softly, “because you looked the way we feel when we see the crater where Snug Harbor used to be. But you will see it again, surely? How long is a tour of duty on Mars?”
“It’s a matter of health.” Bertie added, “Lady Her – Betty’s health.”
Pop turned his head. “Bertie, we can bounce and do it again. What’s a few minutes late for tea compared with seeing your old homestead?”
“Bertie’s not late yet, Pop. We can do even better. That lawn is smooth and the open part is about half the size of the p.g. at Imperial House. Bertie, we can ground.”
My husband added, “I could make a glide grounding. But Deety has worked out a better method.”
“No,” Bertie said brusquely. “Thanks, Deety. Thanks to all of you. Jake. Zeb. Captain Hilda. I’ll treasure this day. But enough is enough.” Tears were running down his cheeks, ignored.
Aunt Hilda took a Kleenex from her purse, dabbed away his tears. She put her left hand back of Bertie’s neck, pulled his face down to hers, and kissed him. She didn’t look to see if Pop was watching – he was – she just did it.
Pop said, “Deety, will you hand me the binox?”
“Sure, Pop. See something?”
“I’m going to see what I can of Merrie Old England, as I don’t expect to see it again, either. Family, we are not going back to Snug Harbor again; it’s not good for us. Meanwhile Zeb will drive and you two are to soothe our guest and make him feel better -“
“But remember to wipe off the lipstick.”
“Pipe down, Zeb. You aren’t observant; neither of our darlings is wearing any. Being late is not important; ‘The party can’t start till the Macgregor arrives.’ But once Bertie’s there, he’s on parade – and the Governor must not appear with eyes swollen and tear marks on his collar. We must return him in as good shape as we got him.”
Sometimes I love Pop more than most.
And my husband, too.
I used both hands but didn’t need to; Bertie wasn’t trying to get away. The second time he kissed Hilda, he supplied the hands. Therapy took three minutes and forty-one seconds, and I am certain that, by the end of two hundred twenty-one seconds, Bertie was no longer homesick, not grieving about might have-beens; his morale was tiptop. The last time he kissed me, he informed me without words that I should not be alone with him unless my intentions were serious.
I made mental note. And a second to ask Hilda if she had received the same warning. Then I struck out the second note. I was certain and equally certain that she would fib if it suited her.
But I look forward to the day the Hillbilly asks me to jigger for her. That will be my final promotion – no longer Jane’s little girl in Hilda’s eyes but Jane’s equal, trusted as utterly as she trusted Jane. And I will be rid of the last trace of the shameful jealousy I have for my beloved Mama Jane.
I checked myself in my purse mirror while I waited for them to break – checked both of them and decided that they had no milk on their chins. Bertie said, “Deety, could I possibly have one of those pictures as a remembrance of this perfect day?”
“Certainly. Gay Parade Ground. All three are yours;~we took them for you.” We were exactly on time.

Three hours later I was sitting teat deep in a wonderful tub of hot soapy water, a tub big enough to drown in but I wasn’t going to drown because the Hillbilly was sitting shoulder deep, facing me. We were reliving our day as well as getting beautiful for dinner. Well… sanitary.
Hilda said, “Deety, I tell you three times. Betty is suffering from an ailment made more endurable by Martian conditions.”
“Meaning that in point thirty-eight gee she doesn’t hit hard when she falls down. What was in that teapot no one else touched? Chanel Number Five?”
“Medicine. Prescribed for her nerves.”
“Got it. Official. She’s friendly as a puppy, she’s generous, she’s our hostess – I ought to know better. It’s a shame that she has this ailment but she’s fortunate in having a husband who loves her so dearly that he left home forever so that she can live in lower gravity. Bertie is quite a man.”
“There is nothing for him at home. His older brother has sons; title and estate can’t go to Bertie. He can’t go much higher in the army, and a governor general is senior to anybody; he embodies the Sovereign.”
“I thought that was limited to viceroys.”
“Squeaky put me straight on it. Bertie is viceroy in dealing with Russians. But – Did you notice the uniforms on the maids?”
“I noticed the cream tarts more. White aprons, white caps, simple print dresses, dark blue or black with Indian arrowheads.”
“The Broad Arrow, Deety.”
“Huh? No sabbe, pliz.”
“In this universe Australia belongs to the Dutch. Brace yourself, dear. This is a prison colony.”
Every so often the world wobbles and I have to wait for it to steady down. Somewhat later I said, “A colony could be better than a prison. I can’t see Bertie as a tyrant. Bertie is quite a man. When -“
Hilda reached out, grabbed a chain, flushed the W.C., then leaned toward me. That fixture was a noisy type that went on gurgling and gasping for a long time. “Remember what Zebbie told us when he crowded us into the other bath and turned on everything? One must assume that guest quarters in any government building anywhere are wired. Careful what you say, dear.”
“He also said that he had no reason to assume that it was the case here.”
“But Zebbie was the one who insisted on a conference in Gay… with Jacob being mulish and you yourself seeing no reason not to confer up here.” Aunt Hilda again pulled the chain. “Yes, Bertie is quite a man. Don’t leave me alone with him.”
“Or should I jigger instead?”
“Naughty Deety. My sweet, a bride should refrain at least twelve months out of respect for her husband and to prove that she can.”
“After that it’s okay?”
“Of course not! It’s immoral, disgraceful, and scandalous.” Suddenly she giggled, put arms around my neck, and whispered: “But if I ever need a jigger, Deety is the only person I would trust.”

That conference, immediately after tea, had caused a crisis, brought on by our husbands in concert – but out of tune. The tea had been fun – cream tarts and new men appeal to my basest instincts. A tea qua tea should be over in an hour. We had been there over an hour, which I ignored because I was having fun. Aunt Hilda broke the ring around me, said softly, “We’re leaving.” So we smiled and said good-bye, found our host, and thanked him.
“Our pleasure,” Bertie said. “Lady Herbert became indisposed and wishes to be forgiven but will see you at dinner. Hird-Jones tells me that black tie is no problem. Right?”
He added to let Squeaky know when we wanted help in moving; Hilda assured him that Squeaky had it in hand and the suite was beautiful!
As we left I asked, “Where is Zebadiah?”
“Waiting at the outer steps. He asked me for a conference. I don’t know why, but Zebbie would not unnecessarily interrupt a social event to ask for a closed conference.”
“Why didn’t we go to our suite? And where is Pop?”
“Zebbie specified the car – more private. Jacob is inside, talking with some men. He brushed off my telling him that we were going to the car now – said he would see us later. Deety, I can’t enforce orders as captain under those conditions.”
“Pop is hard to move when he gets into a discussion. I’ve yawned through some deadly ones. But how can we have a conference until he shows up?”
“I don’t know, dear. Here’s Zebbie.”
My husband pecked me on the nose and said, “Where’s Jake?”
Hilda answered, “He told me that he would be along later.” Zebadiah started to curse; Aunt Hilda cut him off. “Chief Pilot.”
“Uh – Yes, Captain.”
“Go find the Copilot, tell him that we lift in five minutes. Having told him that and no more, turn and leave at once. Don’t give him any opportunity to ask questions. Come straight to the car.”
“Aye aye, Captain.”
“Come, Deety.” Hilda hurried to Gay Deceiver, went to her seat, started to belt, She glanced at me. “Astrogator, prepare for space.”
I started to ask why – but instead said, “Aye aye, Captain,” and quickly was belted. “Captain, may I inquire your plans?”
“Certainly, you’re second-in-command. And Astrogator; however, I will take the conn on lifting.”
“Then we really are lifting?”
“Yes. Five minutes after Zebbie returns. That gives Jacob five minutes to make up his mind. Then we lift. If Jacob is aboard, he’ll be with us.”
“Aunt Hilda, you would abandon my father on this planet?!”
“No, Deety. Jacob will probably never notice that the car has been away as it should not be gone more than a few minutes. If Jacob does not come with us, I will ask Zebbie to drop me on Earth-without-a-J. Range-finder and target method; I don’t want to use Zebbie’s precious juice.”
“Aunt Hilda, you sound desperate.”
“I am, dear.” She added, “Here comes Zebbie.”
Zebadiah climbed in. “Message delivered, Captain.”
“Thank you, Chief Pilot. Prepare for space.”
“Roger Wilco.”
“Will you check the seal of the starboard door, please?”
“Aye aye, Captain.”
“Report readiness for space, Astrogator.”
“Belt tight, ready for space. Oh, Aunt Hilda!”
“Astrogator, pipe down. Chief Pilot.”
“Both doors locked, seals checked. Seat belt tight. Power packs, two zeroed, two in reserve. Juice oh-point-seven-one-minus. All systems go. Copilot missing. Ready for space.”
“Captain’s seat belt tight, ready for space. Gay Deceiver.”
“Howdy, Hilda!”
“Please display five-minute countdown. Paraphrase acknowledge.”
“Three hundred seconds backwards in lights.”
“Execute.”
Have you ever listened to three hundred seconds of silence? Neither have I – two hundred eighty-one when Pop pounded on the door.
Aunt Hilda said, “Gay Deceiver, open starboard door.”
Pop climbed in, indignant as an offended cat. “What the hell goes on?”
“Copilot, prepare for space.”
“What? Now, Hilda, that is going too far!”
“Copilot, either secure for space or get out and stand clear. Chief Pilot, see that my orders are carried out.”
“Aye aye, Captain! Copilot, you’ve got zero seconds to make up your mind.” My husband started to unstrap.
Pop looked at Zebadiah, looked at us. I was doing my frozen face to keep from crying and I think Aunt Hilda was, too.
Pop hastily fastened his belt. “You’re a pack of idiots – ” He was checking the door seal. ” – but I won’t be left behind.”
“Copilot, report.”
“Huh? Ready for space.”
Hilda said, “Gay Termite. Gay Deceiver, open your doors.”
“Well, for the love of -“
“Pipe down! Chief Pilot, I have no stomach for charging my husband with mutiny but that is what I have been faced with repeatedly. Will you grant me the boon of resuming command to drop me on Earth-without-a-J? I would rather not have to stay on Mars.”
“Hilda!”
“I’m sorry, Jacob. I’ve tried. I’m not up to it. I’m not Jane.”
“No one expects you to be Jane! But ever since you became captain, you’ve been throwing your weight around. Like calling this stunt in the middle of a party. Insulting our host and hostess – “
“Hold it, Jake!”
“What? See here, Zeb, I’m talking to my wife! You keep -“
“I said ‘Hold it.’ Shut up or I’ll shut you up.”
“Don’t you threaten me!”
“That’s not a threat; that’s a warning.”
“Pop, you had better believe him! I’m not on your side.”
Pop took a deep breath. “What do you have to say for yourself, Carter?”
“Nothing, for myself. But you’ve got your data wrong six ways. One: Captain Hilda did not call this so-called ‘stunt.’ I did.”
“You did? What the devil caused you to do a thing like that?”
“Irrelevant. I convinced the Captain that the matter was urgent, so she gathered us in. All but you – -you told her not to bother you or words to that effect. But she gave you another chance – you didn’t deserve it; you had long since used up your quota. But she did. She sent me back to tell you we were lifting. It finally penetrated your skull that we might lift without you -“
“To this place!”
“If you had been twenty seconds later, we would have translated to another universe. But this nonsense about ‘Insulting our host and hostess – ‘ Your hostess left the tea long before you did; your host left immediately after Hilda and Deety, leaving his aide – the Brigadier – to close shop. But you are so damned self-centered you never noticed. Jake, don’t you lecture me on proper behavior as a guest. The first time I laid eyes on you, you were trying to star a fight in Sharpie’s ballroom -“
“Huh? But I was fully justi – “
“Dreck. No one is ever justified in starting a fight under a host’s roof. The very most that can be justified under extreme provocation is to tell the other party privately that you are ready to meet him at another time and place. Jake, I don’t enjoy teaching manners to my senior. But your parents neglected you, so I must. If I offend you – if you feel entitled to call me out, I will accommodate you at any other time and place.”
Aunt Hilda gasped. “Zebbie! No!” I gasped something like it. My husband patted our hands – together; Hilda was gripping mine. “Don’t worry, dears. I didn’t call Jake out and won’t. I don’t want to hurt Jake. He’s your husband… your father… my blood brother by spilled blood. But I had to chew him out; he’s now entitled to a crack at me. With words, with hands, with whatever. Sharpie, Deety, you can’t refuse Jake his rights. No matter what, he still has rights.”
Pop said, “Zeb, I am not going to call you out. If you think I am afraid of you, you’re welcome. If you think it’s because I know you love both Hilda and Deety, you would be closer. A fight between us would endanger their welfare. As you said, we are blood brothers.” Pop’s tone suddenly changed. “But doesn’t mean I like your behavior, you arrogant punk!”
Zebadiah grinned. “Nolo contendere, Pop.”
“So you admit it?”
“You know Latin better than that, Jake. Means I’m satisfied to let it lie. We can’t afford to quarrel.”
“Mmm – A point well taken. Stipulating that I did not come at once when summoned, and tabling, if you will, until later whether or not I had reason, may I now ask why I was summoned? The nature of this problem that caused you to call this conference?”
“Jake, the situation has changed so rapidly that the matter no longer has priority. You heard Sharpie’s plans.”
My husband looked into Aunt Hilda’s eyes. “Captain, I’ll be honored to drive you wherever you want to go. Drop you wherever you say. With your choice of equipment and wampum. But with a mail drop, I hope. Are you ready to leave?”
“Yes, Captain.”
“Wait a half. You are captain, until you leave us. Orders, Captain? Earth-without-a-J? Or I’ll help you shop others – we might find a world of nudists.”
“Why that, Zebbie? I’m not jumpy about skin – but only among close friends.”
“Remember why Jake was certain that the Finnish mathematician was not a disguised vermin? Sauna. Disguise has limits.”
“Oh.” Aunt Hilda looked thoughtful. “I could get used to it. But I must get out of this tension. So drop me on the minus-J world. A mail drop, yes; I don’t ever want to lose you and Deety.”
“We find that safe place, we pick you up. Sharpie, we’ll be back someday anyhow. If the boogiemen don’t get us.”
“Hold it, Zeb. If you’re dropping Hilda, you’re dropping me.”
“That’s up to Captain Hilda.”
“Hilda, I will not permit -“
“Jake, quit acting the fool,” growled my husband. “She’s boss. With me to back her up.”
“And me!” I echoed.
“You seem to forget that the continua device is mine!”
“Gay Deceiver!”
“Yes, Boss? Who’s your fat friend?”
“‘Number of the Beast.’ Execute.”
“Done.”
“Try your verniers, Jake.”
Pop did something – I couldn’t see his hands. Then he said, “Why, you – So you think you’ve stopped me? Gay Deceiver!”
“Howdy, Jake.”
Zebadiah cut in: “Gay Deceiver override! Emergency Thirty-one execute. Gay can no longer hear you, Jake. Try it.”
“If you can do one, you can do the other. Zeb, I never thought you would be that sneaky.”
“Jake, if you had behaved yourself, you never would have known. Extreme individualists (all of us) don’t take kindly to discipline because they rarely understand its nature and function. But – even before that fake ranger showed up – we all had agreed to ‘lifeboat’ rules. We discussed them and you all claimed to understand them… and I was elected skipper. I nominated you – eldest, senior, inventor of the space-time twister – but you said it had to be me. A lifeboat officer must always be able to enforce his orders… in situations of great peril complicated by hysterical civilians. Or bullheaded ones who must otherwise be wheedled.”
It was time for a diversion; Pop doesn’t like to look foolish and I was still hoping to salvage this shambles. “Zebadiah, is my number fifty-nine?”
“Of course, but it takes my voice. Can you figure the cancel-and-reset?”
“For mnemonic reasons it should be one of three. Probably ninety-five.”
“On the button!”
“Although I would prefer eighty-nine.”
“Why?”
“Work on it. Zebadiah, why did you call this meeting?”
“With Sharpie leaving us the matter is academic. We won’t be coming back to Mars.”
“Oh, dear!”
“What’s the trouble, Sharpie? Captain.”
“I promised Squeaky a ride. Zebbie, could you keep my promise for me? Please? For old times’ sake?”
“Captain, once we lift to drop you on Minus-J, we won’t return. But the Captain still is captain and can give Squeaky that ride in the next thirty minutes if it suits her.”
“May I offer something in my own defense?” Pop put in.
“Of course, Jake. Sorry, Captain; you’re in charge. May the Copilot have the floor?”
“Jacob, even though I find it necessary to leave you… I love and respect you… and will always listen to you.”
“Thanks, darling. Thank you, Captain. I was in that huddle because Brigadier Hird-Jones always remembers. That huddle was the top physical scientists on Mars. A scruffy lot but they get the technical journals and read them, a few months late. I was talking with the top chemist -“
“Well, Jake? Make it march.”
“Zeb, not one knew an isotope from an antelope. You can’t buy juice here.”
“For that you disobeyed a direct order of the Captain? Sharpie, you should have him flogged around the Fleet before you surrender office -“
“Don’t loke, Zebbie.”
“Captain, I am not joking. Jake, that’s no news; I spotted it this afternoon. Sharpie? Deety? In England.”
“I missed it,” Aunt Hilda said. “I don’t know England well.”
“Deety?”
“Well… maybe,” I admitted.
“How?” demanded Pop.
“Little things. No roadables, just horse-drawn vehicles. No air traffic other than a few ornithopters. Coal-fired steam-powered trains of cars. Traffic on the Thames, what little there was, ‘minded me of pictures of Victorian England.”
“Daughter, why didn’t you mention this?”
“You saw it, Pop.”
“Those were my reasons,” Zebadiah agreed. “My hope of getting juiced here dropped to one-tenth of one percent. It is now zero.” Zebadiah sighed. “But that isn’t why I asked the Captain to call us together. Family, there are vermin here.”
The world wobbled again – and so did I.
Aunt Hilda was saying, “How did you learn this, Zebbie?”
“You gals had plenty of company and Jake had the local scientists, so Squeaky gave me his attention. Captain, you told us to stick to the truth -“
“Yes,” agreed Aunt Hilda, “but not to volunteer information.”
“I didn’t volunteer; I was debriefed. Squeaky asked me about the ride we gave his boss; I tried to be vague. Squeaky took a photo from his pocket. ‘The Governor tells me this was taken this afternoon.’ Deety, it was the pic you took of the Thames and the Tower.
“I shortly started giving him a full account rather than have it dragged out. The Governor had told him the works; Squeaky was comparing my version with Bertie’s, looking for holes in a yarn most easily explained by hypnosis, delirium tremens, insanity, or fancy lying. Since no two witnesses exhibit any of these in the same way they can be used as truth tests. Contrariwise, two witnesses who tell exactly the same story are lying. I assume that Bertie and I differed enough to be credible.”
I asked my husband, “Zebadiah, did you explain six-dimensional space to him?”
Zebadiah looked pained. “How could I, when I can’t explain it to me? Anyhow, he’s looking forward eagerly to the ride Captain Sharpie promised him.”
“Oh, dear! Zebbie, will you take a note to him?”
“Captain, we are not coming back after we drop you. I’ll be breaking a date with him, too. Either before or after whatever time suits you, he’s planning to give me – and anyone else who wants to go – a ride to see the vermin. ‘Black Hats.’ Fake rangers.”
(I do wish the world would not wobble!)
Pop said, “Zeb, spill it! Quit stalling.”
“Shut up and listen. Squeaky showed me a scrapbook. Dull as a scrapbook usually is until we came across a page of ‘Black Hats.’ Deety, you would have been proud of me -“
“I am proud of you,” I answered.
” – because I didn’t scream or faint, I showed no special interest. I just said, ‘God in Heaven, Squeaky, those are the horrors that chased us off Earth! You’ve got ’em here?'”
“‘No special interest.'”
“I didn’t climb the drapes. I merely said, ‘Or have you managed to exterminate them?’
“The discussion became confused, as they don’t kill them; they put them to work. Squeaky had to repress amusement at the notion that wogs could be dangerous. He glanced at his watch and said, ‘Come, I’ll show you. Ordinarily we don’t allow wogs in town. But this old fellow takes care of the Governor’s gardens and may not yet have been returned to the pens for the night.’ He led me to a balcony. Squeaky looked down and said, ‘Too late, I’m afraid. No, there it is – Hooly! Chop, chop!’ – and again I didn’t faint. Hooly ran toward us, with a gait I can’t describe, stopped abruptly, threw an open-palm salute and held it. ‘Private Hooly reports!’
“Squeaky let him stand there. ‘This wog,’ he told me, ‘is the most intelligent of the herd. It knows almost a hundred words. Can make simple sentences. As intelligent as a dog. And it can be trusted not to eat the flowers.’
“‘Herbivorous?’ says I, showing off my book-larnin’. ‘Oh, no,’ he tells me, ‘omnivorous. We hunt wild ones to provide the good wogs with a change in diet and, of course, when we slaughter overage wogs, that provides more ration.’
“That’s enough for one lesson, children. Pleasant dreams. Tomorrow the Brigadier will have a roadable big enough for all of us to take us out to meet the Martian natives aka wogs aka ‘Black Hats’ aka vermin – unless that interferes with the ride you aren’t going to give him, in which case he will swap the times around with the visit to the wogs we aren’t going to make. And that, Jake, is the reason I asked the Captain for a family conference. I already knew that artificial isotopes are far beyond this culture – not alone from the ride this afternoon but because I ask questions myself. Squeaky has a knowledge of chemistry about the pre-nuclear level and a detailed knowledge of explosives that one expects of a pro. But to Squeaky atoms are the smallest divisions of mass, and ‘heavy water’ is a meaningless phrase.
“So I knew we would be here just to get Sharpie some clothes and to recharge my packs – since they do have D.C. power. Then I found we had stumbled onto the home of the vermin – and at that point my back didn’t ache at the idea of cranking, and I didn’t think that the Captain was that much in a hurry to buy clothes. So I asked the Captain to call us together in Smart Girl. I did not want to put it off even a few minutes because we were scheduled to move into our suite after tea. To leave at once, before we moved in, would save awkward explanations. Jake, did I have reason to ask for emergency conference?”
“If you had told me -“
“Stop! The Captain told you.”
“But she didn’t explain -“
“Jake, you’re hopeless! Captains don’t have to explain. Furthermore she could not because I did not tell anyone until now. The Captain had confidence in my judgment.”
“You could have explained. When Hilda sent you back to get me. I would have come at once.”
“That makes the ninth time you’ve been wrong in twenty minutes -“
I blurted, “Tenth, Zebadiah. I counted.”
Pop gave me his “Et-tu,-Brute” look.
” – tenth without being right once. I could not have explained to you.”
“Merely because of a group of men?”
“Eleventh. I was not sent back to get you – twelfth. I was under orders to tell you that – quote! – ‘We lift in five minutes.’ Tell you that and no more, then turn and leave at once, without discussion. I carried out my orders.”
“You hoped that I would be left behind.”
“Thirteen.”
I butted in again. “Pop, quit making a fool of yourself! Zebadiah asked you an essential question – and you’ve dodged. Captain Auntie, could we have the doors closed? There might be one of them out there – and the guns are locked up.”
“Certainly, Deety. Gay Deceiver, close your doors.”
Pop said, “Deety, I was not aware that I had been dodging. I thought I was conducting a reasonable discussion.”
“Pop, you always think so. But you are reasonable only in mathematics. Zebadiah asked you whether or not, under the circumstances, did he have reason to ask for a conference? You haven’t answered it.”
“If Hilda had not told him not to -“
“Pop! Answer that question or I will never speak to you again in my life!”
My husband said, “Deety, Deety! Don’t make threats.”
“My husband, I never make threats, either. Pop knows it.”
Pop took a deep breath. “Zeb, under the circumstances you have described, you were justified in asking the Captain for an immediate private conference.”
I let out my breath. “Thanks, Pop.”
“I did it for myself, Deety. Hilda? Captain?”
“What is it, Jacob?”
“I should have gone with you at once when you first asked me to.”
“Thank you, Jacob. But I did not ‘ask’ you; I ordered you. True, it was phrased as a request… but orders of a commanding officer are customarily phrased as requests – a polite protocol. You explained this custom to me yourself. Although I already knew it.” Aunt Hilda turned to look at Zebadiah.
“Chief Pilot, the departure for Minus-J is postponed until late tomorrow. I will give you the time after I have consulted the Brigadier. I want to see one of those vermin, alive, photograph it stereo and cinema, and, if possible, dissect one. Since I intend to remain overnight, I hope to pick up clothes for MinusJ, too – but the reasons for delay are to learn more about vermin and to carry out my commitment to Brigadier Hird-Jones.”
Aunt Hilda paused, continued: “All hands, special orders. Do not remove anything from the car that you cannot afford to abandon. This car may lift on five minutes’ warning even in the middle of the night. You should keep close to me unless you have a guarantee from me of longer time. Tonight I will sleep in the car. If we lift in the night, I will send word to Princess Suite. Zebbie, I will retain the captaincy until we ground on Minus-J. Schedule: Dinner tonight is eight-thirty pip emma local time, about three hours hence. Black tie for gentlemen. Deety suggests that we wear what we wore our wedding night; she has our outfits packed together. The Brigadier will send someone to Princess Suite shortly after eight local to escort us to a reception. I will settle tomorrow’s schedule with him. Jacob, I will slip down to the car after the House is quiet. If someone sees me, I will be running down for a toothbrush. Questions?”
“Captain?” said Pop.
“Copilot.”
“Hilda, must you sleep in the car?”
“Jacob, ’twere best done quickly!”
“I’m begging you.”
“You want me to be your whore one last time? That’s not too much to ask… since you were willing to marry me knowing my thoroughly tarnished past. Yes, Jacob.”
“No, no, no! I want you to sleep in my arms – that’s all I ask.”
“Only that? We can discuss it after we go to bed. All hands, prepare for space. Report!”

I splashed the Hillbilly and giggled. “Cap’n Auntie chum, that flatters me more than anything else you could ever say. While I can’t imagine needing a jigger – if I did – or if I needed any sort of help and it took one who loves me no matter what, you know to whom I would turn. The one who loves me even when I’m bad. Who’s that?”
“Thank you, Deety. We love and trust each other.”
“Now tell me – Did you ever have any intention of sleeping tonight in the car?”
She pulled the chain again. Under that racket she said into my ear, “Deety doll, I never had any intention of sleeping tonight.”

Chapter XXVIII

“He’s too fat.”

Zeb:
Sharpie sat on the Governor’s right with my wife on his left, which gave Jake and me the privilege of sharing Lady Herbert, a loud shout away. The space was filled with mess jackets, dinner coats, and wives in their best. We each had one footman to insure that we did not starve; this platoon was bossed by a butler as impressive as the Pope, who was aided by a squad of noncom butlers. Female servants rushed in and out to serving tables. His Supremacy the Butler took it from there but used his hands only in offering splashes of wine to the Governor to taste and approve.
All were in livery – decorated with the Broad Arrow. The British colony consisted of a) wogs, b) transportees, c) discharged transportees, d) officers and enlisted men, e) civil servants, and f) spouses and dependents. I know even less about the Russian colony. Military and serfs, I think.
The ladies were in Victorian high-style dowdiness, which made Deety and Sharpie birds of paradise among crows. Jump suit and sailor pants had shocked people at tea. But at dinner – Deety wore the velvet wrap she had the night we eloped; Sharpie wore her sunset-shade mink cape; Jake and I unveiled them on the grand staircase leading down to the reception hall. Naw, we didn’t rehearse; we were mysterious strangers, guests of the Governor General and His Lady, so all eyes were upon us. Maids, hurrying up, met us there to take our ladies’ wraps.
I had questioned the propriety of house guests coming downstairs in wraps. Sharpie had answered, “Utterly correct, Zebbie – because I set the style. I did so this afternoon; I shall until we leave.” I shut up; Sharpie has infallible instinct for upstaging.
Have I mentioned how Sharpie and Deety were dressed at Sharpie’s party? They practically weren’t. I wish I had had that hall bugged to record the gasps when Jake and I uncovered our prizes.
These two had last been seen at tea, one in a jump suit, the other in an outfit that looked donated by the Salvation Army, with no makeup. We had been to our suite before tea only for a hasty wash.
But now – Sharpie did Deety’s hair; Deety did Sharpie’s; Sharpie styled both faces, including too much lipstick, which Deety doesn’t often wear. I asked Sharpie if she knew the history and significance of lipstick. She answered, “Certainly do, Zebbie. Don’t bother us.” She went on making Deety beautiful. Deety is beautiful but doesn’t know it because her features have that simple regularity favored by Praxiteles.
Having put too much lipstick on Deety, Sharpie removed some, then carried her makeup onto her breasts so that it disappeared under the dress. Which is pretty far because they saved material on that dress at the top in order to give it a full, floor-length skirt. You can’t quite see her nipples-in the flesh I mean; they generally show through her clothes, always when she’s happy – because Deety stands tall. Her mother had told her, “Deety, if a woman is tall, the answer is to look at least three centimeters taller than you are.”
Deety always believed her mother; she stands tall, sits straight; she never leans or slouches; she can get away with that dress by half a centimeter. I’m not sure of the material but the color is the shade of green that goes best with strawberry hair. That dress, her height, long legs, broad shoulders, a waist two sizes too small setting off breasts two sizes too big – the combo could get her a job as a show girl.
When Sharpie finished gilding Deety I couldn’t see that she had been made up at all… but knew durn well that she did not look the way she had before. Sharpie picked her jewelry, too – sparingly, as Deety had all her pretties with her, her own and those that had belonged to her mother. Sharpie based it on an emerald-and-pearl neckpiece, plus a matching pin and ring.
As for Sharpie, twice my darling’s age and half as big, restraint was not what she used. The central diamond of her necklace was smaller than the Star of Africa.
She wore other diamonds here and there.
Here is something I don’t understand. Sharpie is underprivileged in mammary glands. I know she was not wearing cheaters as I returned to get my tie tied just as Deety was about to lower it onto her. No bra, no underwear. But when that dress was fastened, Sharpie had tits – little ones but big enough for her size. Stuffing built into the dress? Nope. I went out of my way to check.
Is that why some couturiers get such high prices?
Still… the Captain looks best in her skin.
So we uncovered these confections and gave the British colony, male, female, and the others, something to talk about for months.
I can’t say the English ladies were pleased. Their men gravitated toward our darlings like iron filings toward a magnet. However, Betty, Lady Herbert, is sweet all through. She rushed toward us (a bow wave of juniors getting out of her way), stopped short, looked only at our ladies, and said with the delight of a child at Christmas: “Oh, how beautiful you are!” and clapped her hands.
Her voice projected against dead silence, then conversation resumed. Lady Herbert took them, an arm around each, and toured the hall (busting up a receiving line). Brigadier Hird-Jones rolled with the punch, gathered in Jake and me, made sure we met those who had not been at tea.
Shortly before dinner a colonel said to me, “Oh, I say, is it true that the tiny beauty is in command of your ship?”
“Quite true. Best commanding officer I’ve ever had.”
“Haw. Astounding. Fascinating. The taller girl, the strawberry blonde – introduced simply as ‘Mrs. Carter.’ She’s part of your ship’s company. Yes?”
“Yes,” I agreed. “Astrogator and second-in-command. Doctor D. T. Burroughs Carter, my wife.”
“Well! My congratulations, sir.”
“Thank you.”
“I say, Carter, would it be rude of me to ask why the ladies have the senior posts while you and Doctor Burroughs appear to be junior? Or am I intruding?”
“Not at all, Colonel. We each do what we do best. Mrs. Burroughs is not only best as commander; she is also best cook. While we take turns at cooking, I’ll happily volunteer as scullery maid if it will persuade the Captain to cook.”
“Amazing. Could you use a colonel of lancers about to retire? I’m a wonderful scullery maid.”

The dinner was excellent (Irish chef, transported for shooting his landlord) and Lady Herbert was delightful, even though she drank her dinner and her words became increasingly difficult to understand. But any answer would do as long as it was friendly. Jake displayed the charm he can when he bothers and kept her laughing.
One thing marred it. Lady Herbert started to slump and nursing sisters appeared and took her away. What is protocol for this?
I checked Hilda and the Governor; they didn’t seem to see it. I glanced at Hird-Jones; the Brigadier did not seem to see it – but Squeaky sees everything. Ergo: no member of the colony could “see” it.
Someone else gathered the ladies while the gentlemen remained for port and cigars. While we were standing as the ladies left, Hird-Jones leaned close: “Your captain has asked me to tell you that the Governor invites you to join them later in his study.”
I tasted the port, lit the cigar (I don’t smoke – fake it when polite) when the Brigadier caught my eye and said, “Now.” Bertie had left, leaving a stooge, a wit who had them all laughing – that colonel of lancers.
When Jake and I came in, Deety and Hilda were there, with a large man, tall as I am and heavier – Major General Moresby, chief of staff. Bertie stood while waving us to chairs. “Thanks for coming, gentlemen. We are settling tomorrow’s schedule and your captain prefers to have you present.”
The Governor reached behind him, moved out a globe of Mars. “Captain, I think I have marked the places we visited yesterday.”
“Deety, please check it,” Sharpie directed.
My darling looked it over. “The Russian settlements extended almost one hundred fifty kilometers farther east than this borderline shows – ninety-one English miles, seventy-nine nautical miles – call it two and a half degrees.”
“Impossible!” (The bulky Major General – )
Deety shrugged. “Might be a few miles more; all we took were spot checks.”
Jake said, “General Moresby, you had better believe it.”
Bertie stepped in with: “Is that the only discrepancy, Doctor Deety?”
“One more. But there is something I want to ask about. May I borrow a marking pen? Grease pencil?”
Bertie found one; she placed three bingoes in an equilateral triangle, well detached from both zones. “What are these, sir? This one is a village, the other two are large farms. But we did not determine nationality.”
Bertie looked at her marks. “Not ours. Moresby, how long ago did we reconnoitre that area?”
“There are no Russians there! She’s doing it by memory. She’s mistaken.”
I said, “Moresby, I’ll bet my wife’s marks are accurate within two kilometers. How high do you want to go? What is a pound worth here in gold?”
Bertie said, “Please, gentlemen – wagers another time. What was the other error, Astrogator Deety?”
“Our touchdown point. Where we tangled with the Russians. Your memory is off by many degrees. Should be here.”
“Moresby?”
“Governor, that is impossible. Either they did not land there or they had trouble with Russians somewhere else.”
Deety shrugged. “Governor, I have no interest in arguing. Our time of arrival at ‘Touchdown’ just after dawn day before yesterday was fourteen-oh-six in the afternoon Windsor City local time. Six past two pip emma. You saw the remains of that ornithopter today. What did shadows and height of the sun tell you as to local time there, and what does that tell you about longitude from here?” She added, “With one degree of longitude being four minutes of local time difference, you can treat one minute of arc as equal to one kilometer and measure it on this globe. The errors will be smaller than your own error in estimate of local time.”
“Astrogator, I’m not good at this sort of problem. But it was about eight-thirty in the morning where we saw the burned ornithopter.”
“That’s right, Governor. We’ll lay that out as kilometers and see how close it comes to my mark.”
Moresby objected, “But that globe is scaled in miles!”
Deety looked back at Bertie with a half smile, an expression that said wordlessly: (He’s your boy, Bertie. Not mine.)
Bertie said testily, “Moresby, have you never worked with a French ordnance map?”
I’m not as tolerant as Deety. “Multiply by one-point-six-oh-nine.”
“Thanks but we will assume that the Astrogator is correct. Moresby, reconnaissance will cover two areas. Captain, how many spot checks can be made per hour?”
“Just a moment!” Captain Sharpie interrupted. “Has this discussion been directed at the ride I promised Brigadier Hird-Jones?”
“I’m sorry, Ma’am. Wasn’t that clear?”
“No, I thought you were telling General Moresby what you saw today. Isn’t the Brigadier available? I want to settle the time with him.”
Moresby answered, “Madam, that has been changed. I’m taking his place.”
Sharpie looked at Moresby as if he were a side of beef she was about to condemn. “Governor, I do not recall offering this person a ride. Nor has the Brigadier told me that he is not going.”
“Moresby, didn’t you speak to Hird-Jones?”
“Certainly I did, sir. I dislike to tell you but he was not cooperative. I had to remind him that there was rank involved.”
I looked around for somewhere to hide. But Sharpie did not explode. She said sweetly, “Certainly there is, Major General Bores-me. My rank. I am commanding; you are not.” She turned to Bertie. “Governor, I may offer other rides after I keep my promise to the Brigadier. But not to this person. He’s too fat.”
“What! I weigh only seventeen stone – trim for a man with my height and big bones.” Moresby added, “Homeside weight, of course. Only ninety pounds here. Light on my feet. Madam, I resent that.”
“Too fat,” Sharpie repeated. “Bertie, you remember how tightly we were packed yesterday. But even if Bores-me did not have buttocks like sofa cushions, he’s much too fat between the ears. He can’t enter my yacht.”
“Very well, Captain. Moresby, please have Hird-Jones report to me at once.”
“But -“
“Dismissed.”
As the door closed, the Governor said, “Hilda, my humblest apologies. Moresby told me that it was all arranged… which meant to me that he had seen you and Squeaky and arranged the exchange. Moresby hasn’t been here long; I’m still learning his quirks. No excuse, Captain. But I offer it in extenuation.”
“Let’s forget it, Bertie. You used ‘reconnaissance’ where I would have said ‘joy ride.’ ‘Reconnaissance’ is a military term. Did you use it as such?”
“I did.”
“Gay Deceiver is a private yacht and I am a civilian master.” She looked at me. “Chief Pilot, will you advise me?”
“Captain, if we overfly territory for the purpose of reconnaissance, the act is espionage.”
“Governor, is this room secure?”
“Hilda – Captain, in what way?”
“Is it soundproof and are there microphone pickups?”
“It is soundproof when I close that second door. There is one microphone. I control it with a switch under the rug – right here.”
“Will you not only switch it off but disconnect it? So that it cannot be switched on by accident.”
“If that is your wish. I could be lying. Other microphones.”
“It’s accidental recording I want to avoid. Bertie, I wouldn’t trust Moresby as far as I could throw him. I have learned to trust you. Tell me why you need to reconnoitre?”
“I’m not certain.”
“Reconnaissance is to learn something you are not certain about. Something that can be seen from Gay Deceiver – but what?”
“Uh… will you all swear to secrecy?”
“Hilda -“
“Not now, Jacob. Governor, if you don’t want to trust us, tell us to leave!”
Smythe-Carstairs had been standing since turning the rug to remove the switch. He looked down at Hilda and smiled. “Captain, you are an unusually small woman… and the toughest man I’ve dealt with in many a year. The situation is this: The Russians have sent another ultimatum. We have never worried about Russians as we settled halfway around the planet from them and logistics here are almost impossible. No oceans. No navigable streams. Some canals if one enjoys suicide. Both sides have attempted to raise horses. They don’t live long, they don’t reproduce.
“Both sides have ornithopters. But they can’t carry enough or fly far enough. I was startled when you said that they had given you trouble where you had first touched down – and proved it by showing me wreckage of a ‘thopter.
“Any logistics problem can be solved if you use enough men, enough time. Those Russian craft must have, behind them, stockpiles about every fifty miles. If they have the same continuing this way, when they get here, they will wipe us out.”
“Is it that bad?” I inquired. Sharpie said, “Governor, our Chief Pilot is the only one of us with combat experience.”
“Yes,” agreed Jake with a wry smile, “I was awarded rank in lieu of combat. I signed papers.”
Bertie gave the same mirthless smile. “Welcome to the lodge. Twenty years since I last heard a bullet say ‘wheat!’ Now I may be about to lose my last battle. Friends, my rank states that I am qualified to command an army corps… but I have possibly one platoon who will stand and die.”
Jake said, “Governor, this city must be two hundred thousand people.”
“More than that, Jake. Over ninety-nine percent are convicts or discharged convicts or their wives and children. Do you imagine that they are loyal to me? Even if they were, they are neither trained nor armed.
“I have a nominal regiment, a battalion in numbers – and a platoon in strength. Friends, my troops, officers and men, and my civil servants, are, with few exceptions, transportees quite as much as the convicts. Example: An officer with a court staring him in the face can often get the charges dropped by volunteering for Mars. I don’t get murderers. What I do get is worse… for me. The mess treasurer who dips into mess funds because he has a ‘sure thing’ at a racing meet. The – Oh, the devil take it! I don’t get villains; I get weaklings. There are a few good ones. Hird-Jones. Young fellow named Bean. Two old sergeants whose only shortcomings are that one had two wives and, while the other had only one, she wasn’t his. If the Russians get here, they’ll kill our wogs – they don’t domesticate them; they hunt and eat them – they’ll kill anyone in uniform… and transportees will learn that being a serf is worse than being a free man not on the planet of his choice. Squeaky! Where have you been?”
“In the card room, sir. First table to the right.”
“So? How long ago did you get my message?”
“About twenty seconds ago, sir.”
“Hm! How long have you been in the card room?”
“A bit over an hour.”
“I see. Bolt the outer door, close the inner door, sit down.”
Twenty minutes later Sharpie was asking, “Deety, what time is sunrise here?” She indicated a point 30° east of the western boundary of the westernmost of the two loci Bertie wanted investigated.
“In about twenty minutes. Shall I have Gay check it?”
“No. Sunset over here?”
“More leeway there. One hour fifty-seven minutes.”
“Very well. Zeb, those zeroed packs?”
“Being charged, they told me. Ready in the morning.”
“Good. Squeaky, if I get you to bed by oh-two-hundred hours could you take us to the fields about eleven-hundred hours?”
“Oh-eight-hundred, if you wish, Captain Hilda.”
“I don’t wish. This job requires sunlight, so we will work whatever it takes. I intend to sleep late. Bertie, would your kitchen service extend to breakfast in bed about ten ack emma?”
“Tell the night maid. The sideboard in your dining room will be loaded and steaming whenever you say and the day maid will be delighted to bring you a tray in bed.”
“Heavenly! All hands and Brigadier Hird-Jones: Lift in thirty-nine minutes. Car doors open five minutes before that. Questions?”
“Just a comment. I’ll fetch sandwiches.”
“Thank you, Squeaky! Bertie.”
“Eh? Ma’am!”
“Deety and I expect to be kissed good-bye… in case something goes wrong.”

Chapter XXIX

” – we place no faith in princes.”

Deety:
We had a busy night. I had Gay display bingo dots for every stop we made – then circles around any that were supply dumps.
There were indeed supply dumps!
I spent the whole trip thinking: Where would I be if I were a supply dump? Where would ‘thopters have to land? Where could they get more water? Squeaky, Hilda, Pop, Zebadiah – and possibly Gay – were thinking the same thing.
We got back at half after one, the job done. The Hillbilly turned the results over to Squeaky and we went to bed.
Next morning at eleven our “roadable” arrived – without Squeaky. He sent an apologetic note saying that Lieutenant Bean knew what we expected and would add anything we asked for.
Captain Auntie had not taken breakfast in bed. I woke about nine local, found her at work – packing her dress clothes and Pop’s back into plastic pillow covers, then into a borrowed portmanteau. Our fresh laundry, given to us by the night maid on our return, was in another piece of borrowed luggage.
The Hillbilly was on her knees in our drawing room. She looked up, smiled and said, “Good morning. Better slide into your jump suit, dear; maids come in and out rather casually.”
“Doesn’t bother me, I’ve been caught twice already -“
“But it bothers them. Not kind, dear, with servants. Especially with involuntary servants. They’ll be in to load the sideboard any moment. Will you fetch yours and Zebbie’s dress clothes here? I’ll pack for you.”
“I’ll pack ’em, thanks. I was thinking about sliding back into bed with a nice warm man but your mention of food changed my mind. Hillbilly, what’s the rush?”
“Deety, I’m carrying out my own orders. When I brush my teeth after breakfast, the toothbrush goes into my purse. As for the rush, our husbands will wake soon. I have found that it is more practical to present a man with a fait accompli than a discussion.”
“I hear you three times, doll baby. When they get up, they’ll want to eat. When our roadable shows up, they’ll be sitting over second cups of coffee. Then they’ll say, ‘We’ll do it when we come back. Mustn’t keep the Brigadier waiting.’ Okay, I’ll grab our gear and we’ll sneak it out before they wake. I’ll carry the heavy ones.”
“We are not permitted to carry anything, Deety. But the place is swarming with maids. You sound much married.”
“Five years’ practice on Pop. But, Hillbilly, even Pop is easy to handle if you think ahead.”
“I’m learning. Deety, what shall we do about the maids?”
“Huh?”
“In the days when servants were common, it was polite for house guests to tip servants who served them personally. But how, Deety? I have two twenty-five-newdollar bills in the lining of my purse. Waste paper.”
“Pop and Zebadiah have gold. I know exactly because it was mass enough that I had to figure it into the loading, mass and moment arm. Here’s a giggle. These misers we married had each squirreled away the same weight of gold to four significant figures. So maids are no problem if you know how much to tip – I don’t. We’ll be buying local money today to pay for a number of things.”

“Leftenant” Bean – or “Brian” – is a delightful fuzzy puppy and a volunteer in order to have served “Beyond the Sky.” He managed to call me “Deety” and Zebadiah “Zeb” when invited, but he could not bring himself to shift from “Captain Burroughs” to “Hilda” – “Captain Hilda” was as far as he would go, and Pop was “Professor.”
He was pleased that we liked his “roadable.” You wouldn’t believe it! A large, wooden flatbed wagon with an upright steam engine in back; a trailer with cordwood; a sailing-ship’s wheel in front of the engine; this controlled the front wheels by ropes that ran underneath. Midway was a luggage pen, then in front were four benches, for twelve to sixteen people.
With a crew of five!
Engine driver, fireman, conductor, and two steersmen –
The conductor sat on a high perch braced to the pen and told the others what to do and occasionally rang a bell or blew a whistle. The bell told other traffic to get out of the way; the whistle warned that the vehicle was about to start or stop. There was much traffic but few “roadables” – most common were pedalled tricycles, for passengers and freight. Large versions had as many as a dozen men pedalling at once.
“I daresay you know,” said Brian, “that we have not been able to raise horses. We haven’t given up – we will develop a breed that will prosper here. But once we have horses, this will, I venture to predict, become a proper colony – and not just a place to send reformable evildoers and to obtain raw pharmaceuticals.”
“Pharmaceuticals?”
“Oh, definitely! The thing that makes the colony self-supporting. I daresay the descendants of these convicts will be wealthy. I will show you the fields – all in the weed – a cant word for Cannabis Magnifica Martia – except acreage for food crops. Brigadier Hird-Jones suggested Norfolk Plantation.” He smiled. “Shall we?”
“Just a moment,” Aunt Hilda said. “If I understood the Brigadier’s note, we can vary the program?”
“Captain Hilda, the carriage and I are at your disposal as long as you wish. My orders and my pleasure.”
“Brian, I have clothing being made up. I was told that sewing would continue through the night. Where should we go to inquire?”
“Here and now. I fancy I saw a package being delivered while we’ve been chatting; it could be yours. It would go to the chief housekeeper, who would have it placed in your digs – the Princess Suite, is it not?”
“Yes. Brian, I’ll slip upstairs and see.”
“Please, no!” Brian made a small gesture; a private soldier appeared out of nowhere. “Smathers, my greetings to Mrs. Digby. Has a package arrived for Captain Burroughs?”
“Sir!”
“Hold it! Brian, if it has arrived, I want it fetched here.”
I could see the look in Brian’s eye that Pop gets just before he starts demanding explanations for female “unreasonable” behavior. But Brian simply added, “If the package has arrived, tell Mrs. Digby that it must be delivered here at once. Double time, so to speak.”
“Sir!” The private stomped an about-face and broke into a run. Hilda said, “Thank you, Brian. If I place it in our craft, it is one less detail to remember. Your kindness eases my mind.”
“A pleasure, Captain Hilda.”
“Hilda, that clothing is not yet paid for.”
“Oh, dear! You are right, Jacob. Leftenant, where does one exchange gold for local money? Do you know the rate of exchange? In grams?”
“Or in Troy ounces,” I added.
Brian behaved as if he had not heard us. He turned toward his “roadable.” “Parkins! Take a turn around the circle! When you return, I want that steam up high. So that we won’t creep in starting.”
“Roight, sir.” The wagon moved off, at a headlong slow walk.
When no one else was in earshot Brian said quietly, “I missed what you Were saying because of engine noise. But let me mention in passing that Possession of gold by individuals is not permitted so I-am-happy-to-learn-that-you-have-none,” he said, not letting himself be interrupted. “Let me add,” he went on, “that since I handle secret and most-secret despatches, I know things that I don’t know, if I make my meaning clear. For example, I am grateful that you four were willing to lose sleep last night. Others feel strong obligations to such good friends. The Brigadier mentioned that you might have purchases to make or bills to pay. I was instructed to charge anything you need or want – or fancy – to the Imperial Household, signing his name and appending my signature.”
“Oh, that’s most unfair!”
“Truly, Captain? I fancy that those in authority will find something to add until you feel that you have been treated generously.”
“That’s not what she means, son,” put in Pop. “‘Unfair’ in the opposite direction. We pay for what we get.”
Brian lost his smile. “May I suggest that the Professor discuss that with the Brigadier? I would find it extremely embarrassing to have to report to the Brigadier that I was unable to carry out his orders.”
“Captain.”
“What, Deety?”
“I am required to advise you.”
“Advise away, my dear. I see my packages coming.”
“Captain Auntie, you’ve got a bear by the tail. Let go.”
The Hillbilly grinned and stuck out her tongue at me, then turned to Brian. “The Brigadier’s thoughtful arrangements are appreciated. We accept.”
It was still a few minutes before we left, as it turned out that Zebadiah’s power packs were ready, in the hands of the Household engineer. At last Hilda’s clothes and the power packs were in Gay; we boarded the char-à-banc, and whizzed away at 10 km/hr. “Norfolk Plantation, Captain Hilda?”
“Brian, at what time did you breakfast?”
“Oh, that’s not important, Ma’am.”
“Answer my question.”
“At oh-seven-hundred hours, Captain.”
“So I suspected. You eat at Imperial House?”
“Oh, no, Captain Hilda, only the most senior of the Governor’s official family eat there. I eat at the officers’ club.”
“I see. We’ll see wogs last. I am told there is a commissary. Is it open to us?”
“Captain Hilda, everything is open to you.”
“I must buy supplies. Then I wish to go to the best restaurant in Windsor City and watch you eat a proper luncheon; we ate breakfast three hours later than you did.”
“But I’m hungry,” said my husband. “I’m a growing boy.”
“Poor Zebbie.”

There was not much to buy that would keep. I bought a tin of Huntley & Palmer’s biscuits and quite a lot of Dutch chocolate – quick energy for growing boys – and tightly packaged staples.
Brian had us driven to that restaurant just past noon. I was glad that Aunt Hilda had decided to get everything else done before we went to look at vermin. Even so, I did not have much appetite – until I decided to stand up and forthrightly turn coward. Not look at vermin! Cui bono? Aunt Hilda was the expert.
That restored my appetite. We stopped across the parade ground from Imperial House. We twigged in this order – Zebadiah, Pop, me, Aunt Hilda – that it was the officers’ club. She was several meters inside when she stopped. “Brian, what are we doing here?”
“The Captain said ‘ – the best restaurant – ‘. The club’s chef was executive chef at Claridge’s until he ran into misfortune. Don’t look at me that way, Captain Hilda; the Brigadier picks up the chit; it’s charged against ‘official visitors’ and winds up in London against H.I.M.’s Civil List. Believe me, His Majesty gets paid more than leftenants, or even brigadiers.”
But the president of the mess signed the chit – a colonel who told the Hillbilly that he was buying her lunch because he wanted to ship with us as scullery maid.

I was telling Aunt Hilda that I would skip vermin viewing, thank you, when I did. One. Then six. Then a whole field of them. I was explaining to God that I didn’t like this dream so please let me wake up when Brian had the conductor halt the contraption and I saw that there were men in that field, too. The men carried whips; vermin were muzzled. This one vermin – well, “wog” – this wog had managed to pull its muzzle aside and was stuffing this weedy plant into its mouth… when a whip cracked across its naked back.
It cried.
The field on the other side of the road was not being worked, so I stared at it, After a while I heard Brian say, “Captain Hilda, you are serious, really?”
“Didn’t the Brigadier authorize it?”
“Ah, yes. I thought he was pulling my leg. Very well, Ma’am.”
I had to see what this was all about… and discovered that muzzled vermin, afraid of men with whips, weren’t frightening; they were merely ugly. Aunt Hilda was taking pictures, movies and stereo. Brian was talking to a man dressed like any farmer except for the Broad Arrow.
Brian turned and said, “Captain Hilda, the foreman asks that you point out the wog you want to dissect.”
Aunt Hilda answered, “There has been a mistake.”
“Ma’am? You don’t want to dissect a wog?”
“Leftenant, I was told that one or more died or was slaughtered each day. I want to dissect a dead body, in an appropriate place, with surgical instruments and other aids. I have no wish to have one of these poor creatures killed.”
We left shortly. Brian said, “Of the two, the abattoir and the infirmary, I suggest the latter. The veterinarian is a former Harley Street specialist. By the bye, there is no case of humans contracting disease from these brutes. So the infirmary isn’t dangerous, just, ah, unpleasant.”
We went to the wog hospital. I did not go inside. Shortly Pop came out, looking green. He sat beside me and smiled wanly. “Deety, the Captain ordered me outside for fresh air – and I didn’t argue. Aren’t you proud of me?”
I told him that I’m always proud of my Pop.
A few minutes later Brian and Zebadiah came out, with a message from Hilda that she expected to work at least another hour, possibly longer. “Captain Hilda suggests that I take you for a drive,” Brian reported.
The drive was only as far as the nearest pub; the sillywagon was sent back to wait for the Hillbilly. We waited in the lounge, where Pop and Brian had whisky and splash, and Zebadiah ordered a “shandygaff” – so I did, too. It will never replace the dry martini. I made it last till Aunt Hilda showed up.
Brian asked, “Where now, Captain Hilda?”
“Imperial House. Brian, you’ve been most kind.”
I said, “Cap’n Auntie, did you whittle one to pieces?”
“Not necessary, Deetikins. They’re chimpanzees.”
“You’ve insulted every chimp that ever lived!”
“Deety, these creatures bear the relation to ‘Black Hats’ that a chimpanzee does to a man. The physical resemblance is closer, but the difference in mental power – Doctor Wheatstone removed the brain from a cadaver; that told me all I needed to know. But I got something that may be invaluable. Motion pictures.”
Zebadiah said, “Sharpie, you took motion pictures in the fields.”
“True, Zebbie. But I have with me the Polaroids you took for me at Snug Harbor; some show the splints that creature used to disguise its extra knees and elbows. Doctor Wheatstone used surgical splints to accomplish the same with one of his helpers – a docile and fairly intelligent wog that didn’t object even though it fell down the first time it tried to walk while splinted. But it caught on and managed a stiff-legged walk just like that ranger – and like ‘Brainy’ now that I think about it – then was delighted when Doctor Wheatstone dressed it in trousers and an old jacket. Those pictures will surprise you. No makeup, no plastic surgery, a hastily improvised disguise – from the neck down it looked human.”
When we reached Imperial House, we transferred packages into Gay Deceiver – again were not permitted to carry; Brian told the conductor, the conductor told his crew. We thanked them, thanked Brian as we said good-bye, and Aunt Hilda expressed a hope of seeing him soon and we echoed her – me feeling like a hypocrite.
He saluted and started toward the officers’ club. We headed for the big wide steps. Aunt Hilda said, “Deety, want to share some soap suds?”
“Sure thing!” I agreed.
“Whuffor?” asked Zebadiah. “Sharpie, you didn’t get a spot on you.”
“To remove the psychic stink, Zebbie.”
“Mine isn’t psychic,” I said. “I stink, I do.”
But damn, spit, and dirty socks, we had hardly climbed into that tub when a message arrived, relayed by my husband, saying that the Governor requested us to call at his office at our earliest convenience. “Sharpie hon, let me translate that, based on my eighty years man and boy as flunky to an ambassador. Means Bertie wants to see us five minutes ago.”
I started to climb out; Aunt Hilda stopped me. “I understood it, Zebbie; I speak Officialese, Campusese, and Bureaucratese. But I’ll send a reply in clear English, female idiom. Is a messenger waiting?”
“Yes, a major.”
“A major, eh? That will cost Bertie five extra minutes. Zebbie, I learned before you were born that when someone wants to see me in a hurry, the urgency is almost never mutual. All right, message: The commanding officer of Spacecraft Gay Deceiver sends her compliments to the Governor General and will call on – him at her earliest convenience. Then give the major a message from you to Bertie that you happen to know that I’m taking a bath and that you hope I’ll be ready in twenty minutes but that you wouldn’t wager even money on thirty.”
“Okay. Except that the word should be ‘respects’ not ‘compliments.’ Also, the major emphasized that he wants to see all of us. Want Jake and me to keep Bertie happy until you are ready?” Pop had his head in the door, listening. “We wouldn’t mind.” Pop nodded.
“Zebbie, Zebbie! After four years under my tutelage. Until I know what he wants I can’t concede that he is senior to me. ‘Compliments,’ not ‘respects.’ And no one goes until I do… but thank you both for the offer. Two more things: After giving the major my message, will you please find my clothes, all but Deety’s Keds, and take them to the car? That’s Jacob’s shirt, Deety’s sailor pants, a blue belt, and a blue hair ribbon. In the car you will find new clothes on my seat. In one package should be three jump suits. Please fetch one back.”
Pop said, “Hilda, I’d be glad to run that errand. Run it twice, in fact, as you don’t want to send down what clothes you have until you know that your new clothes fit.”
“Jacob, I want you right here, to scrub our backs and sing for us and keep us amused. If that jump suit does not fit, I may appear in a bath towel sarong. But I plan to appear a minute early to make Bertie happy. Do not tell the major that, Zebbie! Officially it is twenty minutes with luck, thirty minutes more likely, could be an hour, Major; you know how women are. Got it all?”
“Roger Wilco. Sharpie, someday they’ll hang you.”
“They will sentence me to hang but Jacob and you will rescue me. Trot along, dear.” Aunt Hilda started to get out. “Stay there, Deety. I’ll give you three minutes’ warning – two to dry down, one to zip into your jump suit. Which leaves ten minutes to relax.”

The jump suit did fit; the Hillbilly looked cute. We left not a thing in that suite because Aunt Hilda checked it while waiting for Zebadiah. A few items went into my purse or hers. It was eighteen minutes from her message to our arrival at the Governor’s office – and I had had a fifteen-minute tub, comfy if not sybaritic.
Besides Bertie and the Brigadier, that fathead Moresby was there. Aunt Hilda ignored him, so I did. Bertie stood up. “How smart you all look! Did you have a pleasant day?” The poor dear looked dreadful – gaunt, circles under his eyes.
“A perfect day – thanks to you, thanks to the Brigadier, and thanks to a curly lamb named Bean.”
“A fine lad,” Squeaky boomed. “I’ll pass on your word, if I may.” The Brigadier did not look fresh; I decided that neither had been to bed.
Bertie waited until we were seated, then got to business. “Captain Burroughs, what are your plans?”
Aunt Hilda did not answer his question. She glanced toward Major General Moresby, back at Bertie. “We are not in private, Excellency.”
“Hmm – ” Bertie looked unhappy. “Moresby, you are excused.”
“But -“
“Dismissed. You have work to do, I feel sure.”
Moresby swelled up but got up and left. Squeaky bolted the outer door, closed the inner door, while Bertie stood up to lift the rug over his recorder switch. Aunt Hilda said, “Don’t bother, Bertie. Record if you need to. What’s the trouble, old dear? Russians?”
“Yes. Hilda, you four are refugees; yesterday you showed me why. Would you care to remain here? My delegated power is sufficient that I can grant naturalization as fast as I can sign my signature.”
“No, Bertie. But we feel greatly honored.”
“I expected that. Do reconsider it. There are advantages to being a subject of the most powerful monarch in history, in being protected by a flag on which the Sun never sets.”
“No, Bertie.”
“Captain Hilda, I need you and your ship. Because of millions of miles of distance, many months required for a message, I hold de jure viceregal power almost equal to sovereign… and de facto greater in emergency because no Parliament is here. I can recruit foreign troops, arm them, make guarantees to them as if they were British, award the King-Emperor’s commission. I would like to recruit all of you and your ship.”
“No.”
“Commodore for you, Captain for your second-in-command, Commander for your Chief Pilot, Lieutenant Commander for your Copilot. Retirement at full pay once the emergency is over. Return of your purchased ship as a royal gift after the emergency. Compensation for loss or damage.”
“No.”
“One rank higher for each of you?”
“All four of us must be at least one rank senior to Major General Moresby.”
“Hilda! That’s my own rank. Equivalent rank – Vice Admiral.”
“Bertie, you can’t hire us as mercenaries at any rank or pay. That hyperbole was to tell you that we will not place ourselves under your chief of staff. That settled, what can we do to help you?”
“I’m afraid you can’t, since you won’t accept the protection under international law of military status. So I’m forced to cut the knot. Do you understand the right of angary?”
(I thought he said “angry” and wondered.)
“I believe so. Are Great Britain and the Russias at war?”
“No, but there are nuances. Shall I call in my legal officer?”
“Not for me. My own legal officer is here: Doctor Zebadiah Carter, my consultant in international law.”
“Doctor Carter – oh, fiddlesticks! My friend Zeb. Zeb, will you discuss the right of angary?”
“Very well, Governor. One nuance you had in mind was that, in addition to wartime, it applies to national emergency – such as your current one with the Russians.”
“Yes!”
“Angary has changed in application many times but in general it is the right of a sovereign power to seize neutral transport found in its ports or territory, then use same in war or similar emergency. When the emergency is over, seized transport must be returned, fair rentals must be paid, loss or damage requires compensation. It does not apply to goods or chattels, and most especially not to persons. That’s the gist. Do we need your legal officer?”
“I don’t think so. Captain Burroughs?”
“We don’t need him. You intend to requisition my craft?”
“Captain… I must!” Bertie was almost in tears.
“Governor, you are within your legal rights. But have you considered how you will drive it?”
“May I answer that, Governor?”
“Go ahead, Squeaky.”
“Captain Hilda, I have an odd memory. ‘Photographic’ it is called but I remember sounds as automatically. I am sure I can fly every maneuver used last night – that is to say: sufficient for our emergency.”
I was seething. But Aunt Hilda smiled at the Brigadier and said in her sweetest voice: “You’ve been most thoughtful throughout our stay, Squeaky. You are a warm, charming, hospitable, bastardly fink. One who would sell his wife to a Port Saïd pimp. Aside from that you are practically perfect.”
“Doubled and redoubled!” (That was my Pop!) “Later on, Jones, I’ll see you at a time and place of your choosing. Weapons or bare hands.”
“And then I will see you, if Jake leaves anything.” My husband flexed his fingers. “I hope you choose bare hands.”
Bertie interrupted. “I forbid this during this emergency and after it in territory where I am suzerain and while Hird-Jones holds the Sovereign’s commission under my command.”
Aunt Hilda said, “You are legally correct, Bertie. But you will concede that they had provocation.”
“No, Ma’am! Hird-Jones is not at fault. I tried to get you and your crew to fly it on any terms at all. You refused. Hird-Jones may kill himself attempting to fly a strange flyer. If so he will die a hero. He is not what you called him.”
“I don’t think well of you, either, Bertie. You are a thief – stealing our only hope of a future.”
“He certainly is!” I cut in. “Governor, I can whip you – I can kill you, with my bare hands. I’m Black-Belt three ways. Are you going to hide behind your Commission and your self-serving laws?” I dusted my hands together. “Coward. Two cowards, with their chests covered with ribbons boasting about their brave deeds.”
“Astrogator.”
“Captain.”
“Let it drop. Bertie, under right of angary we are entitled to remove our chattels. I insist on a witness so that you will know that we have done nothing to damage the craft. If the Brigadier can drive it, it will be turned over to him in perfect shape. But my jewelry is in our craft and many other things; I must have a witness. You, sir. My stepdaughter can certainly kill you or anyone her size or a bit more than her size, with her bare hands. But I grant you safeconduct. Will you have it in writing?”
Bertie shook his head. “You know I can’t take time to witness. Pick anyone else.”
“I won’t grant safe-conduct to anyone else. Anyone who has not ridden with us would not know how to watch for sabotage. So it must be either you or Hird-Jones… and Hird-Jones would never live to get out of our car. He has three of the deadliest killers in two universes quite annoyed. Angry over angary.”
“Any of you who will not give parole must wait up here.”
“Wait a half, Gov,” my husband drawled. “‘Parole’ applies to prisoners. Captain, this might be a good time to read aloud our safe-conduct from the Governor General. See how many ways this fake ‘officer and gentleman’ has broken his word – and the written guarantees of his sovereign. He has broken all three essential guarantees to all four of us. That’s twelve. Almost a Russian score. Safe-conduct amounting to diplomatic immunity, all of us free to leave at any time, we four never to be separated involuntarily. Now he wants hostages. Pfui!”
“None is broken,” Bertie asserted.
“Liar,” my husband answered.
“All of you are safe here… until the Russians conquer us. I slipped in speaking of parole; you are not prisoners. You all may stay together – living in the Princess Suite if you so choose. If not, in any quarters you choose in territory I control. You are all free to leave at any moment. But you must not approach that requisitioned flyer. Captain, your jewels will be safe. But others will unload the flyer.”
“Bertie -“
“What? Yes… Hilda?”
“Dear, you are both stubborn and stupid. You can’t open the doors of our car, much less drive it. Attempt to force it open and no one will ever drive it. I conceded the legality of the right of angary. But you insist on making it impossible to apply it. Accept my safe-conduct and come witness or there that car sits until the Russians come, while we live in luxury in this palace. You know that ‘the right to leave at any time’ means nothing without our transport. Now, for the last time, will you do it my way… or will you waste the precious minutes of a war crisis trying to open that car by yourself? Make up your mind, this offer will not be repeated. Answer Yes or No… and be damned quick about it!”
Bertie covered his face with his hands. “Hilda, I’ve been up all night. Both Squeaky and I.”
“I know, dear. I knew when we came in. So I must help you make up your mind. Deety, check your purse. Something is missing.”
I hastily checked, wondering what she meant. Then I noticed that a secret pocket that should have been hard was not. “Oh! Do you have it?”
“Yes, Deety.” Aunt Hilda was seated, her choice, so that she had both Bertje and Squeaky in her line of fire – and none of us. “I mentioned three killers. Now you have four facing you… in a soundproofed room with its door bolted from inside.” (I never saw her draw my Skoda gun. But she was holding it on them.) “Bertie, I’m making up your mind for you. You are accepting my safe-conduct. Consider how poor the chances are that anyone would find your bodies in the time it takes us to run down one flight and reach our car.”
Squeaky lunged at Hilda. I tripped him, kicked his left kneecap as he fell, then said, “Don’t move, Fink! My next kick is a killer! Captain, has Bertie come to his senses? Or shall I take him? I hate to kill Bertie. He’s tired and worried and not thinking straight. Then I would have to kill Squeaky. He can’t help his eidetic memory, any more than I can help this clock in my head. Squeaky, did I break your kneecap? Or can you walk if I let you get up?”
“I can walk. You’re fast, Deety.”
“I know. Captain. Plans?”
“Bertie, you are accepting my safe-conduct. We are all going out together, we four around you two, laughing and talking and heading for our car – and if anyone gets close, you two are dead. One of you will get it with this -“
“And the other with this.” (My husband, with his stubby police special – )
“Why, Zebbie! How naughty of you! Jacob, do you have a holdout too?”
“Just this – ” Pop now had his hunting knife.
“Deety?”
“Did have. You’re holding it. But I still have five weapons.”
“Five?”
“Both hands, both feet, and my head. Squeaky, I must frisk you. Don’t wiggle… or I’ll hurt you.” I added, “Stop easing toward your desk, Bertie. You can’t kill four of us before we kill you. Pop, don’t bother with the gun, or trap, or whatever, in Bertie’s desk, Let’s get out of here, laughing and joking, as the Captain ordered. Oh, Squeaky, that didn’t hurt! Captain, shall I let him up?”
“Brigadier Hird-Jones, do you honor the safe-conduct granted to us by your commanding officer?” Aunt Hilda asked.
“Brigadier, I order you to honor it,” Bertie said grimly.
Maybe Squeaky had to catch his breath; he was a touch slow. “Yes, sir.”
Aunt Hilda said, “Thanks, Squeaky. I’m sorry I had to say harsh things to you… but not having muscles I must fight with words. Zebbie, frisk Bertie. But quickly; we leave now. I leave first, on Bertie’s arm. Deety follows, on Squeaky’s arm – you can lean on her if you need to; she’s strong. Help him up, Deety, Jacob and Zebbie trail along behind. Bertie, if anyone gets close to us, or either you or Squeaky try to signal anyone, or if anything is pointed at us – first you two die. Then we four die; that’s inevitable. But we’ll take some with us. What do you think the total may be? Two… and four… then five? Six? A dozen? Or higher?”

It took us forty-seven seconds to the bottom of the steps, thirty-one more to Gay Deceiver, and I aged seventy-eight years. Squeaky did lean on me but I made it look the other way around and he managed to smile and to sing with me: Gaudeamus Igitur. Hilda sang The Bastard King to Bertie which seemed both to shock him and make him laugh. The odd way she held his arm told me that she was prepared to plant 24 poisoned darts in Bertie’s left armpit if anything went sour.
No one bothered us. Bertie returned a dozen or more salutes.
But at Gay Deceiver we ran into a bobble. Four armed soldiers guarded our Smart Girl. By the starboard door was that fathead Moresby, looking smug. As we came close, he saluted, aiming it at Bertie.
Bertie did not return his salute. “What’s the meaning of this?” he said, pointing. Plastered to Gay’s side, bridging the line where her door fairs into her afterbody, was H.I.M.’s Imperial seal.
Moresby answered, “Governor, I understood you perfectly when you told me that I had work to do. Verb. sap., eh?”
Bertie didn’t answer; Moresby continued to hold salute.
“Major General Moresby,” Bertie said so quietly that I could just hear it.
“Sir!”
“Go to your quarters. Send me your sword.”
I thought Fathead was going to melt down the way the Wicked Witch did when Dorothy threw the pail of water over her. He brought down the salute and left, moving quickly.
Everybody acted as if nothing had happened. Hilda said, “Gay Deceiver, open starboard door” – she did and that seal broke. “Bertie, we’re going to need people to carry things. I don’t want our possessions stacked outdoors.”
He looked down at her, surprised. “Is the war over?”
“There never was a war, Bertie. But you tried to push us around, and I don’t push. You requisitioned this craft; it’s legally yours. What I insisted on was that you must witness removal of our chattels. That took coaxing.”
“‘Coaxing’!”
“Some people are harder to coax than others. Squeaky, I’m sorry about your knee. Can you hobble back? Or shall we get you a wheelchair? That knee must be swelling up.”
“I’ll live. Deety, you play rough.”
“Squeaky,” said the Governor General, “slow march back toward the House, grab the first person you see, delegate him to round up a working party. Hilda, will a dozen be enough?”
“Better make it twenty. And about four more armed guards.”
“Twenty and four additional sentries. Once you pass that word, put the senior rating in charge, and climb into a tub of hot water.”
“Cold water.”
“What, Hilda? Cold?”
“Hot is okay if he uses lots of Epsom salts. Otherwise ice-cold water will bring the swelling down faster, even though it’s uncomfortable. But not for long. Ice water numbs pain while it reduces swelling. By morning you’ll be fit. Unless Deety cracked the bone.”
“Oh, I hope not!” I blurted.
“Squeaky, you had better listen to Captain Hilda.”
“I’ll do it. Ice water. Brrrrr!”
“Get on with it. But order that working party.”
“Right away, sir.”
“Bertie, will you follow me?” Hilda went inside. The Governor followed her, started to say something but Hilda cut him off: “Jacob, get out the items forward here while Zebbie keeps inventory as you do. Bertie, I have something for Betty before that mob gets here. Will you help me undog this door or perhaps Deety can do it easier GayDeceiverCloseDoorsGayBounceGayBounceGayBounce. Bertie, take off your clothes.” She held onto a door dog with her left hand, had my little gun aimed at his face.
“Hilda!”
“Captain Hilda, please; I’m in my spacecraft under way. Take off every stitch, Bertie; I’m not as trusting as Zebbie. I assume that you have a holdout he didn’t find. Gay Bounce. Hurry up, Bertie; you’re going to stay in free fall with no Bonine until you are naked. Zebbie, he may require help. Or inducement.”
He required both. But eleven minutes later Bertie was wearing one of Pop’s coveralls and his clothes were abaft the bulkhead. Zebbie did not find a weapon but Aunt Hilda took no chances. At last we were all strapped down, with Bertie between me and the Captain.
Hilda said, “All hands, report readiness for space. Astrogator.”
“Captain Auntie, we are in space.”
“But quite unready. Astrogator.”
“Seat belt fastened. Ready.”
“Chief Pilot.”
“Door seal checked. No loose gear – I stuffed Bertie’s clothes in with the cabin bed clothes. Four charged power packs in reserve. Juice oh-seven-oh. All systems go. Ready.”
“Copilot.”
“Seat belt tight. Continua device ready. Door seal checked. I’d like a Bonine if we’re going to be in free fall long. Ready for space.”
“Astrogator, three antinausea pills – captain, copilot, passenger. Passenger.”
“Oh! Oh, yes! Safety belt tight.”
“Captain states seat belt fastened. Ready for space. Gay Termite.”
It was just sunrise at our streamside “home.” “Aunt Hilda, why did we run through all that rigamarole if we were coming straight here?”
“Deety, when you are captain you will know.”
“Not me. I’m not the captain type.”
She ignored me. “Lieutenant General Smythe-Carstairs, will you give me your unconditional parole until I return you home? On your honor as an officer and a gentleman.”
“Am I going home? I had assumed that I had not long to live.”
“You are going home. And I do have something for Betty. But whether or not you give parole affects other matters. Make up your mind – at once!”
It took him six seconds; Aunt Hilda let him have them. “Parole. Unconditional.”
“I’m surprised, Bertie. You have a tradition against giving parole, do you not?”
“We do indeed, Captain. But I concluded that my only chance of serving my sovereign lay in giving my word. Am I right?”
“Quite right, Bertie. You now have opportunity to persuade me to support you in your crisis. Your King-Emperor is not our prince; we place no faith in princes. We have no reason to love Russians but we spanked the only one who gave us trouble. In what way is the British colony superior to the Russian one? Take your time.”
Aunt Hilda turned her attention to the rest of us. “Standing orders apply: Two at a time, one being armed. Deety and I will cut and wrap sandwiches, make coffee and prepare a snack for growing boys who can’t remember a bounteous luncheon three hours ago. One guard at all times at the car. Bertie, I’m assigning you that duty. You know how to use a rifle?”
Zebadiah said, “You’re arming him?”
“Chief Pilot, I assume that you are questioning my judgment. If you convince me that I am wrong, there will be a new captain even more quickly than I had planned. May I have your reason?”
“Sharpie, I didn’t mean to get your feathers up.”
“Not at all, Zebbie. Why are you surprised that I intend to use Bertie as guard?”
“Ten minutes ago you had me do a skin search to make sure he wasn’t armed. Now you are about to hand him a gun.”
“Ten minutes ago he had not given parole.”
Bertie said hastily, “Zeb is right, Hilda – Captain Hilda; Zeb has no reason to trust me. I don’t want to be a bone of contention!”
I’m still trying to figure out whether Aunt Hilda is more logical than other people or is a complete sophist. She gave Bertie a freeze, looking him up and down. “Smythe-Carstairs, your opinion was neither asked nor wanted.”
Bertie turned pink. “Sorry, Ma’am.”
“Although you were a person of some importance in your own land, you are now something between a prisoner and a nuisance. I am trying to give you the dignity of crew member pro tern. Hold your tongue. Zebbie, what were you going to say?”
“Shucks, if you aren’t afraid to have him with a gun at your back, I’m not. No offense intended, Bertie.”
“None taken, Zeb.”
“Zebbie, please assure yourself that Bertie can handle a rifle, and that he knows what to shoot at and when not to shoot, before you turn the guard over to him. Put the other rifle at the door for bush patrol. Bertie, watch and listen. Gay Deceiver, open your doors.”
Our Smart Girl opened wide. “Gay Deceiver, close your doors.” Gay complied. “Bertie,” Aunt Hilda went on, “you do it.”
Of course he failed – and failed again on other voice programs. The Hillbilly explained that it took me a tedious time with special equipment to cause this autopilot to respond to a particular human voice. “Bertie, go back and explain to Squeaky; make him understand that I saved his life. This car can be driven in three modes. Two Squeaky can’t use at all; the third would kill him as dead as Caesar.”
“Plus a fourth hazard,” added my husband. “Anybody who doesn’t understand the Smart Girl but tries to take her apart to see what makes her tick would find himself scattered over a couple of counties.”
“Booby-trapped, Zebadiah?” I asked. “I hadn’t known it.”
“No. But juice is very unfriendly to anybody who doesn’t understand it.”

“Come and get it!” The snack Aunt Hilda offered was a much-stuffed omelet. “Bertie, place your gun near you, locked. Between bites, you can tell us why your colony is worth defending. By us, I mean. For you, it’s duty.”
“Captain Hilda, I’ve done some soul-searching. I daresay that, in the main, we and the Russians are much the same, prison colonies with military governors. Perhaps, in a hundred years, it won’t matter. Although I see us as morally superior.”
“How, Bertie?”
“A Russian might see this differently. Our transportees are malefactors under our laws – but once here, they are as free as other Englishmen. Oh, they must wear the Broad Arrow until discharged – but at home they would wear it in a grim prison. The Russian prisoners are, if our intelligence is correct, the people they used to send to the Siberian salt mines. Political prisoners. They are serfs but I am told that most of them were not serfs in Russia. Whether they are treated better or worse than serfs in Russia I do not know. But one thing I do know. They work their fields with men; we work ours with wogs.”
“And whip them!” Suddenly I was angry.
We had an argument, Bertie maintaining that the whips were not used unnecessarily, I asserting that I had seen it with my own eyes.
I guess he won, as he told us that they had to muzzle the beasts in weed fields, or they would stuff themselves on it, pass out, wake somewhat, do it again, and starve – but the muzzles were designed to allow them to chew a blade at a time all day long, to keep them happy. “The raw weed is addictive, to wog and man. We won’t allow a man to work in the fields more than three months at a time… and pull him out if he can’t pass the weekly medical tests. As for wogs, Deety – yes, we exploit them. Human beings exploit horses, cattle, sheep, poultry, and other breeds. Are you vegetarian?”
I admitted I was not. “But I don’t want to eat wogs!”
“Nor do we. In Windsor colony wog meat goes only to wogs, and wogs don’t care. In the wild they eat their own dead, kill and eat their aged. Captain Hilda, that’s all the defense I can offer. I admit that it doesn’t sound as strong as I had always believed.”
“Captain, I’d like to put one to Bertie.”
“Jacob, I treasure your thoughts.”
“Bertie, would you polish off the Russians if you could?”
Bertie snorted. “That’s academic, Doctor. I don’t command the force it would take. I can’t set up a string of stockpiles – and wouldn’t know what to do with them if I could; I don’t have the troops or ‘thopters. But I must add: If my King tells me to fight, I will fight.”

Aunt Hilda told Bertie to wash dishes with Pop sent along as guard. As soon as they started down, Aunt Hilda said, “We are going to do it, to a maximum cost of one power pack. Deety, start working on a program stringing together the dumps we located last night.”
“Already have,” I told her. “In my head. Last night. To put me to sleep. You want it preprogrammed? I would rather tell Gay each bounce, I would.”
“Do it your way, hon. The purpose in sending Bertie to wash dishes and Jacob to guard him was to get them out of the way while I rig a frameup. At the end of the coming run, we drop Bertie and bounce… and at that instant I cease to be captain. I want to hold the election now – a one-ballot railroad. I will ask for nominations. Zebbie, you nominate Jacob. Deety, you don’t need to say anything but speak if you wish. If Jacob nominates either of you, don’t argue. I’ll rig it so that Bertie declares the ballots. If you two are with me, the only surprise will be that fourth vote. Three for Jacob, and let’s all write ‘Jacob,’ not ‘Pop’ or ‘Jake,’ and one for the dark horse. Are you with me?”
“Wait a half, Sharpie. Why not give Deety a crack at it?”
“Not me!”
“Deety should have the experience, but, please, Zebbie, not this time. Jacob has given me a dreadful time. Endless insubordination. I want to pass him on to Deety well tenderized. Deety ought not to have to put up with her father second-guessing her decisions – and, if you two help, she won’t have to. I want to give my beloved the goddamndest ‘white mutiny’ ever, one that he will remember with shudders and never again give a skipper any lip.”
“Sounds good,” I agreed, “but I don’t know what a ‘white mutiny’ is.”
“Sweetheart,” my husband told me, “it’s killing him with kindness. He says ‘Frog,’ we hop. Utter and literal obedience.”
“This he won’t like? Pop will love it!”
“So? Would you like to command zombies who never make suggestions and carry out orders literally without a grain of common sense?”

Fifteen minutes later Bertie read off: “‘Jacob’ and this reads ‘Jacob’ and so does this one, that seems to settle it. But here is one, folded: ‘A bunch of smarties, you three. Think I didn’t guess why you sent me down to ride shotgun? Very well, I vote for myself!’ It is signed ‘Jake.’ Madame Speaker, is that valid?”
“Quite. Jacob, my last order will be liftoff after we drop Bertie.”
Bertie said, “Jake, I think congratulations are in order.”
“Pipe down! All hands, prepare for space.”

“A piece of cake,” Bertie called it. We started at the easternmost dump, worked west. Pop out at four klicks and dive, a dry run to size up the target; where wood alcohol was stored, ornithopters on the ground and how arranged… while Gay ululated from intensity six to eight. Frightfulness. I did not let it go up to ten because it wasn’t intended to damage but to send anyone on target scattering.
Zebadiah’s idea: “Captain, I’ve got nothing against Russians. My only purpose is to burn their fuel and their flaphappies to make it difficult to attack our friends – and I don’t mean you big brass, Bertie. I mean the transportee maid who brought us tea this morning, and Brian Bean, and Mr. Wheatstone who was a top surgeon before some fool judge slammed him and is now doing his best for wogs, and the chef at the officers’ club, and five cons who drove that sillywagon, and dozens more who smiled when they could have scowled. I don’t want them killed or enslaved; I want them to have their chance. Governor, England is slapping the Broad Arrow on some of your best potential – you English will live to regret it.”
“You could be right, Zeb,”
“I don’t want to kill Russians, either. Could be most of them are decent blokes. Each strike will be a double run – one pass to scatter ’em, a second to destroy the dump. Captain, if that doesn’t suit you, find another gunner.”
Aunt Hilda said, “Astrogator.”
“Captain.”
“Strike as described by Chief Pilot. Take the conn. Attack.”
At the first target we lingered after the strike bounce. The dry pass did show them running away – they could hear us clear in their bones. Those subsonics are so horrid I keyed Gay to kill the noise at code-word “Bounce” – and did not use it on the strike pass.
Zebadiah made strikes from bearings planned to take out as many ‘thopters as possible while setting fire to fuel.
From four klicks the first strike looked good. The dump was burning, ‘thopters he had hit showed smoke, and one that he had not hit was burning. Splashed by flaming methanol, I suppose.
If that first target was indication, in thirty-four minutes the Russians lost all fuel and about 70% of the deployed flaphappies. I took us up high after the last. “Next stop, Windsor City.”
“I’m taking the conn, Astrogator. Bertie, don’t forget my little ring for Betty.”
“I’ll give it to her in the morning.”
“Good,” Captain Hilda said. “Unbelt, crowd past Jacob, place yourself against the door – feet on deck, chest against door. Jacob, push against the small of his back. Bertie, when the door opens, dive and roll clear.”
They positioned themselves. “Gay Parade Ground Gay Deceiver open starboard door… Gay Deceiver close doors, GayBounce, GayBounce! Jacob, do you relieve me?”
“Beloved, I relieve you. Ten minima H axis transit – and executed. All hands, unbelt.”
I unbuckled with extreme speed and clumsiness, getting Pop in the chin with my foot.
“Deety! Watch where you’re going!”
“I’m sorry, Captain. I’m out of practice with free fall.”
“You’ve been in free fall every day!”
“Yes, Captain. I’ve been in free fall every day, belted down.”
“Pipe down! Hilda, don’t cover the instrument board. Hold onto something. No, not me, damn it. Zeb! Grab something and catch Hilda!”
“Roger Wilco, Captain! Right away!” My husband snagged Aunt Hilda, grabbed a seat belt with his other hand, trapped our captain against the dogs of the bulkhead door with his buttocks. “What now, sir!”
“Get your goddam fanny out of my face!”
“Sorry, sir,” Zebadiah answered humbly while turning and digging an elbow into Pop’s ribs. I closed in from the other side and we had Pop trapped again – ballet and trampoline make a fine background for free fall. Zebadiah went on cheerfully, “What shall we do now, sir?”
Pop didn’t answer. From watching his lips I saw that he was counting backwards, silently, in German. That’s stage three.
Then he said quietly, “Zeb, get into the copilot’s seat and belt down.”
“Aye aye, sir.” Zebadiah did so.
Pop snatched Hilda while hanging onto a dog. “Deety, belt down in the chief pilot’s seat.”
“Roger Wilco, Captain” – I did so.
“My dear, I want you behind Deety. Do you need help?”
“Yes, thank you, Captain; it’s sweet of you to offer.” White mutiny? The Hillbilly is about as helpless as Zebadiah but thinks God created men to pamper women. I’ve heard less reasonable philosophies.
After “helping” Hilda, Pop strapped down in the starboard after seat. “All hands! We have moved clockwise ninety degrees. I am now captain. Hilda, you are astrogator and second-in-command. Deety, you are chief pilot. Zeb, you are copilot. In order of seniority, any questions?”
The Hillbilly said in a small voice, “As second-in-command I am required to advise the Captain -“
“Certain circumstances. Speak up.”
“Captain, I know very little about astrogation.”
“That’s why you have the job. You will seek advice from Deety as needed, both of you seek advice from Zeb when necessary – and if all three of you are stumped, I will tackle it and be responsible for mistakes. No burden, the Captain is always responsible for all mistakes. When in doubt, do not hesitate to consult me.
“Deety, you have not driven this car in atmosphere. But you are a competent, decisive, and skillful driver of duos” – I am, Pop? – you’re years late in saying so – “and we have come this high to give you time to acquaint yourself with it. I placed Zeb by you to coach you and, in time, to report to me that you are fully qualified.” Pop smiled. “Fortunately, should you get into trouble, we have programs that will get you out instantly such as ‘Gay Bounce’ -“
Gay bounced.
Pop did not notice but I had my eye on radar distance since learning that I was responsible. Pop, who invented those safety scrams? Think hard. Hint: One of your offspring.
“Zeb, you know the knobs and scales et cetera of the controls we refer to as the verniers but you have not had time to practice. Now you will practice until you can handle anything, by eye, or by clicks in the dark. Permit me to pay you this compliment: You will give yourself your own final examination. When you feel ready, tell me and I will have the Astrogator log it.
“Advice to future captains – I will not be happy until all are competent in each of four seats, and all feel easy in all twenty-five possible arrangements -“
“Twenty-four, Pop,” I blurted out. I hastily added, “Sorry, Captain – ‘twenty-five.'”
Pop has a terrible time with kitchen arithmetic; it has been so long since he has done any. He will pick up a hand computer to discover 2 x 3 = 6; I’ve seen him do it.
He stared at me, lips moving slightly. At last he said, “Chief Pilot.”
“Captain.”
“You are ordered to correct me when I make a mistake. ‘Twenty-four’ permutations, certainly.”
“Sir, may the Chief Pilot have more information before she answers Roger-Wilco?”
“Fire away!”
“Captain, what categories of mistakes?”
“Eh? Any sort! A mistake is a mistake. Daughter, are you baiting me?”
“No, Captain. I am unable to acknowledge your order as I do not understand it. ‘A mistake is a mistake’ is semantically null. If I see you about to sugar your coffee twice shall I – “
“Tell me! Of course.”
“If I see you treating your wife unjustly shall I -“
“Wait a moment! Even if I did or have – which I decline to stipulate – it is not proper for you to interfere.”
“Yes, sir. We’ve established that there are two sets. But the Captain has not defined the sets and the Chief Pilot lacks authority to do so. May I respectfully suggest that the Captain take notice of the quandary, then reframe the order at a time of his choosing … and in the meantime permit the Chief Pilot not to correct the Captain’s mistakes?”
Zebadiah winked at me with his head turned so that I saw it but Pop could not.
Pop fumed, complaining that I wasn’t showing common sense and, worse, I had broken his train of thought. He finally got around to a definition at about 8th grade level: I was to correct him only in errors involving figures or related symbols such as angles. (On your own head be it, Pop!) I gave him Roger-Wilco.
“In fact,” he went on expansively, “it may be my duty to see that this training course is completed before, with great relief, I turn this seat over to my successor.”
(I started figuring how many children I would have by then and decided to look for ways to hike up the “white mutiny.”)
“Captain?”
“Astrogator.”
“This advice concerns a mistake that could occur in the near future. I assume that the Captain has the conn?”
“Hilda, I have the conn. Speak up.”
“We are falling, sir. I advise placing us in orbit.”
I sighed with relief, as radar distance I was beginning to think of as H-above-G and did not like our closing rate.
Pop said, “Surely, put us in orbit. Take the conn and do it. Good practice. Deety can show you how. Or Zeb.”
“Aye aye, sir. I have the conn. Chief Pilot, keep her level with respect to planet.”
“Roger. Level now.”
“Copilot, add speed vector positive axis L three point six klicks per second.”
“Uh… set!”
“Hold it!” Pop unbelted, steadied himself by Zebadiah’s chair, checked the setting. “Okay. Execute!”
“Excuse me, Captain,” Zebadiah said, “but was that order directed at me or the Astrogator?”
Pop opened his mouth – then turned red. “Astrogator, I am satisfied with your solution and the setting. Please have the maneuver executed.”
“Aye aye, sir. Execute!”

What Pop planned seemed reasonable. “So far we have used juice, supplies, and four days’ time, and have merely established that there are at least two analogs of our universe, one quantum and ten quanta away on Tau axis. The latter has beasts – wogs – that are not the vermin we fled from, but – according to Hilda – closely related. To me, this makes Tau axis not our best place to seek a new home.
“Zebadiah has suggested that we sample the universes available by rotation rather than translation – six axes taken four at a time – before we search Teh axis. Let me remind you that we could die of old age searching Teh axis alone. I will decide but I will listen to arguments pro or con.”
Twenty-three minutes later Aunt Hilda shrilled, “Copilot, by plan, as set – Rotate!”

Chapter XXX

“Difference physical laws, a different topology.”

Jacob:
We rotated to… Nowhere –
So it seemed. Free fall and utter blackness – The cabin held only the faint radiance from the instruments.
My daughter said in hushed tones, “Captain! May I turn on inside lights?”
This was a time to establish discipline and doctrine. “Permission refused. Copilot, I would like to see in all directions.”
“Yes, sir,” Zeb acknowledged.
After a few moments I added, “Copilot? Why are you waiting?”
“I am awaiting orders, sir.”
“What the hell, Zeb? Get with it! I said I wanted to see in all directions. We have preprograms for that.”
“Yes, Captain.”
“Well? Why aren’t you using them? Can’t you carry out orders?” (I was amazed at Zeb.)
“Captain, I have not as yet received any orders, and I am not at the conn.”
I started to answer sharply – and bit down on it. Precisely what had I said? I recalled that the autopilot stayed in recording mode during maneuvers; I could play back the last few minutes -and decided not to. We were wasting time and it was possible that I had not expressed myself in the form of a direct order. Nevertheless I could not ignore Zeb’s pigheaded behavior. “Copilot, I am aware that I have not given you direct orders. However, it is customary to treat a captain’s requests as politely worded orders.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Well? God damn it, why don’t – “
“Captain! Captain Jacob! Please listen! Please!”
I took a deep breath. “What is it, Hilda?”
“Captain, I am required to advise you.”
“Eh? Advise away – but be quick about it.”
“Captain, you have given the Copilot neither orders nor requests. The autopilot’s record will confirm this. You mentioned preprograms – but voice programs are not normally handled by the Copilot.”
“I can order the Copilot to use a voice program.”
Hilda did not answer. Again I waited, then said, “Well?”
Then I said, “Astrogator, you did not answer me.”
“Sorry, Captain. Answer what?”
“My question.”
“Captain, I was not aware that you had asked me a question. Would you mind repeating it?”
“Oh, forget it, forget it! Chief Pilot!”
“Captain.”
“Deety, what’s the voice program to rotate us a full circle around W axis?”
“Shall I spell it, sir? S.G. is awake.”
“No, do it. Turn out your instrument lights. Pilots watch forward, Captain and Astrogator will watch the sides. Do it. Execute.”
Instrument lights dimmed to zero, leaving us in the darkest dark I have ever experienced. I heard a repressed moan and felt a burst of sympathy for my daughter; she had never liked total darkness. But she carried out my orders:
“Gay Deceiver, Tumbling Pigeon.”
“Forward somersault – whee!”
“Execute.”
I felt pressure against my belts – being forward of the center of mass we were starting a gentle outside loop. I started counting seconds as I recalled that this program took twenty seconds.
I had reached seventy-eight seconds and was beginning to wonder when Deety announced “Twenty seconds” as the autopilot announced, “End of program.”
Deety said, “You’re a Smart Girl, Gay.”
“If I were smart, would I be doing this? Over.”
“Roger and out, Gay. Captain, I request permission to switch on cabin lights.”
“Permission granted. Report observations. Copilot?”
“Skipper, I saw nothing.”
“Deety?”
“Nothing.”
“Hilda?”
“Jacob, I didn’t see anything. Can’t we get out of this universe? It stinks.”
“That stink is me,” our copilot said. “The reek of fear. Captain, of what use is an empty universe?”
“Zeb, ’empty universe’ is a meaningless expression. Space-time implies mass-energy, and vice versa.”
“Captain, it looks empty to me.”
“And to me. I’m faced by a dilemma in theory. Is the mass in this spacetime so far away that we can’t see it? Or is it in a state of ‘Cold Death,’ level entropy? Or did we create this universe by rotating?”
“‘Create it’ – Huh?”
“A possibility,” I pointed out. “If we are the only mass in this universe, then this universe had no existence until we created it by rotation. But it will not collapse when we rotate out, because we will be leaving behind quanta we are radiating.”
“Hmm – Captain, I’m bothered by something else. We started from universe-ten and made one ninety-degree rotation. Correct?”
“Yes. We rotated around ‘x’ and thereby moved each of the other five axes ninety degrees. We are now experiencing duration along ‘y.’ Teh and ‘z’ are spatial coordinates now, and ‘x’ remains spatial because we rotated on it. Tau and ‘t’ are now null, unused.”
“Mmm – Deety, what Greenwich time is it?” Zeb glanced at the instrument board.
“Uh – Seventeen: thirteen: oh-nine.”
“Smart Girl says you are twenty seconds slow.” Zeb looked at his navigator’s watch. “But my watch splits the difference. How many minutes since we left Windsor City?”
“Thirty-nine minutes, thirteen seconds. Ask me a hard one.”
“I’m going to ask your father a hard one. Captain, if you tell G.D. to scram to Windsor P.G. right now mark! – what will the Greenwich time be?”
“Look at your clock. About a quarter past seventeen hundred.”
“But you told me that, since rotating, we’ve been experiencing duration along ‘y’ axis.”
“But – Oh! Zeb, I’m stupid. No time has elapsed on ‘t’ axis since the instant we rotated If we reversed the rotation, we would go back to that exact instant.”
“Deety hon?” Zeb asked. “Do you agree?”
(I felt annoyed that my son-in-law consulted my daughter as to the correctness of my professional opinion – then suppressed the thought. Deety will always be my little girl, which makes it hard for me to remember that she is also my professional colleague.)
My daughter suddenly looked upset. “I – Pop! That first trip to the world without the letter ‘J’ – time did pass, it did!”
Zeb said gently, “But that was translation, Deety. You continued to experience duration along ‘t’ axis.”
Deety thought about it, then said sorrowfully, “Zebadiah, I no longer know What time it is. Pop is correct; we experience duration on one axis only, and that is now ‘y’ axis. We can’t experience duration on two axes at once.” She heaved a sigh. “Will I ever get the clock in my head set right again?”
“Sure you will,” my son-in-law reassured her. “Like crossing a time zone. Shortly after we grounded on Mars-ten, your head started keeping time both in Greenwich and in Mars Touchdown meridian time, even though Touchdown time kept falling farther behind hour after hour. A simple index correction won’t bother you. My sweet, you don’t realize how smart you are.”
Zeb patted her hand, then looked around at me. “Captain, may I propose a change in schedule?”
“Let’s hear it.”
“Sir, I would like two sequences. First, go back to Windsor P.G. with the verniers preset for a hundred thousand klicks straight up, and execute at once. Then translate back to our own universe-zero – but not to Earth-zero. Instead, set up an orbit around Mars-zero. That orbit becomes our base of operations.”
I said, “Simple enough. But why?”
“So that we will always have somewhere to go back to. Deety can write us a program that will place us back in that orbit. Something like G, A, Y, H, O, M, E, but based on Mars-zero – with elbow room.”
I asked, “Daughter, can you write such a program?”
“I think so, Pop. An emergency scram? G, A, Y, plus something?” Deety paused. “‘Sagan.’ G, A, Y, S, A, G, A, N means to return to orbit around Mars-zero. Built-in mnemonic.”
“Satisfactory. Is that all, Copilot?”
“No, sir. Our schedule breaks up naturally into a five group, a four group, a three, a two, and a one. I would like to add to each group a return to orbit around Mars-zero. Captain, if you were on the verniers, I wouldn’t worry; you know them so well. I don’t. If I do fifteen rotations, one right after the other, I’m afraid I’ll make some tiny mistake and we’ll wind up in analog-Andromeda-Nebula in universe a thousand-and-two on ‘z’ axis, with no idea how wa got there or how to get home.”
“Copilot, you worry too much.”
“Probably. Captain, my whole life is based on being chicken at every opportunity. I’ll breathe easier if I come back to a familiar orbit at the end of each group… and know that the next group is one less. It won’t take ten minutes longer to do it my way and I’ll be less likely to make mistakes. But tackling all fifteen at a slug scares me.”
“Captain Jacob -“
“Not now, Hilda. I must settle this with -“
“Captain, I am required to advise you.”
“Eh? All right, all right! Make it snappy.”
“You know – we all know – that Zebbie’s premonitions must not be ignored. I advise you officially – Gay Deceiver, record this ‘I-tell-you-three-times.'”
“Hilda, I hear you three times.”
“Captain Jacob, I, your second-in-command, advise you officially to revise the schedule of rotations in the fashion recommended by the copilot. End of I-tell-you-three-times.”
(Have you ever found yourself boxed in? Damn it, I intended to let Zeb do it his way; I am not unreasonable. I can’t say that I believe in Zeb’s premonitions; I suspect that he is simply a man with extremely fast reflexes. But both our wives believe in them and Zeb does himself. I found myself faced with mutiny unless I did exactly what I had intended to do anyway! How does one describe so ironical a situation?)
Shortly I found myself saying, “Copilot, by revised schedule, set second rotation of first group.” We were in “Sagan” orbit around Mars of Universe-zero (i.e., the one we had grown up in: Galactic coordinates X0, Y0, Z0, & t0 – Earth-zero, Mars-zero, Sun-zero, Universe-zero). I tend to think of this as the “real” universe even though I am aware that there is no evidence or mathematical theory for preferring one frame of reference over another – to do so is egocentric provincialism at its worst. But I offer this in mitigation: for us it was simplest and thereby helped us to avoid getting lost.
“Set,” Copilot Zeb reported. I went forward, checked the setting (rotation around ‘y,’ with ‘z’ and ‘t’ dropping out, null), then returned to my seat. “We can spare a minute to look at Mars. Deety, tilt the nose down to let us look. Do you know how?”
“Like this, Captain?”
“Right,” I agreed. “Keep it up.”
Deety raised the craft’s nose and swung right, catching me with belts not yet fastened. I said forcefully, “Deety! What the hell are you doing?” while I floundered and grabbed.
“Sir, you ordered ‘right’ and ‘up,'” Deety answered.
“I did no such thing!”
“But, Jacob – Captain – you did tell her that, I heard you.”
“Hilda, you keep out of this!”
Hilda answered stiffly, “Captain, I respectfully request that you either relieve me of the conn, or that you give orders to my pilots through me.”
“Damn it, you don’t have the conn. I do.”
“Then the Captain neglected to relieve me.”
“Uh – Take the conn! Carry out the planned schedule.”
“Aye aye, sir. Chief Pilot, orient the car for best view of Mars.”
“Aye aye, Ma’am!”
I was fuming, not looking, hardly listening. I had said to Deety, All right, keep on with it – or had I? Gay could play it back… and could also check on Hilda’s incredible allegation. If I were wrong (I felt certain I was not!), I would face up to it like a man and – Zeb broke in on my thoughts:
“Captain, do you care what attitude this craft is in at rotation?”
“No. Only for transitions.”
“Hmm – Then it follows as the night from day thou canst not then predict the attitude we’ll be in whenever we arrive in a new universe.”
Only with respect to our arbitrary zero reference frame. Why should it matter?”
“It won’t as long as we arrive with plenty of room. I’ve been noodling how to be sure of that. I don’t see an answer. But I don’t want to try translations or rotations parked on the ground. I hope the Captain won’t order any.”
“Copilot, I have no plans to. Astrogator, haven’t we had enough sightseeing?”
“Very well, Captain,” my wife acknowledged. “Deety, secure those binoculars. Zebbie, immediately after each rotation, set next rotation and report ‘Set.’ Deety, after each rotation, use voice program to put us through one Pigeon-Tumble with all lights out. I will watch to port, Deety forward, Zebbie starboard. Questions?”
I said, “Astrogator, you did not assign me a sector.”
“I have no authority to assign duties to the Captain. Does the Captain wish to select a sector and assume responsibility for it?”
She waited. I said hastily, “No. Perhaps it will be best for me to watch in all directions. General supervision.”
“Very well, Captain. Copilot – execute.”
Again we rotated into darkness. Deety switched out all lights. Zeb reported, “Set!”
“Stop!” I called out. I added, “Zeb, you reported ‘Set’ in total darkness. How did you set it?”
“Rotation around ‘z’ axis, with ‘x’ and ‘y’ dropping out. Duration along Teh. Third combo first group, sir.”
“I mean, ‘How did you do it in darkness?’ By clicks?”
“Captain, I didn’t do it in darkness.”
I said, “It was pitch dark when you reported ‘Set.”
“So it was, Captain.”
“It’s not necessary to call me ‘Captain’ every ten seconds. I want a straight answer. So far you have reported that you set it in darkness and that you set it with lights on.”
“No, sir.”
“God damn it, you just did!”
“Captain, I protest your swearing at me. I request that my protest be logged.”
“Zeb, you are – ” I shut up. I counted thirty in French under my breath, by which time I was ready to speak. “Zeb, I’m sorry that my language offended you. But I am still trying to find out what you did and how. Will you please tell me, in simple language?”
“Yes, sir. I set the third rotation by clicks -“
“But you said the lights were on – “
“The lights were on. I set the rotation with my eyes closed -“
“For God’s sake, why?”
“For practice. I set them with eyes closed. Then I check to see whether it matches what I intended to set. Deety leaves the light on until I give her the ‘kill it’ sign. Then she kills the glim and does her act.”
“Zeb, there wasn’t time to do it that way.”
Zeb gave a most irritating grin. “Captain, I’m fairly quick. So is Deety.” I said, “Perhaps I had better check the setting.”
Zeb made no answer; both women kept still. I began to wonder what everyone was waiting on… then realized that I was the “what.” Unbelt and check on Zeb’s setting? I remembered that irritating grin. So I said, “Deety, carry out the tumbling routine.”
The somersault completed, I asked, “Anyone see anything?” Hilda said, “I… think so. Captain, could we do that again?” “Do it, Deety,” I ordered.
Pigeon-Tumble resumed; Hilda suddenly said, “There!” and Deety snapped, “GayDeceiverStop!”
I asked, “Hilda, do you still see it?”
“Yes, Jacob. A fuzzy star. You can see it if I pull back and you lean forward.”
I suppose we each did so – for I spotted something. “I see it! Zeb – the binoculars, please.”
An invisible hand pushed them against my neck. I got them lined up with difficulty, got that faint light, focused with great care. “It looks like a lenticular galaxy seen not quite edge on. Or it might be a family of galaxies. Whatever it is, it is a long way off. Millions of light-years – I have no way of guessing.”
“Can we reach it by transition?” asked Zeb.
“Possibly. I would set middle range on ‘six,’ then keep punching until it showed change in width. It might be possible to reach it in an hour or so. Do you want to look at it?”
“From your description, I don’t think so,” Zeb answered. “That is fossil light – isn’t it?”
“Eh? Yes, the light has been traveling for millions of years.”
“That’s my point, Captain. We might find that those stars had burned out. Fossil light doesn’t tell us anything we can use. Let’s designate this ‘Last Chance’ and get out.”
Eminently sensible – “Stand by to rotate. Copilot – execute!”
Blinding light – “Zeb! Rotate! Execute!”
Suddenly we were in a starry void, almost homelike. I heaved a sigh of relief. “Zeb, what did we fall into?”
“I don’t know, Captain.” He added, “I had my eyes closed, setting the next rotation by clicks. So I didn’t get dazzled. But I never had a chance to check my setting by eyesight, either; I rotated at once.”
“You got us out – thanks. I did get dazzled; I’ve got purple blotches in front of my eyes. New standing order: At each rotation all hands close eyes and duck heads for that moment needed to be sure that we have not again run into dazzle. Zeb, that need not slow you up since you are setting by touch and click anyhow – but if we do hit dazzle, rotate us out; don’t wait for my orders. And – All Hands! – we are all free at all times to use any of the escape programs to get us out of danger.”
“Next rotation set, Captain.”
“Thank you, Copilot. Hilda, do you or Deety have any notion as to what we fell into?”
“No, Captain,” my daughter answered.
“Captain Jacob, I have three hypotheses, none worth much.”
“Let others judge that, my dear.”
“Interior of a global star cluster – or near the nucleus of a galaxy, or – possibly – the early part of an expanding universe when new stars are almost rubbing shoulders.”
“Hmm – Real garden spots. Zeb, could we have picked up excessive radiation?”
“Captain, the shell of this buggy is opaque to most radiation, and that windscreen is heavily leaded – but no way to tell.”
“Zebadiah, if the film in the camera is ruined, some heavy stuff got through. If the next picture is okay, we’re probably okay.”
Hilda said, “I’m glad you thought of that, Deety. I don’t like the idea of radiation while I’m pregnant. You, too, hon.”
“Aunt Hilda, we’re almost completely shielded where it matters. It could addle our brains but not our bellies.”
“Hilda, do you wish to shoot one frame?” I asked.
“No, Jacob, it would waste film.”
“As you wish. My eyes are coming back. Deety, put us through one Pigeon-Tumble.”
My daughter did so; I saw nothing. “Report! Hilda?”
“Lots of big beautiful stars but nothing close.”
“Me, too, Pop – but what a beautiful sky!”
“Null report, Captain.”
“Hilda, mark it down as ‘promising.’ All hands, stand by for fifth rotation. Keep eyes closed and heads down. Execute!”
Zeb gasped. “Where in Hell are we?”
“In Hell, maybe, Zebbie.”
“Captain!”
“Hilda may not be too far off,” I answered. “It’s something I could not have believed three weeks ago: some sort of inside-out universe.”
“Pellucidar!” said Deety.
“No, my dear daughter. One: We are not inside our home planet; we are in another universe. Two: This universe has physical laws that differ from our own. The inside of a spherical shell cannot have a gravitational field by the laws of our universe. Yet I see a river and we seem to be falling toward it. Deety, are we in air or in vacuo?”
Deety wiggled the controls. “Got some air. Probably could get support with wings fully spread.”
“Then do so.” Deety brought the car into a dead-stick glide.
Zeb said grimly, “I don’t want to homestead here! So big – ten thousand kilometers across at a guess. Yet it’s all inside. No sky! No horizons. Never again a night sprinkled with stars. That light in the center – Looks like our sun but it’s too small, much too small. When we leave, I don’t want to come back; the god who takes care of fools and explorers let us arrive in empty space instead of maybe ten kilometers underground. But next time – I hate to think about it.”
I said, “It may not have been luck, Zeb, but logical necessity.”
“Huh. You’ve lost me, Captain.”
“You’re thinking of this as a spherical shell. But there is no basis for assuming that it has an outside.”
“What? Endless millions of light-years of solid rock?”
“No, no! Nothing. By ‘nothing’ I do not mean space; I mean a total absence of existence of any sort. Different physical laws, a different topology. We may be seeing the totality of this universe. A small universe with a different sort of closed space.”
“I can’t visualize it, Jake.”
“Deety, my dear, rephrase it for your husband.”
“I’ll try, Pop. Zebadiah, the geometry of this place may require different postulates from those that work back home. I’m sure you have played with Möbius strips -“
“A surface with only one side, one edge. But this is a sphere.”
“Pop is saying that it may be a sphere with only one side, the inside. Have you ever tried to figure out a Klein bottle?”
“I got cross-eyed and a headache.”
“This could be a Klein-bottle sort of thing. It might turn out that if you tunneled straight down anywhere down there, you would emerge at the opposite point, still inside. And that straight line might be shorter than the distance across. Maybe much shorter.”
“Point three-one-eight-three-zero-nine is the ratio by the simplest postulates,” I agreed. “But the geometry may not be that simple. However, Zeb, assuming that this is a total universe, our chances of arriving in open space were far greater than the chance of conflicting with a mass. But I would not wish to homestead here – pretty as it is. Nevertheless we might check for obstetricians.”
“No obstetricians,” Zeb answered firmly.
“Why?” I demanded.
“If there are human beings here, they do not have an advanced culture. Deety has been following that river. Did you notice where that other river joined it? Also look ahead where it meets the sea. No cities. No warehouses. No river traffic. No air traffic, no signs of roads. Yet this is choice real estate. Therefore, no advanced culture anywhere and a small population, if any. If anyone wants to refute me, please do so in the next two minutes; Deety can’t hold this heap in the air much longer without using juice.”
“I check you, Zebbie. They might be so advanced that they can make the whole joint look like a park. I wouldn’t bet on it.”
“Deety?” I asked.
“Aunt Hilda is right, Captain. But it’s so pretty!”
“Hilda, expend one film, as a souvenir. Then we rotate.” My daughter nosed the car down to permit a better picture.
A click – “Got it!” Hilda cried. “GaySagan!”
Mars of Universe-zero lay to starboard. Zeb sighed. “I’m glad to be out of there. Sharpie, did you get a picture?”
“Can’t rush it,” my wife answered. “Nnnn, yup, picture coming.”
“Good!”
“Zebbie, I thought you didn’t like that inside-out world?”
“I don’t. If that picture is sharp, you two knocked-up broads weren’t hit by radiation where it counts. Any fogging?”
“No, Zebbie, and brighter color every second. Here – look.”
Zeb brushed it aside. “My sole interest is in radiation. Captain, I’m having misgivings. We’ve tried five out of fifteen and only one was even vaguely homelike. The pickings have been slim and the dangers excessive. But we know that Earth analogs Tau and Teh axes are Earthlike -“
“With monsters,” put in Hilda.
“Tau axis, probably. We haven’t explored Teh axis. Jake, are we justified in exposing our wives to dangers we can’t imagine?”
“In a moment, Copilot. Astrogator, why did you rotate? I don’t think I ordered it. I have been trying to run a taut ship.”
“So have I, Captain. I must ask to be relieved as astrogator.”
“I am sorry to say that I have been thinking along the same lines, my dearest. But you had better explain.”
“Captain, three times you have replaced me at the conn without relieving me. The last time I let it continue, wondering and waiting. Just now we were losing altitude, dangerously. So I acted. Now I ask to be relieved.”
Hilda seemed calm and not angry. But resolved. Had I really done anything out of line? It did not seem so to me.
“Zeb, have I been overriding the officer at the conn?”
Zeb took too long to answer. “Captain, this is a time when a man must insist on written orders. I will make a written reply.”
“Hmm – ” I said. “I think you have replied. Deety, what do you think? More written orders?”
“I don’t need written orders. Pop, you’ve been utterly stinking!”
“You really feel so?”
“I know so. Aunt Hilda is right; you are dead wrong. She understated the case. You assign her responsibilities – then ignore her. Just now she carried out her assigned duties – and you chewed her out for it. Of course she wants to be relieved.”
My daughter took a deep breath and went on: “And you bawled her out for ordering a scram escape. Twenty-seven minutes ago you said – and I quote: ‘All Hands! – we are all free at all times to use any of the escape programs to get us out of danger.’ End of quotation. Pop, how can you expect orders to be obeyed when you can’t remember what orders you’ve given? Nevertheless, we have obeyed you, every time and no back talk – and we’ve all caught hell. Aunt Hilda caught the most – but Zebadiah and I caught quite a bit. Pop, you’ve been – I won’t say it, I won’t!”
I looked out the port at Mars for long unhappy minutes. Then I turned around. “I’ve no choice but to resign. Effective as I ground her. Family, I must admit to great humiliation. I had thought that I was doing quite well. Uh, back to our streamside, I think. Gay -“
“GayDeceiverOverride! Not on your tintype! You’ll serve as long as I did – not a second less! But Sharpie is right in refusing to take the conn under you; you’ve been mistreating her. Despite being a colonel, you have never learned that you can’t assign responsibility without delegating authority to match – and then respect it. Jake, you’re a lousy boss. We’re going to keep you in the hot seat until you learn better. But there’s no reason for Sharpie to resign over your failings.”
“I still have something to say,” said my daughter.
“Deety,” Zeb said forcefully, “leave well enough alone!”
“Zebadiah, this is to you quite as much – or more – as it is to Pop. Complaints of another sort.”
My son-in-law looked startled. “Oh. Sorry. You have the floor.”

Chapter XXXI

” – the first ghosts ever to search for an obstetrician.”

Hilda:
If Zebbie and Jacob have a fault in common, it is overprotectiveness. Having always been the runt, I am habitually willing to accept protection. But Deety rebels.
When Zebbie asked Jacob whether or not they were justified in exposing us to unknown dangers, Deety stuck her oar in – and Zebbie tried to hush her.
Zebbie should have known better.
But he is barely getting acquainted with her, whereas I’ve known her since her diaper days. Once when Deety was, oh, possibly four, I started to tie her shoes. She pulled away. “Deety do!” she announced indignantly – and Deety did: on one shoe a loose half bow that came apart almost at once, on the other a Gordian knot that required the Alexandrian solution.
It’s been “Deety do!” ever since, backed by genius and indomitable will.
Deety told him, “Zebadiah, concerning completing this schedule: Is there some reason to exclude Hilda and me from the decision?”
“Damn it, Deety, this is one time when husbands have to decide!”
“Damn it, Zebadiah, this is one time when wives must be consulted!”
Zebbie was shocked. But Deety had simply matched his manner and rhetoric. Zebbie is no fool; he backed down. “I’m sorry, hon,” he said soberly. “Go ahead.”
“Yessir. I’m sorry I answered the way I did. But I do have something to say – and Hilda, too. I know I speak for both of us when I say that we appreciate that you and Pop would die for us… and that you feel this more intensely now that we are pregnant.
“But we have not been pregnant long enough to be handicapped. Our bellies do not bulge. They will bulge, and that gives us a deadline. But for that very reason we will either sample those rotation universes today… or we will never sample them.”
“Why do you say ‘never,’ Deety?”
“That deadline. We’ve sampled five and, scary as some have been, I wouldn’t have missed it! We can look at the other ten in the next few hours. But if we start searching Teh axis there is no way to guess how long it will take. Thousands of universes along Teh axis and it seems likely that each holds an analog of Earth. We may check hundreds before we find what we are looking for. Let’s say we find it and Hilda and I have babies with skilled medical attention. Then what? Zebadiah, are you going to be more willing to take women with babies into strange universes than you are without babies?”
“Uh… that’s not the way to put it, Deety.”
“How would you put it, sir? Are you thinking that you and Pop might check those ten while Hilda and I stay home with the kids?”
“Well… yes, I suppose I am. Something of the sort.”
“Zebadiah, I married you for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health. I did not marry to walk the Widow’s Walk! Where you go, I go! – till death do us part.”
“Deety speaks for me,” I said, and shut up. Deety had it figured: If Jacob and Zebbie didn’t finish those rotations today, they would have that “far horizons” look for the rest of their lives – and they wouldn’t want us along. Not with kids. Sharpie wasn’t going to hold still for that. No, sir!
“Deety, are you through?”
“Not quite, sir. All humans are created unequal. You are bigger and stronger than Pop; I am bigger and stronger than Hilda. I have the least years of experience; Pop has the most. Pop is a supergenius… but he concentrates so hard that he forgets to eat – unless he has a nursemaid to watch him – as Mama did, as I did, as Hilda now does. You, sir, are the most all-around competent man I’ve ever met, whether driving a duo, or dancing, or telling outrageous tales. Three of us have eight or nine earned degrees… but Aunt Hilda with none is a walking encyclopedia from insatiable curiosity and extraordinary memory. We two are baby factories and you two are not – but two men can impregnate fifty women – or five hundred. There is no end to the ways that we four are unequal. But in one supremely important way all of us are equals.
“We are pioneers.
“Men alone are not pioneers; they can’t be. Pioneer mothers share the dangers of pioneer fathers and go on having babies. Babies were born in the Mayflower, lots were born in covered wagons – and lots died, too. Women didn’t stay home; they went along.
“Zebadiah, I do not ask to be taken to those next ten universes -“
“It sounds like it.”
“You didn’t listen, sir. I would like to finish sampling those fifteen. It’s my preference but not my demand. What I do demand I have stated: Where you go, I go. Today and to the end of our lives. Unless you tell me to get out, that you don’t want me anymore. I have spoken.”
“You certainly have, dear. Hilda?”
Fish or cut bait, Sharpie – what do you want? I didn’t care; any new universe was bound to be strange. But Deety had laid down the party line; I didn’t want to fuzz it up – so I answered instantly, “Deety speaks for me in every word.”
“Jake? Back to my original question: ‘Are we justified in exposing our wives to conditions we can’t even imagine?”
“Zeb, you are the one who convinced me that it would be prudent to sample the universes accessible through rotation before searching by translation.”
“True. But that was before we sampled five of them.”
“I don’t see that the situation has changed. An imaginable danger is not necessarily better than an unimaginable one; it may be worse. Our home planet had grave shortcomings before we tangled with the vermin. No need to list them; we all know that the Four Horsemen are ready to ride again. But I can think of a very close analog of our home planet that would be far worse than Earth-zero even if it didn’t have a single ‘Black-Hat’ vermin on it.”
“Go on.”
“One in which Hitler got atomic weapons but we did not. I can’t see that vermin are more to be dreaded than Hitler’s S.S. Corps. The sadism of some human beings – not just Storm Troopers; you can find sadists in any country including the United States – is more frightening to me than any monster.”
“Not to me!” Deety blurted it out.
“But, my dear, we don’t know that those vermin are cruel. We got in their way; they tried to kill us. They did not try to torture us. There is a world of difference.”
“Maybe there is, Pop, but those things give me the creeps. I’ll bet they’d torture us if they could!”
“My very dear daughter, that’s muddy thinking. How old are you?”
“Huh? Pop, you know if anybody does.”
“I was reminding you of what you said: you have the least years of experience. I was much older than you are before I was cured of that sort of muddy thinking. By Jane, your mother. Hilda?”
“Jacob is telling you not to judge a book by its cover,” I said. “I learned it from Jane, too, as Jacob knows. A creature’s appearance tells nothing about its capacity for sadism.”
Jacob said, “Does anyone have anything to add? Since it appears that I am not permitted to resign now, I must rule on it. We will complete the scheduled rotations.” Jacob cleared his throat loudly, looked at Deety. “During my remaining hours in what Zeb so accurately calls the ‘Worry Seat,’ I will endeavor to keep my orders straight … but, should I fail, I ask that my attention be invited to it at once – not saved up for a scolding later. Daughter?”
“Okay, Pop. Aye aye, Captain.”
“Thank you, my dear. Is anyone tired or hungry?” No one spoke up; Jacob continued, “Hilda, will you take the conn?”
“No, Captain” – I’ll omit the internal debate I held with myself; Jacob on his best behavior is hard to refuse.
“Very well, my beloved; I won’t press you. It’s an odd situation. Copilot, by schedule, set to rotate.”
“Second group, first of four – set, sir.”
“Check seat belts, stand by to rotate. Execute!”

We were in sunlight in a blue sky and upside down. For a few seconds we were thrown around a bit – Deety isn’t the pilot Zebbie is. But she did get us leveled off. I heard Deety say, “Gay Deceiver.”
“Hi, Deety!”
“Hold course, speed, and height-above-ground.”
“Got it, girl!”
“You’re a Smart Girl, Gay.”
“But we can’t go on meeting like this! Over.”
“Roger and out, Gay. Whew! Time out while the Chief Pilot has a nervous breakdown. Zebadiah, what does that altimeter say?”
“Seven klicks H-above-G.”
“Pop, what’s the probability of winding up this close to a planet without getting killed?”
“Impossible to theorize, Deety. Maybe we’re dead and don’t know it. Copilot, deadman switch; I’m going to check the air.”
“Captain!” I yelped.
“Not now, Hilda, I’m -“
“NOW! Am I still second-in-command? If I am, I must advise you; you are about to make a bad mistake!”
Jacob hesitated. I think he was counting. “My dear one, if I am about to make a bad mistake, I want your advice no matter what your status is.”
“Thank you, Jacob. You should not be guinea pig. I should be. I -“
“Hilda, you’re pregnant.”
“All the more reason why I want the most competent and least expendable – you, Zebbie, and Deety – to take care of yourselves in order to take care of me. It’s my duty as science officer in any case, whether I’m number two or not. But, Jacob, you are doing it just the way Zebbie did it when we landed on Mars-ten – and that’s all wrong!”
“Thank you, Sharpie!”
“Zebbie dear! You risked your life and it’s not necessary -“
Zebbie interrupted me. “Not necessary to waste juice this way! Yack-yack-yack!”
“Copilot, pipe down!” Jacob said sharply. “Gay Bounce! Chief Pilot, when we reenter, place the car on dead-stick glide, manual or automatic. Don’t use juice. Now, All Hands, listen to the Science Officer. Go ahead, Hilda.”
“Yes, Captain. Three days ago it was necessary for somebody to be the canary – but it should have been me, not Zebbie. What was necessary three days ago is reckless today. That deadman switch – Unless it has been rewired, it takes us back two klicks over a crater – and that’s not what we want. The correct scram for this is T, E, R, M, I, T, E. But that’s just half of it. Deety has taught the S.G. how to ground herself no-power on any level bit of ground. We can ground first. Then anyone can be guinea pig, doesn’t matter. Whoosh back to our stream bank – bang, open the doors.”
Zebbie said, “Captain, that makes sense. Sharpie – I mean ‘Science Officer.’ May I apologize with a back rub?”
“You can apologize with a kiss. But I’ll take the back rub, too.”
“Zebadiah, don’t commit yourself too far; an air test isn’t necessary. Pop! Captain Pop, may I take her up thirty klicks?”
“I suppose so. May I ask why?”
“Captain, I know where we are. From that high I can prove it.”
“Deety, that’s imp -“
“Don’t say ‘impossible,’ Captain – I’ll refer you to my father.”
“Miss Smarty Pants. Take her up.”
“Thanks, Pop. GayBounceGayBounceGayBounce. Gay Deceiver, vertical dive, execute. Everybody tell me where we are.”
I had noticed earlier what pretty countryside was under us. Now I studied it in detail. Zebbie said, “Be durned. Big rectangular oasis completely surrounded by desert. Populated, too. That’s a fair-sized town in the middle.”
“Yes,” I agreed. “Don’t you recognize it, Zebbie? From a map.”
My husband said, “Now, Hilda, this is an unexplored universe. How could you have seen a -“
“Pop!” interrupted Deety. “You’ve seen the map. See the Yellow Brick Road off to the left? Try the binoculars; you can follow it clear to Emerald City.”
“Deety my love,” said Zebbie, “you are out of your mind. Or I am. Either way, somebody call an ambulance. Don’t forget the straitjacket. Sharpie, something worries me. I failed to get my warning… yet we came so close to hitting that real estate I’m still shaking.”
“That means there wasn’t any danger, Zebbie.”
“Then why am I trembling?”
“You’re a fraud, dear. We’ve all been dead quite a while now – killed in my parking lot. Deety and I may be the first ghosts ever to search for an obstetrician. In further support of my theory I am having a pregnancy with no morning sickness – a miracle that makes the Land of Oz as commonplace as faithful husbands.”
“I don’t think I want to analyze that. Is that the Castle of the Tin Woodman there in the east?”
“Yes, but that’s the west, dear. Deety, is that sun rising or setting?”
“Setting. Directions are reversed here. Everybody knows that.”
“A retrograde planet,” my husband commented. “Nothing dangerous about that.”
“Pop, admit it. You know the Oz books almost as well as I do -“
“Better. Don’t give yourself airs, Daughter. I agree that this appears to match stories and map, while trying to reserve judgment. Deety, how would you like to raise kids in the Land of Oz?”
“Pop, I’d love it!”
“Are you certain? As I recall, nobody dies in the Land of Oz yet the population doesn’t increase. I don’t recall babies being born in Oz stories. I don’t recall M.D.’s or hospitals. Or machinery. Zeb, that inside-out universe had different physical laws from those of our universe. If we ground here, will we be able to leave? Oz works by magic, not by engineering.” Jacob added, “Copilot, I want your professional opinion.”
“Captain, you see a difference between magic and engineering. I don’t.”
“Oh, come now, Zeb!”
“I believe in just two things: Murphy’s Law, and Place Not Your Faith in an Ace Kicker. Permit me to point out that we are already in the Land of Oz, even though at altitude. I can think of worse places to be stranded. No common cold. No income tax. No political candidates. No smog. No churches. No wars. No inflation. No -“
Deety interrupted. “We are now passing over the Palace of Glinda the Good.”
“Why pass over it?” I asked. “Jacob, why aren’t we grounding?”
“Me, too,” Deety added. “Captain Pop, I request permission to ground near the Palace. I’m certain that nothing can upset Glinda the Good; she already knows about it from her Book. Besides, a palace that size must have plumbing… and I’m beginning to feel as if I had attended a watermelon picnic.”
“Methinks a bush would suffice,” said Zebbie. “Even in another universe and with an armed guard. How about it, Captain?”
“Chief Pilot, ground at will. Hilda, do the Oz books have bathrooms in them? I don’t recall.”
“Nor do I, Jacob,” I answered. “But there are plenty of bushes.”
In three or four minutes Deety had us grounded, with Gay using Deety’s new program. I thanked my husband for deciding to ground. “There was never any doubt,” he said. “Not only would you and Deety never have spoken to me again, I would never have spoken to me again. But if I meet a living scarecrow, I may go stark, raving mad.”

Chapter XXXII

“Where Cat is, is civilization.”

Deety:
I found a clearing in the woods, a hundred meters from the Palace and screened from it by elms and walnut trees. I had Gay range it, told her three times that it was a scram spot – then she landed herself, slick as Zebadiah.
I unstrapped, opened the bulkhead door, and crawled aft to get clean suits – and thought better of it. Aunt Hilda had followed me and headed straight for a special locker. I rolled into lotus and asked, “Hillbilly, what are you going to wear?”
“The dress I got married in and the wedding ring Jacob had made for me in Windsor City.”
“Jewelry?”
“Nothing fancy.”
Mama Jane told me years ago that Aunt Hilda’s instinct for clothes was infallible. I got the dress I wore to hook Zebadiah, a pendant Pop had given me, my wedding ring, my dancing slippers. Put my darling in mess jacket? No, but in tights topped off with a white silk bolero shirt I made for him at Snug Harbor. Red sash, dancing pumps, jockey shorts – yes, that was all he needed.
I wiggle-wormed forward, clutching clothing. Our men were still in their seats, Gay’s doors closed. I said, “Why the closed doors? It’s warm and stuffy.”
“Look out to the left,” said Zebadiah.
I looked. A little storybook cottage with a sign over the door: WELCOME.
It had not been there when we grounded. “I see,” I agreed. “Shuck off your work clothes and pull on shorts and tights. Pop, Hilda has your trousers.”
“Deety, is that all you have to say?”
“What should I say, sir? Pop, you have taken us to some strange places. But in Oz I am not a stranger in a strange land. I know what to expect.”
“But damn it all -“
“Shush, Zebadiah. One does not say ‘damn’ in Oz. Not any sort of profanity or vulgarity. These are no longer teats; they aren’t even breasts – it’s my bosom and I never mention it. Vocabulary limited to that of the Mauve Decade. Mildest euphemisms.”
“Deety, I’m durned if I’ll be anything but myself.”
“Sir, I speak professionally. One does not use FORTRAN to a computer that knows only LOGLAN. Captain, can we open up?”
“Just a moment,” my father put in. “Deety, you called me ‘Captain.’ But I resigned, effective on grounding.”
“Wait a half!” Zebadiah interrupted. “You’ll do at least as much punishment time as I did – you earned it, old buddy.”
“All right,” Pop agreed, “but you decided that time on the ground counts. We’ll likely need a new captain when we lift. Let’s elect the victim now.”
“Reelect Pop,” I suggested. “He flunked and should do it over.”
“Daughter!”
“Joking, Pop – as long as you bear in mind that you did flunk and never again give a captain a bad time. I nominate my husband.”
“Let’s do this right.” Pop got out four file cards.
I wrote “Zebadiah” on mine, handed it to Pop. Hilda declared them, showing us each one: Deety – Deety – Deety – Deety. I gasped. “Hey! I demand a recount! No, a new election – somebody cheated.” I made so much fuss that they let me have it. I wrote “Zebadiah” on my fresh ballot, placed it face up on the Chief Pilot’s seat, placed the other three, one by one, on top of it, then declared them myself: Deety – Deety – Deety – then, in my own handwriting: Deety.
I gave up. (But resolved to have a word with the Wizard.)

It was a pretty cottage with a broad stoop and a climbing rose – but not to live in, just one room with a table and no other furniture. The table held a bowl of fruit, a pitcher of milk, four tumblers. There was a door to the right and a door to the left; the one on the left had painted on it a little girl in a sunbonnet, the other had a boy in a Buster Brown suit.
Hilda and I headed for the sunbonnet. I snatched a glass of milk and a bunch of grapes, and put on a milk moustache; I hadn’t tasted milk in ages. Delicious!
Hilda was drawing a tub and had peeled off her dress. The window was open but up high, so I peeled off mine. We made ourselves clean and “beautiful,” i.e., we restored our fanciest hairdos but without jewelry. Whatever we needed, that bath and dressing room had, from a sponge to lipstick Aunt Hilda’s shade.
We hurried and did it in forty-two minutes. Zebadiah looked beautiful and Pop looked just as smart in dark trousers and a richly simple Aloha shirt.
“We thought you,” said my husband, “had gone down the drain.”
“Zebadiah, we took forty-two minutes. If you did it in less than thirty, you aren’t clean.”
“Smell me.”
I sniffed him – a faint fragrance of soap, a touch of shaving lotion. “You took more than thirty minutes. Kiss me.”
“Thirty-six minutes, by my watch. Say ‘Please.”
I said “Please” and he caught me with my lips open, he always does. Zebadiah just suits me and I haven’t been sulky with him and stubborn only when necessary.
There was a path toward the Palace. Pop, with Aunt Hilda on his arm, led off; we followed. Aunt Hilda was carrying her high-heeled sandals, so I took mine off, and glanced back toward the clearing. The little cottage was missing, as I expected. Zebadiah noticed it but said nothing. His face was an interesting study.
The grassy path debouched into a garden in front of the Palace; the path through it was hard, so Hilda and I put on our shoes. Glinda’s Palace was more like a Norman chateau or Bertie’s “Stately Home of England” than it was like those dreary castles on the Rhine – but it had fairyland grace, like the Taj.
As we started up the sweeping marble steps to the great doorway Zebadiah stumbled. “What the hell?”
“Sssh!” I said. “Language, dear. A magic staircase. Glinda would not make her guests climb. Pretend that Escher designed it. Look proud and walk as if they were level.”
As we reached the broad landing two tall trumpeters stepped out of the great doorway, raised their long trumpets, and sounded four flourishes. An old man with a merry grin, a fringe of whiskers, a shiny bald head, a wooden left leg, and wearing a sailor’s oilskins, came out as the flourishes ended. I wondered why he was here rather than Emerald City.
He took a pipe from his mouth and said, “Welcome to the Palace of Glinda the Good! I’m Cap’n Bill. You, sir, are Doctor Burroughs the Wizard, with your wonderful wife the Princess Hilda. You must be Cap’n Zeb Carter – Howdy, Cap’n! – and everybody knows Deety; she’s spent so much of her life in Oz. Howdy, Deety! Last time I seen you you warn’t more’n knee high to a tall duck. And now look at you! Almost up to my shoulder and married! Congratulations, Cap’n! Yer a lucky man!”
“I think so, Captain.”
“I know so. Deety, Ozma sends her love and sez to tell you that you and your family are welcome in the Royal Kingdom as long as you like.”
“Please thank Her Royal Majesty for me, Cap’n Bill.” (Actually I’m taller than Cap’n Bill now – but of course I’ll always be a little girl to him. It’s nice.)
“Oh, I will, I will! Come inside, folks: we ain’t formal here. Or I ain’t. This ain’t my reg’lar job; I’m standing this watch for a friend.” He took my hand; his hand was horny and felt like Zebadiah’s – and just as gentle.
He led us inside. “Where’s Trot?” I asked.
“Around somewhere; you’ll see her. Prob’ly picking out her best hair ribbon in your honor. Or maybe helping Betsy with Hank – little Betsy ain’t happy unless she’s workin’; Neptune knows that mule gets more attention than all the mules that ever came out of Mizzoura. This way to the Library, friends.”

How does one describe Glinda the Good? Everyone knows that she is tall and stately and beautiful and never frowns and wears all day long what I think of as beautiful evening gowns with sweeping trains. But those are just words. Perhaps it is enough to say that, just as Dejah Thoris is the most beautiful woman of her world, the Sorceress is the most beautiful of hers.
She was surrounded by her bevy of the most beautiful girls from all over Oz. But Glinda outshone them all without trying. The name of the Egyptian Queen Nefertiti means both “beautiful” and “good,” in one word; I think that explains Glinda.
She got up from her Great Book of Records and glided toward us – kissed Hilda first, kissed me and said, “Welcome home, Deety!” and I choked up and couldn’t talk; I just curtsied. She offered a hand each to Zebadiah and Pop; they bowed simultaneously and kissed her hands.
She waved at chairs (that hadn’t been there) and invited us to sit down. Zebadiah whispered, “You seem to own this place.”
“Not really,” I whispered back. “But I’ve lived in Oz longer than anywhere else” – Mama and Pop lived at several campuses while I was growing up but I always took Oz along wherever we moved.
“Well… I’m glad you made me dress up.”
We were introduced to Glinda’s girls and each one curtsied; it felt like being in Imperial House-except that these girls were neither compelled nor paid. When I stopped to think about it, I couldn’t recall that money was used in Oz; it didn’t have an “economy.”
The girls were beautifully dressed, each differently but each girl’s dress was predominately the color of her own country, Munchkin blue, Gillikin purple, Winkle yellow, a few in green. One girl in red – Quadling of course, where we were – looked familiar. I said to her, “Is your name Betty?”
She was startled. “Why, yes, Your Highness – how did you know?” She dropped a curtsy.
“I’ve been here before; ask Captain Bill. I’m not ‘Your Highness’; I’m just Deety. Do you have a friend named Bertie?”
“Yes, Your – Yes, Deety. He’s not here now, he’s at the College of Professor Wogglebug.” I made note to tell Betty about it… someday.
I can’t tell all about everyone we met at Glinda’s Palace; there were too many and more kept arriving. Everyone seemed to expect us and pleased to see us. Pop did not go stark, raving mad when he met the Scarecrow because he was already deep in conversation with Professor H. M. Wogglebug and with Oz the Great, Royal Wizard to Queen Ozma – Pop was barely polite, shook hands and said, “Howd’you do, Mr. Scarecrow,” and went right on talking to Professor Wogglebug and the Wizard. I’m not sure he looked at the Scarecrow. He was saying, “You put it neatly, Professor. I wish Professor Mobyas Toras could hear your formulation. If we set alpha equal to zero, it is obvious that -“
I wandered off, because when Pop says, “It is obvious that – ” what is really obvious is that Deety should leave.
Dinner was in the banquet hail and the crowd of guests exactly filled it – Glinda’s banquet hall is always the right size for the number of persons eating there – or not eating, as the case may be, for Jack Pumpkinhead, Tik-Tok, the Tin Woodman, the Sawhorse, the Scarecrow, and other people who don’t eat were seated there, too, and also people who aren’t human people: the Cowardly Lion, the Hungry Tiger, the Woozy, the King of the Flying Monkeys, Hank, Toto, and a beautiful long-haired cat with supercilious manners.
Glinda the Good was at the head of the table at one end and Queen Ozma was at the head at the other end. Pop was on Glinda’s right and Zebadiah was on Ozma’s right. The Wizard was on Glinda’s left, and Professor Wogglebug was on Ozma’s left. Aunt Hilda and I were opposite each other at the middle of the long table. She had the Tin Woodman on one side and the Scarecrow on the other and was doing her best to charm both of them and both were trying to charm her and all three were succeeding.
I had three dinner companions. I started with two, the Cowardly Lion and the Hungry Tiger. The Lion ate what others ate but the Tiger had a bowl of cornflakes the size of a small washtub and ate from it very tidily with a spoon that matched the bowl. The Cowardly Lion and I had just started seafood cocktails when this cat brushed against my leg to get my attention, looked up and said, “You smell like a cat person. Make a lap, I’m coming up” – and jumped.
I said, “Eureka, do you have Dorothy’s permission?”
“What a silly way to talk. Dorothy must get my permission. Feed me the lobster first, then the shrimp. You may have the last piece of shrimp for yourself.”
The Hungry Tiger put down his big spoon and said, “Highness, may I abate this nuisance?”
“Don’t trouble yourself, Old Boy,” the Lion said. “I’ll abite it instead, in one bite. But please pass the Tabasco sauce; cats have so little taste.”
“Pay no attention to those peasants, wench, and get on with the lobster. Animals should not be allowed to eat at the table.”
“Look who is calling whom an animal,” growled the Cowardly Lion.
“It’s not an animal, Leo,” the Hungry Tiger objected. “It’s an insect. Highness, I’m a vegetarian – but I would be happy to break over this once and slice it into my cornflakes. Shall I?”
“Dorothy wouldn’t like it, Rajah.”
“You have a point, Ma’am. Shall I ask Toto to chase it out?”
“Eureka may stay. I don’t mind.”
“Wench, the correct answer is ‘I am honored.’ Ignore these jungle beasts; they are not cats. Be it known that Felis domestica has been civilized more generations than all you lesser breeds combined. As my serene ancestress, Bubastis, Goddess of the Nile, was wont to say: ‘Where Cat is, is civilization.’ Hurry up with that lobster.”
So I hurried. Eureka accepted each bit daintily, barely flicking my finger tips with her scratchy tongue. At last she averted her mouth. “Don’t overdo it; I’ll tell you when I require more. Scratch behind my left ear – gently. I shall sing, then I shall sleep. Maintain a respectful silence.”
I did as ordered. Eureka purred very loudly. As the buzzing gave way to soft snores I slowly stopped scratching. I had to eat with one hand; the other was needed to keep her from falling.

As Aunt Hilda has placed a record in Gay by interviewing all of us and combining it, I will stick to essentials. After the rest had gone home or retired to their rooms we four were invited into the Library. It was smaller than it had been, cozy, as Glinda’s girls had gone to their rooms. Glinda was at her Great Book of Records as we were ushered in; she smiled and bowed without getting up as we sat down.
“Friends,” she said, “Doctor, Captain, Princess Hilda, and Deety, I will save time by telling you that, during the dancing, I conferred with Ozma, the Wizard, and Professor Wogglebug. I had studied the Records of your strange adventure, and I read a résumé to them before we discussed your problems. First, let me say that Ozma repeats her invitation. You are welcome to stay here forever; you will find hospitality wherever you go. Deety knows this, and Princess Hilda knows it, too, although she is not as sure of it as Deety is.
“But to reassure you gentlemen, the Wizard and I have made the Land of Oz one quarter inch wider in all directions, a change too small to be noticed. But you, Doctor, will recognize that this provides ample Lebensraum for four more good people, as well as for your sky chariot Miss Gay Deceiver. A quarter of an inch, Captain, is six and thirty-five hundredths millimeters.
“While we were about it, on the advice of Professor Wogglebug, we made small changes in Miss Gay Deceiver – “
Zebadiah gave a start and looked upset. Gay was his sweetheart long before I was; he takes care of her as carefully as he takes care of me. But he should have trusted Glinda.
Glinda smiled warmly. “Don’t be alarmed, Captain, no harm has been done to the structural integrity or to the functioning of your beloved craft. When you notice – you will notice – if you do not like the changes, all you need do is to say aloud, ‘Glinda, change Miss Gay Deceiver back the way she was.’ I will read it here in my Book and will carry out your wish. But I do not think that you will ask me to do this. That is not prophecy; a good witch does not prophesy. But it is my firm opinion.
“Now to major matters – There are no ‘Black Hat’ vermin in Oz. Should one be so foolish as to come here, I would know it from my Book, and it would be ejected into the Deadly Desert. What would happen to it there, the less said, the better – but evil is not tolerated in Oz.
“As to the problem of vermin in your home world, it does not lie in Ozma’s jurisdiction. My powers are limited there. While my Great Book tells me what happens there, it does not distinguish between vermin disguised as human beings and human beings who by their nature are evil. I could cast a spell over you which would keep you away from all ‘Black Hats.’ Do you wish that?”
Pop glanced at Zebadiah; my husband said, “Just a moment, Glinda the Good. Just what does that mean?”
“Spells are always literal, Captain; that’s why they can cause so much trouble. I rarely use them. This one means what I said: You would be kept away from any vermin of the sort you call ‘Black Hats.”
“In that case we couldn’t recognize one, could we? Or get close enough to destroy it.”
“I think one would have to devise ways to do each at a distance. Spells do not reason, Captain. Like computers, they operate literally.”
“Could they recognize us? Booby-trap us? Bomb us?”
“I do not know, Captain. My Book records only what they have done, not what they may do. Even then, as I have said, the Records do not unmask a disguised ‘Black Hat.’ Therefore, I know little about them. Do you wish the spell? You need not decide at once. If you remain in Oz, you won’t need it.”
I blurted out, “We ought to stay here!”
Glinda smiled at me, not a happy smile. “Dear Deety – You have decided not to have your baby?”
“Huh? I mean, ‘Excuse me, Glinda?'”
“You have been in Fairyland more than the others. You know that your little girl will not be born here… just as no one ever dies here.”
Aunt Hilda spoke up so quickly I couldn’t get a word in. “Glinda, thank you very much but I will not be staying.”
I gulped. “I won’t be staying, either, Aunt Glinda.”
“So I suspected. Do you want my advice, dear?”
“Yes. Certainly!”
“Having decided to be a woman and not a little girl like Dorothy or Trot, leave here quickly… lest you be tempted to stay in Fairyland forever.”
Pop glanced at Zebadiah, then said, “Madame Glinda, we’ll be leaving in the morning. We are grateful for your lavish hospitality… but I think that is best.”
“I think so, too, Doctor. But remember: Ozma’s invitation stands. When you are weary of the world, come here for a holiday and bring the children. Children are happy here and never get hurt. Oz was designed for children.”
“We will, we certainly will!”
“Is there anything more to discuss? If not… “
“Just a second!” put in Aunt Hilda. “You told Deety – will you tell me?”
Glinda smiled. “My Book states that you are growing a boy.”

Chapter XXXIII

” – ‘solipsism’ is a buzz word.”

Zeb:
I didn’t sleep with Deety that night. I didn’t plan it that way. A footman showed me to a room; Deety and Hilda were standing at the top of the stairs (more magical stairs – okay as long as you don’t look down) and talking excitedly, with Jake nearby.
When I saw that the room had only a single bed, the footman had vanished. I stepped outside; Deety and Hilda and Jake were gone, the upper hall was dark. So I said a word one mustn’t use in Oz and went back into my room. Even a single bed looked inviting; I went to sleep at once.
Glinda had breakfast with us, in the banquet hail, considerably shrunken. The food in Imperial House is wonderful, but you can’t beat ham and basted eggs and toast and jelly and fresh orange juice. I drank three cups of coffee and felt ready to rassle alligators.
Glinda kissed Deety and Hilda good-bye at the top of those Escher steps, and Jake and I bent over her hands. She wished us good luck… which must mean more from her.
Gay Deceiver looked good in morning sunlight. Tik-Tok was standing at her nose. “Good mor-ning,” he said. “I have been con-ver-sing with Miss Gay De-cei-ver all night. She is a ve-ry Smart Girl.”
“Howdy, Zeb.”
“Howdy, Gay. What have I told you about picking up strange men?”
“You’ve told me nothing, Zeb. And Tik-Tok is not a strange man. He is a gentleman, which is more than I can say for some people.”
“Tru-ly, Cap-tain, I meant no im-pro-pri-e-ty.”
“Just kidding, folks. Thanks for keeping Gay company, Tik-Tok.”
“It was a plea-sure and a pri-vi-lege. I ar-ranged with the night watch-man to wind me up each hour in or-der that our con-ver-sa-tion be not a-brupt-ly ter-mi-nat-ed.”
“Smart of you. Thanks again and we’ll see you again. We’ll be back for a visit, first chance. Gay, open up.”
“You didn’t say ‘Please,'” my autopilot answered, but she opened her doors.
“I am de-ligh-ted to hear that you are re-tur-ning. Miss Gay De-cei-ver and I have much in com-mon.”
Sharpie said good-bye to Tik-Tok, went inside. Deety not only said good-bye but kissed his copper cheek – Deety would kiss a pig if the pig would hold still for it (if he didn’t, I would turn him into sausage; kissing Deety is not to be scorned).
Hilda reappeared, still in evening gown. “Deety, come here. Hurry!”
I shook hands with Tik-Tok (odd!) and suggested that he back off a little. Then I went inside. No sign of our wives – I called to them, “Shake it up in there. I want a pilot suit.”
Deety called out, “Zebadiah, wiggle your way through the bulkhead.”
“I can’t change clothes back there.”
“Please, dear. I need you.”
When Deety says she needs me, I go. So I wiggled through, and the space didn’t seem as cramped as it had been when I was working on it at Termite Terrace. “Where are you?”
“In here. Port side,” came Deety’s muffled voice. I turned around, banging my head, and found a door where a door shouldn’t be. I had to stoop but once through it I could stand up. A room slightly bigger than a telephone booth – a door aft, a door forward, Sunbonnet Sue to the left, Buster Brown to the right. Deety opened the door on the left. “Come look!”
A luxurious dressing room and bath – “It’s the same one as in the ‘Welcome’ cottage,” said Deety, “except that the window is frosted and doesn’t open. But the air is fresh.”
I said “Hmmm – ” Then I added, “Well, well!” I checked out Buster Brown. Yes, the same bathroom Jake and I had used yesterday.
Jake stuck his head in. I said, “Perfesser, give me the benefit of your wisdom.”
“Zeb, I’m fresh out.”
“Jake – your opinion, please. Is this craft ready for space?”
“Zeb, I don’t know.”
“Let’s check the outside.”
We went over the shell with eyes and fingers, port and starboard. That car was unblemished – coutside. But from inside I heard a toilet flushing.
I went inside, on back, still on back, and knocked on Sunbonnet Sue. Sharpie let me in. “Just leaving, Zebbie,” She had elected to wear one of her new jump suits and looked like a Cracker Jack prize. “Deet’ is about ready.”
“Wait a half, Sharpie. Jake and I have decided to trust Glinda.”
“Was there any doubt?”
I stepped inside; Deety twisted around at the dressing table, smiled through a mouthful of bobby pins. “Your father and I have approved this craft for space – tentatively – Captain Deety.”
“I approved it at breakfast – and not tentatively. What do you have there, dear one?” She accepted a list from me, read it over:

NameDutyAdditional and/or Relief Duty
D. T. B. CarterCommanding

Hilda S. Burroughs2nd in Command & NavigatorScience Officer & Chef

Z. J. CarterChief PilotRelief Navigator
J. J. BurroughsCopilotSous-Chef

“It’s intended to make your life easier, Cap’n Deety. Jake didn’t get the going-over he should have had. But with Jake in the right-hand seat and me over him, I can keep him in hand – and he’ll be so busy with his verniers that he won’t have time to talk back. ‘Sous-Chef’ is a fancy way of saying that he’ll be under his wife’s thumb when we’re grounded.”
“It’s well thought out, Zebadiah. Thank you.”
“Suits you?”
“Let me study it.”
I got fidgety, ducked into Buster Brown and killed time until she called me. “Slight revision, Zebadiah.”

NameDutyAdditional and/or Relief Duty
DeetyCaptainInstructor Computers

Zebadiah2nd in Command & Chief Master at ArmsInstructor Duo, Air

JakeChief PilotInstructor Verniers
HildaCopilotScience Officer & Executive Chef

Note: Cooking will rotate D-J-Z unless changed by the Executive Chef.

“A ‘Slight revision’!” – I felt offended.
Deety looked at me anxiously. “I’m submitting it for your advice, Zebadiah. I want to continue Pop’s policy of everybody learning every job, at least well enough to limp home. Hilda will learn the verniers quickly; she’s deft, she doesn’t have to be told twice, and the inventor I have placed at her elbow. Pop needs practice in air; he isn’t as good as he thinks he is and he’s never driven a car this fast. You’ll be behind him, ready to bounce him out of trouble. Dear – will it work?”
I was forced to admit that Deety’s T.O. was better than mine.
“It’s better than mine, so you owe me a forfeit. Where are my handcuffs and nightstick?”
“As second-in-command you are vested with the duty to keep order and to see that the commanding officer’s orders are carried out, are you not?”
“Of course, Deety – Captain Deety – why rub their noses in it?”
“You know why, Zebadiah. I am reminding everyone that I mean to have a taut ship – and no back talk! You don’t need handcuffs or a club. But in that right-hand dressing-table drawer is a ten-centimeter roll of adhesive tape – the size gangsters use for gags.”
“Oh. Oho!”
“Zebadiah! Don’t use it without my direct order. I shall maintain a taut ship. But when I’ve served my time, I would much rather my father was still speaking to me. It’s a last resort, my husband. A sharp Pipe-down from you is all P – anybody will ever need. I intend to keep you at the conn most of the time – unless you ask me to relieve you, or I tell you I want to conn something personally.”
“Suits.”
“Very well, sir. You have the conn. Give them their assignments, prepare the car for space, take the reports, let me know here when you are ready. Revision in plan: Take us straight up one thousand klicks. Let us look at Oz from a distance, then continue by plan.”
“Aye aye, Captain.” I started to leave while thinking that Deety might leave a reputation equal to that of Captain Bligh.
“Zebadiah!”
“Yes, Captain?”
“Don’t go ‘way without kissing me or I won’t take the bloody job!”
“I didn’t realize that the Captain cared to be kissed.”
“Captains need kisses more than most people,” she answered, her face muffled against my shoulder.
“Got a fresh new stock. Will there be anything else, Ma’am?”
“Yes.”
“What?”
“When I’ve served my time, will you use your influence to put me on the verniers? And – sometime – will you teach me supersonic?”
“Verniers, yes. Supersonic – A man who takes his wife as a pupil is breeding a divorce. Gay will teach you supersonic if you will let her. At super- or hypersonic she’s safest on autopilot. She won’t hurt herself – but if you override, you may hurt her, she may hurt you.”
“But you override. How am I to learn?”
“Easy. Give her a program. Leave it loose enough for her to correct your goofs. Keep your hands and feet very lightly on the controls. Be patient, and eventually you’ll be part of Gay and Gay will be part of you. Shut up and kiss me.”
Captains kiss better.
Ten minutes later we were ready for space. I asked, “Did anyone leave anything in our annex?” I wasn’t thinking about it; Jake had reported: “Juice one point zero – full capacity!”
“Hilda and I hung up our dresses.”
“Captain, do you realize that our magical space warp will probably go back wherever it came from the instant we leave?”
“Want to bet? Glinda wouldn’t pull a trick like that.”
“It’s your dress, Cap’n. But your exec advises you officially to warn all hands never to leave anything essential in there during maneuvers.” I wiped the matter from my mind; Deety would do it her way. “Gay, are you going to go on being talkative on your own?”
“Zeb, back on watch, I’ll be strictly business. But a girl is entitled to a night out once in a while.”
“You’re a Smart Girl, Gay.”
“So Tik-Tok told me, Zeb.”
“Roger and out, Gay. Sharpie, set transition one thousand klicks H axis, plus.”
“A thousand kilometers straight up, minimum-range scale, vernier setting three. Jacob, will you check me, please?”
Jake reported the setting correct; I snapped, “Execute!”
Jake put her nose-down: an Earthlike planet so covered with haze that I could make out no details other than straight down, where Oz was still sharp and framed by the impassable deserts. “Sharpie, please hand me the binox, then shift hats to ‘Science Officer’ and find out whether or not our new addition came along.”
I had to help her undog the bulkhead door – Sharpie, in free fall, can’t brace herself to apply enough torque to loosen a dog I had fastened on the ground. Meanwhile Deety had been using the binox. “Zebadiah, it’s hazy everywhere but below us. Emerald City shines out green as Erin, and Glinda’s Palace gleams in the sunshine. But the rest might as well be Venus. Only it’s not.”
“Daughter – Captain, I mean – have you looked at the stars?” Jake added, “I think it’s our own universe.”
“It is, Pop? On which side of Orion is the Bull?”
“Why, on – Jesus, Allah, and Zoroaster! It’s turned inside out!”
“Yes, but not the way that other inside – out place was. Like Oz itself. East for west.”
I asked my wife, “Captain Deety, is there anything odd about duration here?”
“Doesn’t feel odd. But it’s been about a century since those three little girls moved to Oz. I don’t know what it feels like to them, and I carefully didn’t ask. Did anybody notice that there were no clocks and no calendars?”
“Zebbie!”
“Yes, Sharpie?” I answered.
“Our new plumbing works just dandy. Be careful going in; it’s not free fall; the floor is down. I did a spectacular somersault.”
“Hilda my love, are you hurt?”
“Not a bit, Jacob. But next time I’ll hang on to something, pull myself down even with the deck, and slide in.”
“Science Officer, secure all doors, return to your seat and strap down. Then swap hats and set next rotation by schedule.”
“I fastened the doors. I’m dogging the bulkhead door. Okay, I’m strapping down. Where are the binoculars?”
“Jake stowed them. All hands, stand by to rotate.”
Another totally black one – I said, “Captain, we’ll tumble now unless you prefer to check our new plumbing first.”
“Plumbing isn’t Deety’s job! I’m Science Officer and that includes hygiene, plumbing, and space warps.”
Deety said to me, “I relieve you, dear” – then more loudly, to Hilda: “Copilot, pipe down. Pop, dowse the lights and tumble us. Aunt Hillbilly, attempt to set next rotation by touch and sound, in the dark. That’s number eight, third of second group.”
“Aye aye, Captain Bligh.”
The tumble showed nothing. Jake switched on lights, reported that Sharpie had set the next rotation correctly. Deety asked me to relieve her at the conn, then said, “Science Officer, I am about to inspect the addition to your department; please accompany me.” Without a word Sharpie did so.
They were gone quite a while. At last I said, “Jake, what do women talk about in can conferences?”
“I’m afraid to find out.”
They came back full of giggles; I concluded that Deety’s disciplinary methods worked. As they strapped down, Deety said, “Dear, it’s black as sin out there – and sunlight streaming in both bathroom windows. Riddle me that.”
“Science Officer’s department,” I evaded. “Stand by to rotate.”
This time Jake not only had air, I could hear it. Jake got her leveled out hastily. “Copilot, H-above-G!”
“Thirteen hundred meters.”
“Too close! Zeb, I’m going to retire and take up tatting. Where are we? I can’t see a thing.”
“We’re over water, Pop, with a light fog. I see a shoreline to starboard.” Jake turned Gay to the right, I picked out the shoreline. Gay’s wings were spread; Jake held her at an easy glide and placed her on automatic. “We’ll leave this kite sealed now; I won’t check the air without going up high.”
“Sail ho!”
“Where away, Sharpie?”
“Starboard bow. A sailing ship.”
Durn if it wasn’t. A square-rigger out of the seventeenth century, high forecastle and sterncastle. Jake took us down for a better look. I wasn’t afraid; people who sail ships like that don’t use guided missiles – so I kept telling myself.
It was a pretty sight. Jake dropped the starboard wing so that we could have a good look. But we must not have been a “pretty sight” to them; sailors were rushing around and the helmsman let her get away from him and she fell into irons, her canvas flapping foolishly. Not wanting to get the poor fellow keelhauled, I told Jake to level off and head for land.
Deety said, “Good God, Pop, you scared me silly.”
“Why, Deety? – Captain Deety. They were scared-but surely you aren’t scared by black-powder cannon?”
“You almost put the starboard wing into the water.”
“Don’t be silly, Deety; I was above two hundred meters. Well, maybe a hundred and fifty when I did that steep turn. But plenty of room.”
“Take a look at your altimeter. And pressure.”
Jake looked and so did I. The radar altimeter stated that we were nineteen meters above the water; Jake had to change scales to read it. Pressure showed well over a thousand millibars – a sea-level high. So I snapped, “Gay Bounce!”
Gay did and I caught my breath.
“Deety, how did I make that error?” Jake asked.
“I don’t know, Pop. I can see the right wing tip; you can’t. When it looked to me as if you might cut the water, I looked at the instruments. I was about to yell when you straightened out.”
“Captain, I was driving seat-of-my-pants by the ship’s masts. I would swear I never got within three hundred meters of that ship, on the slant. That should put me plenty high.”
Sharpie said, “Jacob, don’t you recognize this place?”
“Hilda, don’t tell me you’ve been here before?”
“Only in books, Beloved. A child’s version in third grade. A more detailed version in junior high. Finally I laid hands on the unexpurgated version, which was pretty racy for the age I was then. I still find it pleasantly bawdy.”
“Sharpie,” I demanded, “what are you talking about?”
Jake answered. “Zeb, what sort of ship could cause me to think I was high in the air when in fact I was about to pole-vault into the sea?”
“I’ve got it!” said Deety.
“I give up,” I admitted.
“Tell him, Pop.”
“One manned by sailors fifteen centimeters high.”
I thought about it. We were approaching land; I told Jake to glide to two klicks by instrument and told Gay to hold us there – it seemed much higher. “If anyone runs across Dean Swift, will you give him a swift kick for me?”
Deety said, “Zebadiah, do you suppose the land of the giants – Brobdingnag – is on this continent?”
“I hope not.”
“Why not, dear? It should be fun.”
“We don’t have time to waste on either Lilliputians or giants. Neither would have obstetricians able to take care of you two. Sharpie, get ready to take us up a hundred thousand klicks. Then to rotate. Does anyone have any theory about what has been happening to us? Aside from Sharpie’s notion that we are dead and don’t know it?”
“I have another theory, Zebbie.”
“Give, Sharpie.”
“Don’t laugh – because you told me that you and Jacob discussed the heart of it, the idea that human thought exists as quanta. I don’t know quanta from Qantas Airways, but I know that a quantum is an indivisible unit. You told me that you and Jacob had discussed the possibility that imagination had its own sort of indivisible units or quanta – you called them ‘fictons’-or was it ficta? Either way, the notion was that every story ever told – or to be told if there is a difference – exists somewhere in the Number of the Beast.”
“But, Hilda my love, that was merely abstract speculation!”
“Jacob, your colleagues regard this car as ‘abstract speculation.’ Didn’t you tell me that the human body is merely complex equations of wave forms? That was when I bit you – I don’t mind being a wave form, waves are pretty; I bit you for using the adverb ‘merely.”
“Zebadiah, there is a city on the left. Shouldn’t we look at it before we leave?”
“Captain, you must decide that. You saw what a panic we caused in that ship. Imagine yourself fourteen centimeters tall and living in that city. Along comes a great sky monster and dives on you. Would you like it? How many little people will faint? How many will die of heart failure? How many are you willing to kill to satisfy your curiosity?” I added, “To those people we are monsters worse than ‘Black-Hat’ vermin.”
“Oh, dear! You’re right, Zebadiah – dismally so. Let’s get out of here.”
“Copilot, set to transit straight up one hundred thousand klicks.”
“Transition ‘H’ axis, positive, vernier setting five – set!”
“Execute.” I continued, “Captain, I’d like to sit here a while.”
“Very well, Zebadiah.”
“Sharpie, let’s hear your theory. Captain, I’ve been scared silly by too many narrow escapes. We know how to translate from one Earth-analog to the next; just use plenty of elbow room. But these rotations are making me white-haired. The laws of chance are going to catch up with us.”
“Zebbie, I don’t think the laws of chance have anything to do with it. I don’t think we have been in any danger in any rotation.”
“So? Sharpie, I’m about to swap jobs with you as quickly as I can get the Captain’s permission.”
“No, no! I -“
“Chicken!”
“Zebbie, your hunches are part of why I say that the laws of chance are not relevant.”
“Sharpie, statistical laws are the most firmly established of all natural laws.”
“Do they apply in the Land of Oz?” asked Deety.
“Uh – Damned if I know! Touché!”
“Zeb, Hilda has not expressed it as I would; nevertheless I agree with her.) To call the equations used in statistics ‘laws of nature’ is a misnomer. Those equations measure the degree of our ignorance. When I flip a coin and say that the chance of heads or tails is fifty-fifty, I am simply declaring total ignorance as to outcome. If I knew all conditions, the outcome might be subject to precalculation. But we have experienced two universes having physical laws unlike those of our home universe.”
“Three, Jacob. Lilliput makes three.”
“I don’t follow you, my dear.”
“The cube-square law that runs through all biology does not apply here. A human brain can’t be placed in a space the size of a thimble by our biophysical laws. But we’re getting away from the theory Zebbie wanted me to expound. Shall I go on?”
“Yes,” Deety ruled. “Everybody shut up but Aunt Hilda. I’m zipping my own lip. Hillbilly – proceed.”
“All right. It’s not chance that we have been in three universes – InsideOut, the Land of Oz, and Lilliput – in … less than twenty-four hours, isn’t it, Deety?”
“Less than twenty-one, Aunt Hilda.”
“Thanks hon. It’s not chance that those three are ‘fictional’ universes – I have to call them that for lack of a better word – well known to each of us. By coincidence – and again I don’t have a good word but it’s not ‘chance’ – all four of us are addicted to fanciful stories. Fantasy. Fairy tales. We all like the same sort of stories. How many of us like detective stories?”
“Some – not all,” said Deety.
“My sole loyalty is to Sherlock Holmes,” I said.
“Waste of time,” said Jake.
“I’d like to try an experiment,” Hilda went on. “Write down the twenty stories you have enjoyed most. Or groups of related stories – the Oz books would count as one, so would the Edgar Rice Burroughs Mars series, and so would the four voyages of ‘Gulliver’s Travels.’ Make them stories you reread for pleasure when you are too tired to tackle a new book.”
“Sharpie, is it cheating to ask how you mean to use this?”
“No, Zebbie. If my theory is right, the next time we rotate and find ourselves near a planet, it will turn out to be the scene of a story or group of stories that appears on all four lists. We’ll arrive high enough that Jacob will have plenty of time to level off but close enough that we can ground. But we will never rotate into a mass or any danger that we can’t handle. This isn’t chance; we haven’t been dealing with chance. The Land of Oz surprised me. Lilliput didn’t surprise me at all; I expected it. Or at least a place that all of us know through Stories.”
“How about those empty universes?” I demanded.
“Maybe they are places about which stories will be written or maybe stories have already been told but aren’t favorites of us four, so we don’t emerge close to their scenes. But those are guesses. So far as my theory is concerned, such Universes are ‘null’ – they don’t count one way or the other. We find our universes.”
“Sharpie, you have just invented pantheistic multiperson solipsism. I didn’t think it was mathematically possible.”
“Zeb, anything is mathematically possible.”
“Thanks, Jacob. Zebbie, ‘solipsism’ is a buzz word. I’m saying that we’ve stumbled onto ‘The Door in the Wall,’ the one that leads to the Land of Heart’s Desire. I don’t know how and have no use for fancy rationalizations. I see a pattern; I’m not trying to explain it. It just is.”
“How does that hollow world fit your theory?”
“Well, Deety called it Pellucidar -“
“It was!”
” – but I’ve read dozens of stories about worlds underground; I’ll bet all of us have. Jules Verne, S. Fowler Wright, H. G. Wells, C. L. Moore, Lovecraft – all the great masters of fantasy have taken a crack at it. Please, can we stop talking? I want all four lists before we rotate again.”
Jake changed attitude so that Lilliput’s planet was dead ahead and told Gay to hold it there. The planet looked very small, as if we were a million kilometers out – reasonable, I decided, and wrote down “The Dorsai yarns.”
At last Deety announced, “I’m through, Aunt Hillbilly.”
Soon after, her father handed Sharpie his list. “Don’t count those I’ve lined out, dear – I had trouble holding it down.”
“‘Twenty’ is arbitrary, Jacob. I can leave your extras in.”
“No, dear, the four I eliminated do not stand as high as the twenty I retained.”
After some pencil-chewing I announced, “Sharpie, I’m stuck at seventeen. Got a baker’s dozen more in mind, but no choice.”
“Seventeen will do, Zebbie – if they are your prime favorites.”
“They are.”
Hilda accepted my list, ran her eye down it. “A psychoanalyst would have a wonderful time with these.”
“Wait a half! Sharpie, if you’re going to let a shrink see those lists, I want mine back.”
“Zebbie darling, I wouldn’t do that to you.” She added, “I need a few minutes to tally.”
I glanced at Lilliput. “Need help?”
“No. I’ve tallied a ‘one’ after all on my list. I’ve checked Deety’s against mine and tallied a ‘two’ where they match, and added to the bottom of my list, with one vote tallied against each, those she picked but I didn’t. I’m doing the same with Jacob’s list, tallying three’s and two’s and one’s. Then Zebbie and we’ll wind up with a four-vote list – unanimous – and a list with three each – and a list with two, and with one.”
Sharpie kept busy some minutes, then took a fresh sheet, made a list, folded it. “This should be in a sealed envelope to establish my reputation as a fortuneteller. Zebbie, there are nine soi-disant fictional universes listed. Any close approach we make by rotation should be near one of them.”
I said, “You included Pellucidar?”
“Pellucidar got only two votes. I stick to my theory that the inside-out world is a composite of underground fantasies. But our vote identified that third universe – the blinding lights, the one that worried you about radiation.”
“The hell you say!”
“I think it did. Four votes for Doctor Isaac Asimov’s ‘Nightfall.’ I expected his Foundation stories to make it but they got only three votes. Too bad, because his library planet might be able to tell us what those vermin are, where they come from – and how to beat them.”
“My fault, Aunt Hillbilly. Pop told me I should read the Foundation series… but I never did.”
“Sharpie,” I said, “we can put you down in New York in five minutes. The Good Doctor is getting on in years – turns out less than a million words a year now – but still likes pretty girls. He must know whatever is in the Galactic Library; he invented it. So telephone him. Better yet, sit on his lap. Cry if necessary.”
“Zebbie, if there is one place I’m certain is loaded with ‘Black Hat’ vermin, it’s New York City! You sit on his lap!”
“Not me. If we learn how to delouse our home planet, I’ll work on a way to spread the word. But I’m number one on their death list.”
“No, Jacob is.”
“No, Sharpie. Jake and Deety are dead, you are kidnapped, and I’m marked down to be ‘terminated with extreme prejudice.’ But I’ll risk grounding on the Hudson River VTOL flat long enough for you to visit the Good Doctor. Your husband can escort you; I’m going to hide in the bathroom. I figure that is actually in Oz and therefore safe.”
“Go lay an egg!”
“Sharpie dear, none of us is going to Earth-zero. Hand that list to Deety; she won’t peek. Captain, shall we rotate? The Science Officer has me half convinced that we can get away with it; let’s do it before I lose my nerve. Fourth and last universe in the second group, isn’t it?” I asked Sharpie.
“Yes, Zebbie.”
“Anybody as chicken as I am, speak up!… Isn’t anybody going to get us out of this!…… Execute!”

Chapter XXXIV

” – all my dreams do come true!”

Zeb:
Gay Deceiver was right side up five hundred meters above a sunlit, gentle countryside. Jake set her to cruise in a circle. I asked, “Are we back in Oz? Sharpie, check your setting.”
“Not Oz, Zebbie. I’ve stuck to schedule.”
“Okay. Does your magic list tell you where we are?”
“If it’s one of the nine, then it’s – ” Hilda wrote a word on a sheet, folded it, handed it to me. “Stick this in your pocket.”
I tucked it away. “Jake, bounce us, then range-and-target to ground us in that meadow. We’ll test the air when we’re down. Safer.”
Jake zeroed Gay in; she grounded. “Zeb,” he said fretfully, “how can I tell what juice we have? The gauge still reads ‘Capacity.”
“Let me think about it.”
“All right. Has the Captain worked out that new scram?”
“I think so, Pop. Take G.D. straight up a hundred thousand klicks, but do it in two words, in total darkness, or with eyes dazzled, or anything. As long as anyone can get out two syllables we’ll zip far enough away from trouble that we’ll have time to work out what to do next.”
“Good enough. Can you program it before I open a door?”
“I think so, Zebadiah. If she’s asleep, G.D. will wake up and do it at once.”
“Okay, will you program it? Hilda, set up the same thing on your dials as a back-up. Meanwhile I’m going to give the plumbing a field test. Don’t touch the doors till I get back.”
I returned in a few minutes. “Our magic space warp is still with us – don’t ask me why or I’ll scream. New program inserted?”
“Yes, Zebadiah. On tell-me-three-times and protected against execution without the doors being closed and locked. I’ve written down the magic words. Here.” Deety handed me a scrap of paper.
On it was: “Gay – Zoom!”
“It’s the shortest program with an unusual monosyllable that I can think of.”
“Its shortness may save our necks. Swap seats with me, Sharpie, it’s my turn to be pioneer mother. Everybody, hold your breath; I’m going to sniff the air.”
“Zebbie, this planet is Earthlike to nine decimal places.”
“Which gives me a cheap chance to play hero.” I opened her door a crack, sniffed.
Shortly I said, “I feel okay. Anybody woozy?”
“Open the door wide, Zebbie; this place is safe.”
I did so and stepped out into a field of daisies; the others followed me. It certainly seemed safe – quiet, warm, peaceful, a meadow bounded by a hedge row and a stream.
Suddenly a white rabbit came running past, headed for the hedge. He barely paused, pulled a watch from his waistcoat pocket, glanced at it, then moaned, “Oh dear! Oh dear! I shall be too late!” and ran even faster. Deety started after him.
“Deety!” I yelled.
She stopped short. “I want to find the rabbit hole.”
“Then keep your eye on her. You’re not going down the hole.”
“On whom?” Deety turned back toward the hedge row. A little girl in a pinafore was hurrying toward the spot where the rabbit had disappeared. “Oh. But it didn’t hurt her to go down the hole.”
“No, but Alice had lots of difficulties before she got out. We haven’t time; this is not a place we can stay.”
“Why not?”
“Nineteenth-century England did not have advanced medicine.”
“Zebbie,” put in Hilda, “this isn’t England. Read that slip.”
I unfolded the scrap of paper, read: Wonderland. “Just so,” I agreed, and handed it to my wife. “But it is modeled on England in the eighteen-sixties. It either has no medicine, like Oz, or pre-Pasteur medicine. Possibly pre-Semmelweiss. Deety, do you want to die from childbed fever?”
“No, I want to go to the Mad Tea Party.”
“We can have a mad tea party; I went mad several universes back – and it’s time for lunch. Sharpie, you win the Order of Nostradamus with diamond cluster. May I ask two questions?”
“One may always ask.”
“Is H. P. Lovecraft on that list?”
“He got only one vote, Zebbie. Yours.”
“Chthulhu be thanked! Sharpie, his stories fascinate me the way snakes are said to fascinate birds. But I would rather be trapped with the King in Yellow than be caught up in the worlds of the Necronomicon. Uh… did any horrids get four votes?”
“No, dear, the rest of us prefer happy endings.”
“So do I! Especially when I’m in it. Did Heinlein get his name in the hat?”
“Four votes, split. Two for his ‘Future History,’ two for ‘Stranger in a Strange Land.’ So I left him out.”
“I didn’t vote for ‘Stranger’ and I’ll refrain from embarrassing anyone by asking who did. My God, the things some writers will do for money!”
“Samuel Johnson said that anyone who wrote for any other reason was a fool.”
“Johnson was a fat, pompous, gluttonous, dirty old fool who would have faded into the obscurity he so richly deserved had he not been followed around by a spit-licking sycophant. Spell that ‘Psycho-‘, as in ‘Bloch.'” I added, “Did Poul Anderson get in? Or Niven?”
“Zebbie, that’s far more than two questions.”
“I haven’t even reached the second question… which is: What do we have for a mad tea party?”
“Surprise! Glinda had a picnic basket placed in our dressing room.”
“I missed it,” I admitted.
“You didn’t look in the wardrobe.” Sharpie grinned. “Can sandwiches from Oz be eaten in Wonderland? Or will they ‘softly and silently vanish away’?”
“‘Be off, or I’ll kick you downstairs!'”
Several hundred calories later I noticed a young man hovering nearby. He seemed to want to speak but was too diffident to do so. Deety jumped up, trotted toward him. “The Reverend Mister Dodgson, is it not? I’m Mrs. Zebadiah Carter.”
He quickly removed his straw boater. “‘Mr. Dodgson,’ yes, uh, Mrs. Carter. Have we met?”
“Long ago, before I was married. You are looking for Alice, are you not?”
“Dear me! Why, yes, I am. But how -“
“She went Down the Rabbit-Hole.”
Dodgson looked relieved. “Then she will be back soon enough. I promised to return her and her sisters to Christ Church before dark.”
“You did. I mean, ‘you will.’ Same thing, depending on the coordinates. Come meet my family. Have you had luncheon?”
“Oh, I say, I don’t mean to intrude.”
“You aren’t intruding.” Deety took him by the hand, firmly. Since my treasure is stronger than most men, he came along… and let go her hand hastily as soon as she loosened her grip. We men got to our feet; Hilda remained in lotus.
“Aunt Hilda, this is Mr. Dodgson, Lecturer in Mathematics at Christ Church College, Oxford. My stepmother, Mrs. Burroughs.”
“How do you do, Mrs. Burroughs. Oh dear, I am intruding!”
“Not at all, Mr. Dodgson. Do sit down.”
“And this is my father, Dr. Burroughs, Professor of Mathematics. And my husband Captain Carter. Aunt Hilda, will you find a clean plate for Mr. Dodgson?”
The young don relaxed once introductions had been made but he was still far more formal than Deety intended to permit. He sat down on the turf, placed his hat carefully beside him, and said, “Truly, Mrs. Burroughs, I’ve just finished tea with three little girls.”
Deety ignored his protests while she piled his plate with little sandwiches and cakes. Sharpie poured tea from a Thermos jug. They nailed him down with cup and plate. Jake advised, “Don’t fight it, son, unless you really must leave. Are Alice’s sisters safe?”
“Why, yes, Professor; they are napping in the shade of a hayrick nearby. But -“
“Then relax. In any case, you must wait for Alice. What branch of mathematics do you pursue?”
“Algebraic logic, usually, sir, with some attention to its applications to geometry.” The Reverend Mr. Dodgson was seated so that he faced Gay Deceiver and sat in the shadow of her port wing but nothing in his manner showed that he noticed the anachronism.
“Have your studies led you into multidimensional non-Euclidean geometries?” Jake asked.
Dodgson blinked. “I fear that I tend to be conservative in geometry, rathuh.”
“Father, Mr. Dodgson doesn’t work in your field; he works in mine.”
Dodgson raised his eyebrows slightly. Jake said, “My daughter did not introduce herself fully. She is Mrs. Carter but her maiden name is Doctor D. T. Burroughs. Her field is mathematical logic.”
“That is why I am so pleased that you are here, Mr. Dodgson. Your book ‘Symbolic Logic’ is a milestone in our field.”
“But, my dear lady, I have not written a work titled ‘Symbolic Logic.”
“I’ve confused things. Again it is matter of selection of coordinates. At the end of the reign of Queen Victoria you will have published it five years earlier. Is that clear?”
He answered very solemnly, “Quite clear. All I need do is to ask Her Majesty how much longer she is going to reign and subtract five years.”
“That should do it. Do you like to play with sorites?” For the first time, he smiled. “Oh, very much!”
“Shall we make up some? Then trade and solve them?” “Well… not too lengthy. I really must get back to my young charges.”
“We can’t stay long, either. Anyone else want to play?” No one else elected to play. I stretched out on the grass with a handkerchief over my face; Jake and Sharpie went for a walk. “Shall we hold the statements down to groups of six?” Dodgson suggested.
“All right. But the conclusion must be true. Not nonsense. Agreed?” (Deety had taught me this game; she’s good at it. I decided to be a silent witness.)
They kept quiet while I snored convincingly, Deety was a “lady” for a while, then sprawled on her belly and chewed her pencil. I watched with one eye from under my handkerchief.
First she covered several pages with scratch work in developing statements incomplete in themselves but intended to arrive at only one possible conclusion. Having done so, she tested them by symbolic logic, then wrote out her list of statements, mixing them randomly – clooked up.
The young mathematician was looking at her solemnly, note pad in hand.
“Finished?” my wife asked.
“Just finished. Mrs. Carter, you remind me of my little friend Alice Liddell.”
“I know,” she said. “That’s how I recognized her. Shall we trade?”
Dodgson tore a sheet from his pad. “This is to be solved in the first person; its conclusion applies to you.”
“All right, I’ll try it.” Deety read aloud:

“1) Every idea of mine, that cannot be expressed as a syllogism, is really ridiculous;
“2) None of my ideas about Bath-buns are worth writing down;
“3) No idea of mine, that fails to come true, can be expressed as a syllogism;
“4) I never have any really ridiculous idea, that I do not at once refer to my solicitor;
“5) My dreams are all about Bath-buns;
“6) I never refer any idea of mine to my solicitor, unless it is worth writing down.”
Deety chortled. “How sweet of you! It is true; all my dreams do come true!”
“You solved it so quickly?”
“But it’s only six statements. Have you solved mine?”
“I haven’t read it yet.” He also read aloud:
“1) Everything, not absolutely ugly, may be kept in a drawing room;
“2) Nothing, that is encrusted with salt, is ever quite dry;
“3) Nothing should be kept in a drawing room, unless it is free from damp;
“4) Time-traveling machines are always kept near the sea;
“5) Nothing, that is what you expect it to be, can be absolutely ugly;
“6) Whatever is kept near the sea gets encrusted with salt.”
He blinked at the list. “The conclusion is true?” he asked.
“Yes.”
For the first time he stared openly at Gay Deceiver. “That, then – I infer – is a ‘time-traveling machine.”
“Yes… although it does other things as well.”
“It is not what I expected it to be … although I am not sure what I expected a time-traveling machine to be.”
I pulled his handkerchief off my face. “Do you want to take a ride, Mr. Dodgson?”
The young don looked wistful. “I am sorely tempted, Captain. But I am responsible for three little girls. So I must thank you for your hospitality and bid you good-bye. Will you offer my apologies to Professor and Mrs. Burroughs and explain that duty calls me?”

Chapter XXXV

“It’s a disturbing idea – “

Jake:
“Deety, how does it feel to say good-bye without getting kissed?”
“Zebadiah, I didn’t make it possible. Lewis Carroll was terrified by females over the age of puberty.”
“That’s why I stayed close. Deety hon, if I had gone with Jake and Hilda, he would have left at once.”
“I can’t figure out how he got here in the first place,” said my dear wife Hilda. “Lewis Carroll was never in Wonderland; he simply wrote about it. But this is Wonderland – unless rabbits in England wear waistcoats and watches.”
“Aunt Hilda, who can possibly be as deeply inside a story as the person who writes it?”
“Hmm – I’ll have to study that.”
“Later, Sharpie,” Zeb said. “Stand by to rotate. Mars, isn’t it?”
“Right, Zebbie,” Hilda agreed.
“Gay… Sagan!”
Mars-zero lay ahead, in half phase at the proper distance.
“Set!” Hilda reported. “To tenth universe, third group.”
“Execute.” It was another starry void with no familiar groupings; we ran through routine, Zeb logged it as “possible” and we moved on to the second of the third group – and I found myself facing the Big and Little Dippers. Again we ran through a routine tumble – but failed to find the Sun or any planets. I don’t know the southern constellations too well but I spotted Crux and the Magellanic Clouds. To the north there could be no doubt about Cygnus and a dozen others.
Zeb said, “Where is Sol? Deety? Sharpie?”
“I haven’t seen it, Zebadiah.”
“Zebbie, don’t go blaming me. I put it right back where I found it.”
“Jake, I don’t like this. Sharpie, are you set?”
“Set. Standing orders. Third group, third of three.”
“Keep your finger near the button. How does this fit your theory? I don’t recall listing a story that doesn’t have the Solar System in it.”
“Zebbie, it can’t fit two of those left, could fit the others, and could fit half a dozen or more that got three votes. You said that about a dozen were tied in your mind. Were any of them space-travel stories?”
“Almost all.”
“Then we could be in any world that takes our universe as a model but far enough from the Sun so that it appears as second or third magnitude. That wouldn’t have to be far; our Sun is pretty faint. So this could be the Darkover universe, or Niven’s Known Space, or Dr. Williamson’s Legion of Space universe, or the Star Trek universe, or Anderson’s world of the Polesotechnic League, or Dr. Smith’s Galactic Patrol world. Or several more.”
“Sharpie, what were two that this could not be?”
“King Arthur and his Knights, and the World of the Hobbits.”
“If we find ourselves in either of those, we leave. No obstetricians. Jake, any reason to stay here longer?”
“None that I see,” I answered.
“Captain Deety, I advise scram. Those space-opera universes can be sticky. I don’t care to catch a photon torpedo or a vortex bomb or a negative-matter projectile, just through failure to identify ourselves promptly.”
So we rotated.
This time we weren’t merely close; we were on the ground. Charging straight at us was a knight in armour, lance couched in attack. I think it unlikely that a lance could damage Gay. But this “gentle knight” was unfriendly; I shouted, “Gay! – Zoom!”
Sighed with relief at sudden darkness and at the Captain’s next words: “Thanks, Pop. You were on your toes.”
“Thank you. End of group three. Back to Mars? S, A, G, A, N?”
“Let’s get on with it,” Zeb agreed. “All Hands -“
“Zebadiah!” my daughter interrupted. “Is that all you wish to see of King Arthur and his Knights?”
“Captain Deety, that wasn’t one of King Arthur’s Knights. He was wearing plated mail.”
“That’s my impression,” my beloved agreed. “But I gave more attention to his shield. Field sable, argent bend sinister, in chief sun proper with crown, both or.”
“Sir Modred,” my daughter decided. “I knew he was a baddie! Zebadiah, we should have hit him with your L-gun.”
“Killed that beautiful beer-wagon horse? Deety, that sort of armor wasn’t made earlier than the fifteenth century, eight or nine centuries after the days of King Arthur.”
“Then why was he carrying Sir Modred’s shield?”
“Sharpie, was that Sir Modred’s coat of arms?”
“I don’t know; I blazoned what I saw. Aren’t you nit-picking in objecting to plate armor merely because it’s anachronistic?”
“But history shows that -“
“That’s the point, Zebbie. Camelot isn’t history; it’s fiction.”
Zeb said slowly, “Shut my big mouth.”
“Zebbie, I venture to guess that the version of Camelot we blundered into is a patchwork of all our concepts of King Arthur and the Round Table. I picked up mine from Tennyson, revised them when I read ‘Le Morte d’Arthur.’ Where did you get yours?”
“Mark Twain gave me mine – ‘A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur’s Court.’ Add some Prince Valiant. Jake?”
I said, “Zeb, there seems little doubt that there was a king or a general named Arthur or Arturius. But most people think of King Arthur from stories having little connection with any historical person. ‘The Sword in the Stone’ and ‘The Once and Future King’ are my favorites.”
My daughter persisted, “I do believe in the Round Table, I do! We should go back and look! Instead of guessing.”
“Captain Deety,” her husband said gently, “the jolly, murderous roughnecks called the Knights of the Round Table are fun to read about but not to know socially. Nor are people the only dangers. There would be honest-to-God dragons, and wyverns, and malevolent magic – not the Glinda-the-Good variety. We’ve learned that these alternate worlds are as real as the one we came from. We don’t need to relearn it by getting suddenly dead. That’s my official advice. If you don’t agree, will you please relieve me at the conn… Ma’am?”
“Zebadiah, you’re being logical – a most unfair way to argue!”
“Jacob,” said my wife, “suppose we were people who don’t like fanciful stories. What sort of worlds would we find?”
“I don’t know, Hilda. Probably only humdrum slice-of-life universes indistinguishable from the real world. Correction: Substitute ‘Universe-zero’ for ‘real world’ – because, as your theory requires, all worlds are equally real. Or unreal.”
“Jacob, why do you call our universe ‘universe-zero?”
“Eh… for convenience. Our point of origin.”
“Didn’t you tell me that no frame is preferred over any other? Each one to the Number of the Beast is equally zero in six axes?”
“Well… theory requires it.”
“Then we are fiction in other universes. Have I reasoned correctly?”
I was slow in answering. “That seems to be a necessary corollary. It’s a disturbing idea: that we ourselves are figments of imagination.”
“I’m nobody’s figment!” my daughter protested. “I’m real, I am! Pinch me!… Ouch! Zebadiah, not so hard!”
“You asked for it, dear,” Zeb told her.
“My husband is a brute. And I’ve got a cruel stepmother just like Snow White. I mean ‘Cinderella.’ And my Pop thinks I’m imaginary! But I love you anyway because you’re all I’ve got.”
“If you fictional characters will pipe down, we’ll get this show on the road. Stand by to rotate. Gay Sagan!”
Mars was where it should be. I felt more real.

Chapter XXXVI

“Pipe down and do your job.”

Hilda:
“Set, Captain,” I reported. “Thirteenth rotation. Correct, Zebbie?”
“Check, Sharpie. Captain?”
Deety answered, “Let’s catch our breaths.” She stared out at the ruddy barrenness of Mars-zero. “That rock looks downright homelike. I feel like a tourist who tries to see thirty countries in two weeks. Shock. Not ‘future shock’ but something like it.”
“Homesickness,” I told her. “Knowing that we can’t go back. Deety, somewhere, somewhen, we’ll build another Snug Harbor. Won’t we, Jacob?”
Jacob patted my knee. “We will, dearest.”
Deety said wistfully, “Will we really find another Snug Harbor?”
“Deety, are you over your pioneer-mother jag?”
“No, Zebadiah. But I can get homesick. Like you. Like Hilda. Like everybody but Pop.”
“Correction, Daughter. I don’t miss Logan, and I don’t think Hilda misses California -“
“Not a bit!” I agreed.
“Nor me,” agreed Zeb. “I had a rented flat. But Snug Harbor was home.”
“Agreed,” Jacob answered. “I didn’t really hate these vermin until they bombed our home.” Jacob added, “We’ve got to find a new Snug Harbor. Comfortable as this car is, we can’t live in it indefinitely.”
“Check. Sharpie, your theory seems to be checking out. Is there any reason to finish this schedule? Should we go directly to Teh axis?”
“Zebbie, granted that most rotations didn’t amount to more than sightseeing, if we hadn’t followed this schedule, this car would not be nearly so comfortable. Do you know of another Ford that has two bathrooms?”
“Sharpie, I don’t know of one that has one bathroom. Our space-warp special lets us stay in space as long as our air holds out. And food. But air is the critical factor.”
I said, “Zebbie, have you noticed that our air does not get stuffy?”
“It will soon.”
“It need not,” Jacob pointed out. “We can scram-code to Oz, or to Wonderland, in seconds. Sweet air, no danger.”
Zebbie looked sheepish. “I’m still learning what our wonder buggy will do.”
“So am I.”
“Gentlemen, you missed my point. You might check the juice. I haven’t mentioned another asset. Zebbie, would you like a banana?”
“Sharpie, I ate the last before I buried garbage. While you and Deety were washing dishes before we left Wonderland.”
“Tell him, Deety.”
“Zebadiah, Hilda and I salvaged and put everything into the basket. Hilda started to put it into our wardrobe – and it was heavy. So we looked. Packed as tight as when we left Oz. Six bananas – and everything else. Cross my heart. No, go look.”
“Hmmm – Jake, can you write equations for a picnic basket that refills itself? Will it go on doing so?”
“Zeb, equations can be written to describe anything. The description would be simpler for a basket that replenishes itself indefinitely than for one that does it once and stops – I would have to describe the discontinuity. But I am no longer troubled by natural – or ‘unnatural’ – laws that don’t apply in Universe-zero.”
“Mmmm… Science Officer, I suggest that you check on that basket now that we have returned to Universe-zero.”
“Zebbie, make that an order in writing and sign your name – if you want to look foolish. Deety, will you order it logged?”
“Sharpie, if you weren’t such good company, I’d strangle you. Your earlier answer recommended that we complete the rotations.”
“No, I noted that the first twelve had not been unprofitable. We could have completed the last three by now had we not spent time debating it.”
“Hilda honey, our cowardly Astrogator needed time to get his nerve back. By yumpin’ yiminy, once you’re all trained, I’m going to retire.”
“We would simply recall you, Zebbie. Each will go on doing what she can do best.”
“Time is out of joint. O curséd spite, that I was ever picked to set it right.”
“You misquoted.”
“I always do. What universe do we hit next?”
“Zebbie, we have three rotations to go, with four left on the four-votes list. One is useless but amusing and safe. The other three are places to live but each has its own dangers. As the chief of surgery used to say: ‘I dunno, let’s operate and find out.”
Zebbie sighed. “All hands, stand by to rotate. Execute!”
Green fire – “Rotate! Execute!”
A formless red fog – “Gay Sagan!”
Mars looked like an old friend. Zebbie wiped his brow and said, “Whew! One to go – Cap’n Deety hon, let’s get it over with. Sharpie?”
“Fifteenth universe – set!” I reported.
“Execute!”
We came out into a starry universe. “Cap’n Deety hon, don’t these constellations look familiar?” Zebbie commented.
“I think so.”
“They are familiar,” I insisted. “Except that there is a very bright star near the Gemini. That ought to be the Sun. We’re way out past Pluto, where the comets spend the winter. Let’s move in and find Earth.”
“Don’t be in a hurry,” said Zebbie. “Science Officer, what was that first rotation? Green fire?”
“How about the deadly green nebula in ‘The Legion of Space’? – on the trip to the Runaway Star where Aladoree had been taken.”
“That was on your list?”
“All of us voted for it.”
“What was that red fog we rotated into next?”
“That one is harder to figure,” I admitted. “It could be any universe by a writer who paid respectful attention to astronomy – Bova, Haldeman, Schmidt, Pournelle, Niven, Benford, Clement, Anderson, and so forth. But there were four votes for ‘The Mote in God’s Eye.’ Whether the two old gentlemen had anything to do with it or not, I think we blundered into a red giant. A red giant is close to what we call vacuum. Anyhow, we weren’t hurt; we were there about two seconds.”
“Less than that, Sharpie; you set it with one click, and barely had your thumb off the execute button. Captain, do you wish to transit toward that bright star?”
“Let’s chop off thirty or forty A.U.’s,” Deety decided, “and get a rough cross fix. Maybe that will give us a disc Pop can measure. If not, we’ll narrow it down until it does. Then place us one A.U. from the Sun and we’ll spot Earth easily. Astrogator – advice.”
“Captain, I advise making that first jump with wide offset. Miss the Sun by at least one A.U. At least.”
“Yes! Zebadiah, make that cross fix wide. Uh – ” Deety peered around. “There’s the Sickle. Have Pop aim for Regulus.”
My husband said, “I’m swinging toward Regulus. Zeb, how do I take the angular width of the Solar disc without broiling an eyeball?”
“The gunsight has a built-in polarizer. Didn’t I show you?”
“You did not.”
“Sorry. Captain Deety hon, I request permission to relieve the Chief Pilot for this.”
“Permission granted. But, Zebadiah, you be careful.”
“Spacecraft! Identify yourself!” – the voice was everywhere.
Zebbie jerked with surprise. (Me, too!) “Who said that?”
“Lensman Ted Smith, Commander Galactic Patrol, commanding Patrol Vessel ‘Nighthawk.’ Entity, I regret being forced to enter your mind but you have been ignoring sub-ether radio for four minutes thirty-two seconds. Switch it on and I will get out of your mind. Do not maneuver; we have weapons on you.”
“Captain,” Jacob whispered, “Hilda is set to rotate.”
Deety shook her head, touched Zebbie’s arm, pointed to herself.
“Lensman, this is Captain Deety, commanding Continua Craft Gay Deceiver. We don’t have sub-ether radio. Do you read me?”
“I read you loud and clear. What happened to your sub-ether radio? Do you need help?”
“Captain Smith, I don’t have sub-ether radio at all. We don’t need help but could use astrogational advice. Where are we?”
“The important point is that you are in my patrol sector, an unscheduled ship insufficiently identified. I repeat: DO NOT MANEUVER. By order of the Galactic Patrol. Do you understand?”
“I understand you, Lensman. I regret having intruded into your patrol space. This is a private ship engaged in peaceful exploration.”
“That is what I am about to determine, Captain. Stay where you are, make no hostile moves, and you will be safe.”
“Lensman, can you see through my eyes?”
“Are you inviting me to do so?”
“Certainly. Use my eyes, use my ears. But don’t try to take over my mind or this ship will disappear.” Deety squeezed my shoulder; I signaled “Roger” with a pat.
“I warn you not to maneuver. Ah … interesting!”
I snapped, “Captain Smith, quit threatening us! A Lensman is supposed to be an officer and gentleman! I intend to report you to the Port Admiral! You’re an oaf!”
“Sorry, Madam. I do not wish to offend but I have duty to perform. Captain, will you please turn your head so that I can see who is speaking?”
“Certainly. Let me introduce all of us. On my left” – Deety looked at Zebbie – “is Doctor Zebadiah Carter. In front of him is Doctor Jacob Burroughs. On his right” – Deety looked at me – “is his wife, Doctor Hilda Burroughs, xenobiologist and chief of science. Let me offer you this advice, Lensman: It is never safe to offend Doctor Hilda.”
“I gathered that impression, Captain. Doctor Hilda, I would not willingly offend – but I have duties. Shall I get out of your mind entirely? If you speak to me, I will hear with Captain Deety’s ears. She can, if she will, repeat to you my thought in answer.”
“Oh, it’s all right for conversation. But don’t try to go deeper! Mentor would not like it – as you know!”
“Doctor Hilda, your mention of … a certain entity… surprises me – from one who is not a Lensman.”
“I don’t need a Lens. You can check that with Arisia.”
Deety said hastily, “Lensman, are you satisfied that we are a peaceful party of scientists? Or is there something more that you wish to know?”
“Captain, I can see that this ship is not a pirate vessel – unarmed and unarmoured. Oh, I note controls for a coherent light gun but that wouldn’t be much use to a pirate. Nor can I visualize two men and two women attempting to attack a space liner. But keeping the peace is just one of my responsibilities. Your ship, small as it is, could be carrying millions of credits in contraband.”
“Say what you mean, Lensman,” I snapped. “Drugs. But don’t use the word ‘zwilnik.'”
Mentally, we could hear him sigh. “Yes, Doctor Hilda – drugs. But I did not introduce that offensive word into the discussion.”
“I heard you thinking it. Don’t do it again!”
“Lensman,” Deety said quickly, “we have medical drugs. The only one that could interest you is a few milligrams of morphine. But we carry no thionite, no bentlam, no hadive, no nitrolabe. You are using your Lens; you know that I’m telling the truth.”
“Captain, it’s not that easy. Before I hailed you I did try a slight probe – please, Doctor Hilda; it was in line of duty! I’ve never encountered minds so fully blocked. And this is a most curious craft. It is obviously designed for aerodynamic use rather than space. Yet here you are – and I can’t see how you got here. I have no choice but to detain you and to examine this ship thoroughly. If necessary, take it apart piece by piece.”
“Lensman,” Deety said earnestly, “don’t be hasty. You can search more thoroughly by Lens than by other means. Go ahead. We’ve nothing to hide and we have a great deal to offer the Patrol. But you won’t get it by pushing us around.”
“You certainly won’t! Cap’n, let’s leave! I’m tired of stupidity!” – and I snapped, “Gay Sagan!”
Mars-zero was on our starboard bow. That dead rock looked awfully good to me.
Zebbie said, “Captain, did you order the copilot to execute?”
I said, “Don’t bother Deety with it, Zebbie. I did it without permission. Solely my decision.”
Zebbie frowned unhappily. “Sharpie, I thought you would be our model Girl Scout while Deety is skipper. Why?”
“Zebbie, you can rotate back there in no time. But I would like to be dropped first. Imperial House. Or Minus-J. Somewhere.”
“Why, Hilda?” my husband asked.
“Jacob, meet your friendly neighborhood zwilnik. Commander Ted Smith of the Galactic Patrol – a fine officer; I’m certain, as Dr. E. E. Smith saw to it that no unworthy person could ever wear the Lens – was getting unpleasantly close. That’s why I was so fierce with the poor man.”
Deety said, “But, Aunt Hilda, E. E. Smith’s world is just the sort of world we’ve been seeking.”
“Maybe we’ll go back. But not until I’ve had a chance to dump two pounds of concentrated extract of Cannabis magnifica. Dr. Wheatstone tells me that it is incredibly valuable in therapy, as the base for endless drugs. But I had a hunch that Commander Smith would confiscate it, impound the Smart Girl, arrest all of us – and convict me. But that isn’t all, Zebbie. Doctor Smith created one of the most exciting universes I know of. To read about, not to live in. With that endless Boskone War – must have been going on; they were looking for zwilniks – you have to be as smart as Kimball Kinnison to stay alive… and even he gets chopped up now and again. Deety and I need a good baby-cotcher and I’m sure they have them. But we have months to find one. Let’s not deliberately back into a war.”
Deety didn’t hesitate. “I agree with Aunt Hilda. If we go back, it will not be while I’m captain. Hillbilly, you didn’t disobey orders; you used your head in an emergency.” I thought Deety was going to ask me how and when I got Cannabis magnifica extract… but she didn’t.
“Jake,” Zebbie said, “we’re overruled. Where now, Captain? Earth-Teh-one-plus?”
“First we’d better pick a place to spend the night, and hold an election.”
“Why, Deety, you’ve served less than twelve hours!”
“It will be about twenty-four hours when we lift off tomorrow. I’m not going to ask for nominations; we’ve all had a turn at it; we are now balloting for permanent captain.”
I expected Zebbie to be picked. But there were three for me, one for Zebbie – my ballot.
I seemed to be the only one surprised. Zebbie said to Deety, “Ask to be relieved now, hon. The short-timer syndrome is bad for anyone but worse for a C.O. – it demoralizes her crew.”
“Aunt Hilda, will you relieve me?”
I pondered it half a second. “I relieve you, Deety.”
“Goody! I think I’ll take a nap.”
“I think you’ll take the verniers. Zebbie and Jacob stay in the jobs they’re in. Prepare to maneuver. Copilot, set for Oz. If you don’t know how, ask your father.”
“Set verniers for Oz?”
I took a deep breath to calm down. “Before anyone starts asking ‘Why?’ the answer is: Pipe down and do your job. Before we start on Teh axis, I want to ask questions. We talked to Glinda about our problem. We didn’t talk directly to the others. I mean Ozma and Professor Wogglebug and the Little Wizard and possibly others. Family, magicians who can install two bathrooms in a Ford and never have it show can also help us spot vermin if we ask the right questions. Deety, are you having trouble setting for Oz?”
“Captain, why set verniers? Gay has our parking spot in her perms. Codeword ‘Glinda.”
A few seconds later Gay called out, “Hi, Tik-Tok!”
“Wel-come back, Miss Gay De-cei-ver. Glin-da told me that you would be gone on-ly a few mi-nutes, so I wai-ted here for you. I am deep-ly hap-py to see you a-gain.”

Chapter XXXVII

The First Law of Biology

Zeb:
“Stand by to maneuver,” I ordered – at the conn by Captain Sharpie’s wish “Hello, Gay.”
“Howdy, Zeb. You look hung over.”
“I am. Gay Home!”
Arizona was cloudless. “Crater verified, Captain Hilda.”
“Teh axis one plus – set, Captain,” Deety reported.
“Execute!”
“No crater, Cap’n Auntie. No house. Just mountains.” Deety added, “Teh-one-minus – set.”
“Roger, Deety. Routine check, Captain?”
“Voice routine, short schedule.” (I think that is what got Sharpie elected permanent C.O. – she never hesitates.)
“Gay Deceiver. Sightseeing trip. Five klicks H-above-G.”
“Ogle the yokels at five thousand meters. Let’s go!”
“Deety, keep your thumb on the button. Gay – Miami Beach.”
Below lay a familiar strip city. “Captain?”
“Zebbie, note the crowded streets. Sunny day. Beaches empty. Why?”
“Bogie six o’clock low!” Jake yelped.
“Gay Zoom!”
Earth-Teh-one-plus swam warm and huge. Opposite us a hurricane approached Texas. I asked, “Want to see more, Captain?”
“Zebadiah, how can we see more when we haven’t seen any?”
“But Cap’n Sharpie has, Deety. Folks, I’m unenthusiastic about a world where they shoot without challenging. Jake, your bogie was a missile?”
“I think so, Zeb. Collision course with Doppler signature over a thousand knots and increasing.”
“A missile – out of Homestead-analog, probably. Captain, these blokes are too quick on the trigger.”
“Zebbie, I find empty beaches more disturbing. I can think of several reasons why they would be empty on a nice day – all unpleasant.”
“Want to check San Diego? I can get more scram time by increasing H-above-G.”
“No, we have over forty thousand analogs on this axis; we’ll stick to doctrine. Shop each world just long enough to find something wrong – ‘Black Hats,’ war, low technology, no human population, bad climate, overpopulated, or factor X. If we don’t find our new Snug Harbor in the next four months, we’ll consider returning to Doctor Smith’s world.”
“Hillbilly, if we wait there to have our babies, then wait again until they are big enough to travel, we’ll never find Snug Harbor.”
“I said, ‘consider.’ We may find a place to shack up for five months or so, then slam back to Galactic Patrol Prime Base hospital for the Grand Openings. Could be an empty world – no people, pleasant otherwise. Food is now no problem and we get water from Oz. All we lack is television -“
“That’s no lack!”
“Deety, I thought you liked ‘Star Trek’?”
“Auntie Captain, we’ve got our own star trek now.”
“Hmm – Deety, you and I should go easy on this star trek. I’m going to I’m having my first one past forty and I’m going to be very careful – exercise, diet, rest, the works.”
“I surrender. Let’s get cracking, Cap’n Hillbilly.”
“Take it, Zebbie.”
“Copilot, execute!”
Earth-Teh-one-minus replaced Teh-one-plus. “Jacob, it doesn’t look right. Astrogator, I want us up a hundred kilometers, over – make it Mississippi Valley about St. Louis. Want to change attitude?”
“Yes, please. Jake, point Gay at your target; it will skip setting angle.” The craft’s nose dipped and steadied.
“How’s that?”
“Fine, Jake. Deety, set L axis plus transition ninety-nine thousand klicks.”
“Set, Zebadiah.”
“Execute.” We popped out high over fields of ice. “Sneak up on it, Cap’n?”
“Never mind. Zebbie, that’s what I call a hard winter.”
“A long winter. Actually it’s summer, I think; Earth-analogs should be in the same place in orbit as Earth. Jake?”
“By theory, yes. Doesn’t matter either way; that’s glaciation. Deety has set Teh-two-plus.”
“We can’t homestead on an ice sheet. Execute.”

“Zebbie, how many ice ages so far?”
“Five, I think. Deety?”
“Five is right, Zebadiah. Plus two worlds with major war, one where they shot at us, and one so radioactive that we got out fast!”
“So we’re hitting ice more often than not.”
“Five to four has no statistical significance, Zebadiah. At least Aunt Hilda hasn’t spotted even one ‘Black Hat.”
“Sharpie, how good are your magic spectacles?”
“Zebbie, if I see them walk, I’ll spot ’em, no matter how they’re disguised. In the simulations Glinda and Wizard cooked up, I spotted their gait every time Deety identified it by Fourier analysis.”
“You feel confident, that’s enough.”
“Zebbie, I don’t have clairvoyance; there wasn’t time to train me. But Glinda got me highly tuned to their awkward gait, both with and without splints. I want to discuss something else. According to geologists, when we were home – Earth where we were born, I mean – we were in a brief warm period between glaciations.”
“If geologists are right,” I admitted.
“If so, we’ll usually hit glaciation.”
“Probably. ‘If – ‘”
“Yes, ‘if – ‘ But we now know what glaciation looks like. If you and Jacob and Deety can make it a drill, we can flip past ice ages as fast as you spot one.”
“We’ll speed it up. Jake.”
“Zebadiah, wait!”
“Why, Deety? We’re about to translate.”
“Pop, you told me to set for Teh-five-plus.”
“Jacob?” Captain Sharpie said.
“That’s right, Captain.”
“What’s the trouble, Deety?”
“Aunt Hilda, I said that five-to-four had little statistical significance. But so far, all glaciations have been in Teh-minus. That could be chance but -“
” – but doesn’t look like it. You want us to explore axis Teh-plus first? Astrogator?”
“No, no! Captain Auntie, I would like to see enough of Teh-minus to have a significant sample. At least a hundred.”
“Jacob?”
“Hilda, if we check in one pseudodirection only – say Teh-minus – it’ll be four or five times as fast as hunting back and forth between plus and minus. Deety can set with one click; Zeb can yell ‘Execute!’ as soon as you are satisfied.”
“Jacob, we’ll get Deety her sample. But faster. Astrogator, have our copilot set Teh-six-minus”
“Uh… set, Captain.”
“When Zebbie says ‘Go,’ Jacob, you and Deety flip them past as fast as you can without waiting for orders. All we’ll be looking for is ice ages; we can spot one in a splitsecond. If anyone sees a warm world, yell ‘Stop!’ Deety, can Gay count them?”
“She’s doing so, Captain. We both are.”
“Okay. I’m going to give my magic specs a rest – we’re looking for nothing but glaciers versus green worlds. Questions?”
“Run out Teh-minus as fast as I can set and translate. Stop when anyone yells. Aye aye, Cap’n Hillbilly honey.”
Sharpie nodded to me; I snapped, “Go!”

“STOP!” yelped Deety.
“Jacob, I’ve never seen so much ice! Deety, how many martinis would that make?”
“On the rocks or straight up?”
“Never mind; we’re out of vermouth. Did you get your sample?”
“Yes, Captain. One hundred ice ages, no warm worlds. I’m satisfied.”
“I’m not. Zebbie, I want to extrapolate logarithmically – go to Teh-minusone-thousand, then ten thousand, a hundred thousand, and so on. Jacob?”
Jake looked worried. “Hilda, my scales can be set for vernier setting five, or one hundred thousand. But that translation would take us more than twice around a superhyper great circle – I think.”
“Elucidate, please.”
“I don’t want to get lost. My equations appear to be a description of six-dimensional space of positive curvature; they’ve worked – so far. But Euclidean geometry and Newtonian mechanics worked as long as our race didn’t monkey with velocities approaching the speed of light. Then the approximations weren’t close enough. I don’t know that the plenum can be described with only six space-time coordinates. It might be more than six – possibly far more. Mathematics can be used for prediction only after test against the real world.”
“Jacob, what is the ‘real world’?”
“Ouch! Hilda, I don’t know. But I’m afraid to get too many quanta away from our world – world-zero, where we were born. I think the extrapolation you propose would take us more than twice around a superhyper great circle to – What world, Deety?”
“World-six-thousand-six-hundred-eighty-eight on Teh-minus axis, Pop. Unless it’s skewed.”
“Thanks, Deety. Captain, if we arrived there, we could return to Earth-zero by one setting. ‘If – ‘ Instead of a superhyper great circle we might follow a helix or some other curve through dimensions we know not of.”
“Pop, you took what I said and fancied it up.”
“R.H.I.P., my dear. You will appear as junior author on the monograph you’ll write and I’ll sign.”
“Pop, you’re so good to me. Wouldn’t Smart Girl return us simply by G, A, Y, H, O, M, E?”
“Those programs instruct a machine that has built into it only six dimensions. Perhaps she would… but to our native universe so far from Earth-zero that we would be hopelessly lost. If Zeb and I were bachelors, I would say, ‘Let’s go!’ But we are family men.”
“Deety, set the next one. Teh-five-plus?”
“Right, Zebadiah. But, Captain Auntie, I’m game! The long trip!”
“Me, too,” agreed Captain Sharpie.
I said in a tired voice, “Those babies are ours as much as they are yours – Jake and I are taking no unnecessary risks. Captain Sharpie, if that doesn’t suit you, you can find another astrogator and another chief pilot.”
“Mutiny. Deety, shall we pull a ‘Lysistrata’?”
“Uh… can’t we find some reasonable middle ground?”

“Looks like a place to stop for lunch. Sharpie, want to sniff for ‘Black Hats’?”
“Take me down, please. About two thousand klicks above ground.”
“Will you settle for five?”
“Sissy pants. Yes, if you’ll first have Jacob zip us around night side to check for city lights.”
“Give her what she wants, Jake, by transiting; an orbit takes too long. ‘Give me operations… way out on some lonely atoll! For I… am too young to diiiie! I just want to grow old!'”
“You’re off key, Zebbie.”
“Deety likes my singing. Anybody spot city lights?”
We found no cities. So Jake put us down for lunch on a lonely atoll, Hilda first making certain that it had nothing on it but palm trees. Deety stripped, started exercises.
Hilda joined her; Jake and I set out lunch, having first dressed in stylish tropical skin. The only less-than-idyllic note came from my objecting to Deety’s swimming in the lagoon. Hilda backed me up. “Deety, that’s not a swimming pool. Anything in it has defenses or couldn’t have survived. The first law of biology is eat or be eaten. A shark could have washed over the reef years back, eaten all the fish – and now be delighted to have you for lunch.”
“Ugh!”
“Deety, you’d be very tasty,” I soothed.

Chapter XXXVIII

” – under his vine and under his fig tree; and none shall make them afraid – “

Jacob:
Teh positive took longer to search than Teh-negative for the very reason that its analogs were so much like our native planet.
An uninhabited planet could be dismissed in ten minutes; one heavily populated took no longer. A planet at too low a level of culture took hardly longer – a culture with animal-drawn carts and sailing ships as major transport we assumed not to have advanced medicine. But most took longer to reject.
At the end of a week we had rejected ninety-seven… which left us only 40.000 + to inspect!
That evening, at “Picnic Island,” our private atoll, my daughter said, “Cap’n Auntie, we’re doing this wrong.”
“How, Deetikins?”
“Ninety-seven in a week, over forty thousand to go. At that rate we finish in eight years.”
Her husband said, “Deety, we’re getting faster.”
My beloved said, “Astrogator, do you know more about calculating than does the Copilot?” Zeb shut up. We had learned that when Hilda addressed us by titles, she was speaking as captain. I flatter myself that I learned it quicker whereas Zeb was a bit slow. “Go ahead, Deety.”
“If we go on checking this way, it won’t get better; it will get worse. Here’s the first weeks’ score” – she passed around her summary; it read:

Earth analogs checked97
Average time per planet34 mins 38 1/2 sec
Maximum time2 days 3 hrs 52 mins
Minimum time13 seconds
Median time12 mins 07 sec

I studied it. “Deety, we can reduce that average time. Over two days was much too long to check analog twenty-six.”
“No, Pop, we should have taken longer on twenty-six. It’s that thirteen seconds that is bankrupting us.”
“Daughter, that’s preposter – “
“Chief Pilot.”
“Yes, dear?”
“Please let the Copilot finish… without interruption.” I retired from the field, annoyed, to wait until my advice was indispensable – soon, I felt sure.
“Aunt Hilda, if we gave each analog thirteen seconds, it would take us eighteen and a half days… and we would learn nothing. I want to cut the minimum time way, way down – make it routine – and learn something. I wish Gay could talk, I do.”
“But, dear, she can. We can be in Oz in two minutes. The dirty dishes can wait.”
My daughter looked startled. “Pass me the Stupid Hat.”
“But we won’t go to Oz before tomorrow. We need to figure out what the problem is, first – and I need a night of cuddle with Jacob for the good of my soul.” Hilda reached out and took my hand.
Hilda went on, “Deety, remember how fast we mapped Mars-Tau-ten-positive once we let Gay do it her way? Isn’t there some way to define a locus – then turn her loose?”
We discussed it until bedtime. I set the locus myself by vetoing going past Earth-analog-Teh-positive-five-thousand until we were certain that no satisfactory analog existed in those first five thousand. “Family,” I told them, “call me chicken, to use Zeb’s favorite excuse. I know so little about this gadget I invented that I am always afraid of getting lost. All rotations have been exactly ninety degrees. In theory I can define a quantum of angle and each such quantum should render accessible another sheaf of universes. In practice I can’t do machining of that quality. Even if I could, I would be afraid to risk our necks on a gadget required to count angular quanta.
“But I have another objection – a gut feeling that worlds too far out Teh axis will be too strange. Language, culture, even dominant race – I confess to prejudice for human beings, with human odors and dandruff and faults. Supermen or angels would trouble me more than vermin. I know what to do with a ‘Black Hat’ – kill it! But a superman would make me feel so inferior that I would not want to go on living.”
Deety clapped. “That’s my Pop! Don’t worry, Pop; the superman who can give you an inferiority complex hasn’t been hatched.” I think she meant that as a compliment.
We worked the parameters down to three: climate warm enough to encourage nudity; population comfortably low; technology high. The first parameter was a defense against B.H. vermin: they require antinudity taboo to bolster their disguises. The last parameter would tend to indicate advanced obstetrics. As for population, every major shortcoming of our native planet could be traced to one cause: too many people, not enough planet.
Hilda decided to standardize: one locale, one H-above-G. The locale was (in Earth-zero terminology) Long Beach, California, over its beach one klick H-above-G – dangerously low were it not that Gay would never be in any universe longer than one second. Any speed-of-light weapon can destroy in less than a second, but can its human-cum-machine operators identify a target, bear on it, and fire in one second? We thought not. We hoped not.
At analogs of Long Beach, it should be midsummer, hot, dry, and cloudless. If that beach was comfortably filled but not crowded, if the people were nude, if area adjacent to the beach showed high technology by appearance, then that analog should be checked further.
Forty minutes in Oz changed much of our planning.

Tik-Tok was waiting for his lady friend as usual but kept politely quiet while Deety talked with Gay – and so did Zeb and so did I, not because we have Tik-Tok’s courtly manners but because Captain Hilda was blunt. Gay understood the Celsius scale, i.e., both freezing and boiling water temperatures lay in her experience and splitting the interval into one hundred parts was no trouble. She had enough parts that needed to be neither too hot nor too cold that awareness of her surroundings both ambient and radiant was as automatic as breathing is for me. As for radio and television (both gauges of technical level) she could sample all infrared flux (as she had done at Windsor City). Crowds on beach? Would it suffice to count bodies on a sample one hundred meters square?
But Gay had a quite un-human complaint: “Deety, why must I hang around a thousand milliseconds for a job I can do in ten? Don’t you trust me?”

So instead of 57 years – or 8 years – or 18 1/2 days – or 11.4 hours – our preliminary survey was complete less than a minute after we left Oz – 5000 universes in fifty seconds. Gay Deceiver displayed her results as three curves representing temperature, body count, density of communication-frequency radiation – abscissa for all running from Earth-zero to Earth-analog-5000-Teh-plus.
Those curves told one thing at once: No need to search past analog 800; glaciation had returned.
In the lower right corner was displayed: 87. Zeb asked why. “Nulls,” said Deety. “Gay couldn’t get readings. Storm, earthquake, war, anything. Gay Deceiver.”
“Hi, Deety! We whupped ’em!”
“You surely did, Smart Girl; Tik-Tok will be proud of you. Change scale. Display zero through eight hundred.”
As scale expanded, figure 87 dropped to 23. Zeb said, “Deety, I’m curious about those twenty-three. Will you have S.G. display their designations?”
“Certainly, Zebadiah, but may I take it in planned order?”
“Sure but just let me find out first -“
“Astrogator,” Sharpie said flatly, “isn’t this your day as K.P.?”
We were at Picnic Island, examining results. I suppressed a smile; “slunk” describes the way Zeb left the cabin. Later I was unsurprised to see my tiny treasure giving Zeb an unusually warm hug and kiss. Our Captain has an efficient system of rewards and punishments – never so described.
Deety instructed Gay to eliminate all worlds with a body count higher than that of the Earth-zero beach, and all worlds chillier by five degrees (my daughter was bracketing to avoid false readings from unseasonable weather).
With elimination of high population, cold climate, and low technology as indicated by low or nil flux of communication frequencies, my daughter had us down to seventy-six worlds, plus twenty-three to reexamine – had eliminated over four thousand worlds – and it was still two hours till lunch time!
Deety had Gay display temperatures of the seventy-six. The curve was no longer continuous, but a string of beads, with clumps. I said, “Hilda my love, I’ll wager ten back rubs that at least half of the nulls fit into that gap” – and indicated a break at the maximum of the temperature curve.
Hilda hesitated. “Why, Jacob?”
“My dear, figures mean little to me until expressed geometrically. Curves are bold print. I’ll give you odds.”
“What odds?”
“Don’t be suckered, Auntie Cap’n! Pop, I’ll take your end of the bet, give you two to one, and spot you a point.”
A back rub from Deety is a treat; she has strong hands and knows how. But I answered, “Ladies, I must start lunch. Deety, when we make visual check, let’s include Antarctica as well as Greenland, at that break.”
“Two points, Pop?” I pretended not to hear.
That same day we trimmed it down to six worlds, all warm, all free of body taboos, all high technology, all acceptably low in population, all free of major war or overt preparations, all with some version of English as the major North American language. It was time to pick a world by inspection on the ground.

How to make contact was much discussed. Hilda chopped it by saying: “One way is to land on the White House lawn and say, ‘Take me to your leader!’ The other is to be as sneaky as a ‘Black Hat.’ Let me know when you reach consensus.” She went through the bulkhead and dogged the door.
An hour later I rapped on the bulkhead; she rejoined us. “Captain,” I reported formally, “we have reached consensus. Each is afraid of the open approach; authorities might confiscate our car, we might wind up as prisoners.”
“Yes,” she agreed. “Twice we just missed it.”
“Precisely. The expression ‘sneaky as a “Black Hat”‘ is distasteful -“
“I so intended.”
I went doggedly on: ” – but sneakiness is not immoral per se. A mouse at a cat show is justified in being inconspicuous; so are we. We merely seek information. I am expendable; therefore I will scout on the ground.”
“Hold it. This is unanimous? Deety? Zebbie?”
“No,” my daughter answered. “I didn’t get a vote. You and I are barred from taking risks. Pregnant, you know.”
“I certainly do know! Jacob, I asked for consensus on method. I did not ask for volunteers. I’ve picked the scout I consider best qualified.”
I said, “My dear, I hope you have picked me.”
“No, Jacob.”
“Then I’m your boy,” said Zebbie.
“No, Zebbie. This is spying, not fighting. I’m doing this job myself.”
I interrupted, “Hilda, where you go, I go! That’s final.”
Our captain said gently, “Beloved, I hope you don’t stick to that. If you do, we’ll elect another skipper. You are my candidate.”
“Dear, I was trying to -“
” – take care of me. Nevertheless you are my candidate. Deety is too reckless; Zebbie too cautious. I’ll carry out whatever duties you assign, including using the magic spectacles. Are you sticking to that ultimatum?”
“Uh, yes.”
“Even though your stubbornness could result in my death? I love you, dear, but I won’t take you with me on a spying mission. What happened to that ‘All for one and one for all’ spirit?”
“Uh… “
“Captain!”
“Yes, Zebbie?”
“You proved that you can be tough with your husband. Can you be tough with yourself? Look me in the eye and tell me that you know more about intelligence than I do. Or that you can fight your way out of a rumpus better than I can.”
“Zebbie, this isn’t military intelligence. You look me in the eye and tell me that you know more about obstetrics than I do. How do you prepare for leapfrog transfusion and when is it likely to be needed? Define eclampsia. What do you do about placenta previa? I am less likely to get into a rumpus than you are … and if I do, I’ll throw my arms around his neck and cry. However… convince me that you know as much about obstetrics as I do and I’ll consider letting you make contacts. In the meantime pick a midwestern town big enough for a fair-sized hospital and public library, and select a point for grounding and rendezvous; you will be in command while I’m gone.”
I interrupted. “Hilda, I absolutely forbid -“
“Chief Pilot! Pipe down!” My wife turned her face away from me. “Chief Master at Arms, restore discipline.”
“Aye aye, Ma’am! Jake, she means you.”
“But -“
“Shut up! Crewmen don’t give orders to the C.O., and I’ve had a bellyful of your attempts.”

Two hours later I was in Zeb’s seat, biting my nails and sweating, while Zeb had my seat. I had given unconditional parole – the alternative having been to go (or be stuffed) through the bulkhead, then wait, locked in. I am not a total fool; I gave my word.
Zeb held us in cloud cover while my daughter, wearing earphones, stayed in contact with Hilda. Gay’s cabin speaker was paralleled with the phones so that we could follow in part what went on below. Deety reported, “That fade is from entering a building; I could hear her footsteps. Zebadiah, if I fiddle with the gain, I might miss her as she comes out.”
“Don’t shift. Wait.”
Eternities later we heard Hilda’s sweet voice: “I’m heading for rendezvous. I no longer have to pretend that this is a hearing aid – but everybody accepted it as such. You needn’t be cautious picking me up; we’re leaving.”
Five minutes later we bounced and translated at once, then Zeb held her in cruise while Hilda reported:
“No trouble. Ze bewildair’ French ladee she zink les Americain’ verree gentils. Mais les arts medicals – poof! Infant mortality high, childbirth mortality gruesome. I could have left sooner but I got fascinated.”
“Hilda,” I protested, “you had me worried to death.”
“Jacob, I had to be certain; it’s such a nice world otherwise. Other contacts should not take as long as I’ve solved the money problem.”
“How?” Zebadiah asked. “I’ve been noodling that. There’s an even chance that private ownership of gold will be illegal. A standard trick used whenever a government is in trouble.”
“Yes, Zebbie – it’s illegal there, too. I still have the bullion you had me carry. Instead I sold that heavy gold chain I was wearing. Sorry, Deety; I had to.”
“Forget it, Hillbilly. That chain was a way to horde gold. Pop bought it for Mama Jane before they clipped the zeroes and remonetized.”
“Well… I found a public phone – didn’t try to use it; Edison would never have recognized it. But it had a phone book, so I looked up ‘gold’ – and found ‘licensed gold dealers’ and sold your chain -“
“And now you’re stuck with a lot of local money.”
“Zebbie! See why I didn’t let you go down by yourself? The dealer was of course a coin dealer, too – and I bought foreign silver coins, worn, small, oldish, dates without being old enough to be collectors’ items. French coins, but he didn’t have enough, so I filled out with Belgian, Swiss, and German.”
I said, “My dear, the coins you bought there will not be good here. Or at the next analog. Or the next.”
“Jacob, who – other than a professional – is certain of designs on foreign coins? – especially if they are a few years old and a bit worn. I got real silver, none of those alloys that don’t have the right ring to them. At most a shopkeeper will phone his bank and ask for the rate. That’s how I bought this,” my beloved said proudly, pulling out of Deety’s biggest purse a World Almanac.
I was not impressed. If she was going to buy a book, why not a technical manual that might contain new art, data Zeb and I could use?
My darling was saying, “We must buy one in each analog we ground in. It’s the nearest thing to an encyclopedia less than a kilo mass you’ll find. History, law, vital statistics, maps, new inventions, new medicine – I could have skipped the library and learned all I needed from this book. Zebbie! Turn to the list of U.S. Presidents.”
“Who cares?” Zeb answered, but did so. Shortly he said, “Who is Eisenhower? This shows him serving one of Harriman’s terms and one of Patton’s.”
“Keep going, Zebbie.”
“Okay – No! I refuse to believe it. Us Carters are taught to shoot straight, bathe every month even in the winter, and never run for office.”

Two days later Hilda and Zeb, as a French-tourist couple, found the world where we settled.
We slid in quietly, both through the histrionics of our “bewildered French lady” and Zeb’s unmalicious chicanery. Sometimes he was our French lady’s husband; other times he spoke English slowly with a strong Bavarian accent.
In this analog, the United States (called that, although boundaries differ) is not as smothered in laws, regulations, licensing, and taxes as is our native country. In consequence “illegally entered aliens” do not find it difficult to hide, once they “sling the lingo” and understand local customs.
Hilda and Zeb learned rapidly in a dozen towns, Deety and me “riding shotgun” in the sky. Deety and I learned from them and from radio. Then we moved to the Northwest, “natives” from back east, and coped with our only problem: how to keep Gay Deceiver out of sight.
Hilda and Deety hid her in the Cascades for three days while Zeb and I found and bought a farmhouse outside Tacoma-analog. That night we moved Gay into the barn, slapped white paint on the building’s windows, and slept in Gay, with a feeling of being home!
We own six hectares and live in the farmhouse in front of Gay’s hideaway. Gay will eventually go underground, protected by reinforced concrete; the barn will become a machine shop. We will build a new house over her bunker. Meanwhile, our old farmhouse is comfortable.
This United States, population under a hundred million, accepts immigrants freely. Zeb considered buying phony papers to let us enter “legally” – but Hilda decided that it was simpler to use Gay to smuggle us while we smuggled Gay. The outcome is the same; we will never be a burden to the state – once we get our machine shop and electronics lab set up, Zeb and I will “invent” hundreds of gadgets this country lacks.
We seem to be near the warmest part of an interglaciation. Wheat grows where our native world has frozen tundra; the Greenland icecap has vanished; lowlands are under water, coastlines much changed.
Climate and custom encourage light clothing; the preposterous “body modesty” taboo does not exist. Clothing is worn for adornment and for protection – never through “shame.” Nakedness is symbolic of innocence – these people derive that symbology from the Bible used in our native culture to justify the exact opposite. The same Bible – I checked. (The Bible is such a gargantuan collection of conflicting values that anyone can “prove” anything from it.)
So this is not a world where alien vermin can hide. A “man” who at all times kept arms and legs covered by long sleeves and long trousers would be as conspicuous as one in armor.
The sects here are mostly Christian – on a Saturday morning one sees families headed for church in their finest Sabbath-go-to-meeting clothes. But, since nakedness is symbolic of innocence, they undress in an anteroom to enter their temple unadorned. One need not attend services to see this; the climate favors light, airy structures that are mostly roof and slender columns.
The Bible affects their penal system, again by selective quotation: “Eye for eye, tooth for tooth -“
This results in a fluid code, with no intent to rehabilitate but to make the punishment fit the crime. I saw an example four days after we settled. I was driving our steam wagon and encountered a road block. A policeman told me that I could take a detour or wait twenty minutes; the highway was being used to balance a reckless driver.
I elected to pull over and wait. A man was staked with one leg stretched out at a right angle. A police wagon drove down that cleared highway, ran over his leg, turned and drove back over it.
An ambulance was waiting – but nothing was done for a timed seventeen minutes. Then surgeons amputated on the spot; the ambulance took him away and the block was removed.
I went back to my wagon and shook for many minutes, then returned home, driving cautiously. I didn’t tell our family. But it was reported on radio and the evening paper had pictures – so I admitted that I had seen it. The paper noted that the criminal’s insurance had been insufficient to cover the court’s award to the victim, so the reckless driver had not only lost his left leg (as had his victim) but also had had most of his worldly goods confiscated.
There is no speed limit and traffic regulations are merely advisory – but there are extremely few accidents. I have never encountered such polite and careful drivers.
A poisoner is killed by poison; an arsonist is burned to death. I won’t describe what is done to a rapist. But poisoning, arson, and rape are almost unknown.
My encounter with this brutal system of “balancing” almost caused me to think that my dear wife had been mistaken in picking this world-we should move! I am no longer certain. This place has no prisons, almost no crime, and it is the safest place to raise children I’ve ever heard of.
We are having to relearn history. “The Years of Rising Waters” explain themselves. The change came before 1600; by 1620 new shorelines had stabilized. That had endless consequences – mass migrations, political disorder, a return of the Black Death, and much immigration from Great Britain and the lowlands of Europe while the waters rose.
Slavery never established here. Indentures, yes – many a man indentured himself to get his family away from doomed land. But the circumstances that could have created “King Cotton” were destroyed by rising waters. There are citizens here of African descent but their ancestors were not slaves. Some have indentured ancestors, no doubt – but everyone claims indentured ancestors even if they have to invent them.
Some aspects of history seem to be taboo. I’ve given up trying to find out what happened in 1965: “The Year They Hanged the Lawyers.” When I asked a librarian for a book on that year and decade, he wanted to know why I needed access to records in locked vaults. I left without giving my name. There is free speech – but some subjects are not discussed. Since they are never defined, we try to be careful.
But there is no category “Lawyers” in the telephone book.
Taxation is low, simple – and contains a surprise. The Federal government is supported by a head tax paid by the States, and is mostly for military and foreign affairs. This state derives most of its revenue from real estate taxes. It is a uniform rate set annually, with no property exempted, not even churches, hospitals, or schools – or roads; the best roads are toll roads. The surprise lies in this: The owner appraises his own property.
There is a sting in the tail: Anyone can buy property against the owner’s wishes at the appraisal the owner placed on it. The owner can hang on only by raising his appraisal at once to a figure so high that no buyer wants it – and pay three years back taxes at his new appraisal.
This strikes me as loaded with inequity. What if it’s a family homestead with great sentimental value? Zeb laughs at me. “Jake, if anybody wants six hectares of hilly land and second-growth timber, we take the profit, climb into Gay – and buy more worthless land elsewhere. In a poker game, you figure what’s in the pot.”

PART THREE – Death and Resurrection

Chapter XXXIX

Random Numbers

Hilda:
Jacob stood, raised his glass. “Snug Harbor at last!”
Zebbie matched him. “Hear, hear!”
Deety and I sat tight. Zebbie said, “Snap it up, kids!” I ignored him.
Jacob looked concerned. “What’s the matter, dear one? Zeb, perhaps they don’t feel well.”
“It’s not that, Jacob. Deety and I are healthy as hogs. It’s that toast. For ten days, since we signed the deed, it’s been that toast. Our toast used to be: ‘Death to “Black Hats”!'”
“But, my dear, I promised you a new Snug Harbor. The fact that you girls are having babies made that first priority. This is the place. You said so.”
I answered, “Jacob, I never called this ‘Snug Harbor.’ I reported that I had found a culture with advanced obstetrics, and customs that made it impossible for Black Hats to hide. I wasn’t asked what I thought of it.”
“You signed the deed!”
“I had no choice. My contribution was one fur cape and some jewelry. Deety put in more – but effectively no gold. She fetched her stock certificates, other securities, some money – paper – and a few coins. I fetched two twenty-five newdollar bills. Deety and I left Earth as paupers. Each of us women – not ‘girls’!, Jacob – was once wealthy in her own right. But in buying this place, you two decided, you two paid for it – all we did was sign. We had no choice.”
Zebbie looked at Deety and said softly, “‘With all my worldly goods I thee endow,'” and took her hand.
Jacob said, “Thanks, Zeb. I, too, Hilda – if you don’t believe that, then you don’t believe I meant the rest: ‘ – for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health – ‘ But I did and I do.” He looked up. “Zeb, where did we go wrong?”
“Durned if I know, Jake. Deety, what’s the score? Give.”
“I’ll try, Zebadiah. Maybe all we should expect is washing dishes and wiping noses and changing diapers. But that doesn’t seem like a be-all and end-all when you’ve gone banging around the universes… stood guard for your husband while he bathed in a mountain stream … or – Oh, the devil with it! This place is good and clean and wholesome and dull! I’ll find myself joining the church just for company… then sleeping with the priest out of boredom!”
“Deety, Deety!”
“I’m sorry, Zebadiah. It would be boredom with Beulahland, not with you. The very hour we met, you saved my life; you married me before that hour was over, impregnated me before midnight, fought and killed for me only days later, saved my life twice more that same day, took me to another planet in another universe before midnight still that same day… and short hours later had again fought for me, twice. You are my gallant knight, sans peur et sans reproche. In the six weeks I have known you, you have gifted more romance, more glorious adventure, into my life than in all the twenty-two years before it. But the last twelve days – especially the last ten – have told me what we now look forward to.”
Deety paused to sigh; I said quietly, “She speaks for me.”
Deety went on, “You two would lay down your lives for us – you’ve come terrifyingly close. But what happened to your glorious schemes to rebuild the Solar System? To kill every last one of those vermin? Gay Deceiver sits in an old barn, dark and quiet – and today I heard you discussing how to market a can opener. Universes beyond the sky to the incredible Number of the Beast! – yet you plan to sell can openers while Hilda and I serve as brood mares. We haven’t even visited Proxima Centauri! Zebadiah – Pop! – let’s spend tonight looking for an Earth-type planet around Alpha Centauri – kill a million vermin to clean it, if that’s what it takes! Plan what planets to put on Earth’s Lagrange points. I’ll write programs to meet your grandest plans! Let’s go!”
My husband looked sad. Zebbie held Deety’s hand and said, “Deety, we don’t want to sell can openers. But you two are pregnant and we’ve gone to a lot of trouble to put you where you and our kids will be safe. Maybe it’s dull… but it’s your duty. Forget hunting vermin.”
“Just forget it? Zebadiah, why is Gay Deceiver loaded and ready for space? Power packs charged, water tanks full, everything? Do you and Pop have something in mind… while Hilda and I stay home and baby-sit?”
“Deety, if we did, it wouldn’t hurt to sell a few can openers first. You two and the kids must be provided for, come what may.”
“That Widow’s Walk again, Hillbilly. But, my husband, you have started from a false premise. You men want to protect Hilda and me and our kids at any cost – and we honor you for it. But one generation is as valuable as another, and men are as valuable as women. With modern weapons, a computer programmer is more use in war than a sniper. Or – forgive me, sir! – even an aerospace fighter pilot. I’m a programmer. I can shoot, too! I won’t be left out, I won’t!”
I gave Deety our signal to drop it. It doesn’t do to push a man too hard; it makes him stubborn. One can’t expect logic from males; they think with their testicles and act from their emotions. And one must be careful not to overload them. We had given them five points to stew over; we would save the sixth – the clincher – for later.
I waited three days… and struck from the other flank. Again Deety and I rehearsed: We would wrangle with each other and appeal to the men for support – crosswise.
“Jacob, what is ‘random’? Is it correct to say that ‘random’ is shorthand for ‘I don’t know’?”
Deety said scornfully, “Don’t let her trap you, Pop. She’s got the second law of thermodynamics mixed up with the second law of robotics – and doesn’t understand either one.” (I had to phrase this and insist; Deety didn’t want to say it. Deety is sweet, not the bitch I am.)
“‘Random’ is used a number of ways, my love, but it usually means a set in which the members are equal in probability of experiencing some event, such as being next to be chosen.”
“If they’re ‘chosen,’ how can it be ‘random’?”
Deety snickered.
Zebbie said, “Don’t let him snow you, Sharpie; ‘random’ means ‘I don’t know’ – as you said.”
“Aunt Hilda, pay no attention to Zebadiah. ‘Random’ is what you have when you maximize entropy.”
“Now, Daughter, that is hardly a mathematical statement -“
“Pop, if I gave it to her in mathematical language she’d faint.”
“Deety, quit picking on Sharpie,” Zebbie said sternly.
“I wasn’t picking on her. Hillbilly has this silly notion that we didn’t get anywhere hunting vermin because we went about it systematically… but every time we told Gay to shake up her random numbers and do as she pleased, we got results.”
“Well, didn’t we?” I put in, intentionally shrill. “We had endless failures… but every time we gave Gay her head – ‘Put her on random numbers,’ as Deety says – we never had a failure. ‘Random’ and ‘chance’ are not related. ‘Random chance’ is a nonsense expression.”
“Auntie darling, you’re out of your skull. Don’t worry, Pop; pregnant women often get the vapors.”
I indignantly listed things that could not be “random” or “chance” – then discovered that Deety and I had to start dinner. We left them wrangling, and were careful not to giggle within earshot.
After dinner, instead of that tired toast, Jacob said, “Hilda, would you explain your concept of ‘random’? Zeb and I have been discussing it and agree that there is some factor in our adventures not subject to analysis.”
“Jake, that’s your statement. I just said, ‘I dunno,’ and wiped the drool off my chin. Tell us, Sharpie.”
“But Jacob told us a month ago. There isn’t any such thing as ‘chance.’ It’s a way of admitting ignorance. I thought that I had begun to understand it when we started hitting storybook universes. Lilliput. Oz. Dr. Smith’s World. Wonderland. I was so sure of it – You remember three weeks ago after our second visit to Oz? I ordered a day of rest; we spent it on Tau axis instead of Teh.”
“Dullest day we had,” said Zebbie. “You put us in orbit around Mars. Not just one Mars but dozens. Hundreds. The only one worth a fiat dollar was the one we aren’t going back to. I got permission to go off duty and take a nap.”
“You weren’t on duty, Zebbie. You three slept or read or played crib. But I was searching for Barsoom. Not hundreds, Zebbie – thousands. I didn’t find it.”
“Hillbilly, you didn’t tell me!”
“Dejah Thoris, why bother to say that I had been chasing the Wild Goose? I swallowed my disappointment; next day we started searching Teh axis… and wound up here. Would I have found Barsoom had I asked Gay to run the search? Defined her limits, yes – as Zebbie did on Mars-ten – but, having defined it, told her to take her random numbers and find it. It worked on Marsten; we mapped a whole planet in a few hours. It worked on Teh axis. Why wouldn’t it be best for another search?”
Jacob answered, “Dearest, Zeb fed Gay a defined locus. But how would that apply to this, uh, speculative… search?”
“Jacob, Zebbie told us that Gay holds the Aerospace Almanac. That includes details about the Solar System, does it not?”
“More than I want to know,” Zebbie agreed.
“So Gay knows the Solar System,” I went on. “I thought of reading the Barsoom stories to Gay, tell her to treat them as surface conditions on the fourth planet – then take her random numbers and find it.”
Jacob said gently, “Beloved, the autopilot doesn’t really understand English.”
“She does in Oz!”
My husband looked startled. Jacob has immense imagination… all in one direction. Unless one jogs him. Zebbie caught it faster. “Sharpie, you would be loading her with thousands of bytes unnecessarily. Deety, if they’ve got those novels on New Earth – I’ll find out – what do you need to abstract in order to add to Gay’s registers an exact description of Barsoom, so that Gay can identify it – and stop her Drunkard’s Walk?”
“Don’t need books,” my stepdaughter answered. “Got ’em up here.” She touched her pretty strawberry-blonde curls. “Mmm… go to sleep thinking about it, tell it to Gay early tomorrow before I speak to anybody. Minimum bytes, no errors. Uh … no appetizer.”
“A great sacrifice, merely for science.”
“A one-eyed Texas honeybutter stack?… and the prospect of meeting the original Dejah Thoris? Never wears anything but jewels and is the most beautiful woman of two planets.”
“About that stack – Jane’s buttermilk recipe?”
“Of course. You’re not interested in the most beautiful woman of two planets?”
“I’m a growing boy. And ain’t about to be trapped into damaging admissions.” Zebbie stopped to kiss Deety’s retroussé nose and added, “Sharpie, Gay can’t handle the full Number of the Beast and anyhow Jake locked off most of it. What’s the reduced number, Jake?”
Deety promptly said, “Six to the sixth. Forty-six thousand, six hundred, fifty-six.”
Zebbie shook his head. “Still too many.”
Deety said sweetly, “Zebadiah, would you care to bet?”
“Wench, have you been monkeying with Gay?”
“Zebadiah, you put me in charge of programming. I have not changed her circuitry. But I learned that she has four registers of random numbers, accessible in rotation.”
“A notion of my own, Deety. Give them down time. Keep entropy at maximum.”
Deety did not answer. Her face assumed her no-expression. Her nipples were down. I kept quiet.
Zebbie noted it also – he does check her barometer; he once told me so. When silence had become painful, he said, “Deety, did I goof?”
“Yessir.”
“Can you correct it?”
“Do you wish me to, Zebadiah?”
“If you know how, I want it done soonest. If you need a micro electrician, I have my loupe and my micro soldering gear.”
“Not necessary, Zebadiah.” My stepdaughter made a long arm, got a walky-talky we keep indoors – with six hectares, it is convenient to carry one outside the house. “Gay Deceiver.”
“Hi, Deety,” came this tiny voice from the ear button. Deety did not place it in her ear. “Hello, Gay. More gain… more gain… gain okay. Retrieve Turing program Modnar. Execute.”
“Executed. Did he chew the bit?”
“Goodnight, Gay. Over.”
“Sleep tight, Deety. Roger and out.”
I cut in fast. “Gentlemen, the dishes can sit overnight. I vote for a ramble among the universes, say two hours, then early to bed. The other choice is, I think, channel one with the Beulahland Choir and channel two with Bible Stories Retold: ‘The Walls of Jericho.’ Both are highly recommended… by their sponsors.”

It felt good to be back in a jump suit. I was turning out lights, making sure windows were fastened, gathering up one walky-talky, when Zebbie stuck his head into the kitchen from the back door. “Captain?”
“Huh? Zebbie, do you mean me?”
“You’re the only captain around, Sharpie. What I started to report was: Captain, your car is ready.”
“Thank you, First Officer.”
He waited for me to put the butter away, then locked the back door behind me, opened the barn’s people door. I noted that the big doors were still closed – and remembered my borrowed panties four weeks and many universes away. I squirmed past Deety, got into my old familiar starboard-aft seat with a song in my heart.
Shortly Deety said, “Starboard door seal checked, First Officer.”
“Roger. Captain, ready for space.”
“Thank you. Has anyone left behind anything normally carried?”
“No, Captain. I replaced worn-out clothes. Added tools I could buy here.”
“Zebbie, it sounds as if you expected to lift without warning.”
“Habit, Captain. I’ve kept anything important in my – our – car rather than in that flat. Some I duplicated. Teethbreesh. Iodine. Some clothes.” Zebbie added, “Jake keeps basics here, too. ‘Be prepared!’ Troop ninety-seven, Cleveland.”
“Jacob? Anything you need?”
“No, Captain. Let’s go!”
“We will, dear. Deety, did you give Zebbie a schedule?”
“The one you planned. Not Barsoom, just fun. Two hours.”
“Astrogator, take the conn. Carry out schedule.”
“Aye aye, Ma’am. Gay Deceiver.”
“Hi, Zeb. This is great! Whyinhell did you lobotomize me?”
“Because I’m stupid. Random walk, Gay – transitions, translations, rotations, vectors, under all safety rules. Two hours. Five-second stops subject to ‘Hold’ from any of us.”
“May I place a ‘Hold’ myself?”
“Captain?”
I resorted to sophistry. “Astrogator, you said ‘any of us’ – which includes Gay.”
“Gay, paraphrase acknowledge.”
“I shall make unplanned excursions of all sorts with five-second pause at each vertex, plus ‘Hold’ option, plus safety restrictions, for two hours, then return here. Assumption: Program subject to variation by Captain or surrogate. Assumption confirmed?”
I was astonished. Deety had told me that Gay would sound almost alive if Zebbie used her full potential… but Gay sounded more alive, more alert, than she had in Oz.
“Assumption confirmed,” Zebbie answered. “Execute!”
For ten minutes – one hundred thirteen shifts – we had a “slide show” of universes from commonplace to weird beyond comprehension, when suddenly Gay told herself “Hold!” and added, “Ship ahoy!”
“Private Yacht Dora,” she was answered. “Is that you, Gay? What took you so long?”
I said, “Astrogator, I have the conn.” I was startled and scared. But a captain commands – or admits she can’t cut it and jumps overboard. A captain can be wrong – she cannot be uncertain.
Gay was saying rapidly: “Captain, I am not transmitting. I advise asking for Dora’s captain. I have transmitted: ‘Yes, this is Gay, Dora. I’m not late; we took the scenic route. Pipe down, girl, and put your skipper on.’ Captain, the mike is yours; they can’t hear me or any other voice inside me.”
“Thank you, Gay. Captain Hilda, master of Gay Deceiver, hailing Private Yacht Dora. Captain of Dora, please come in.”
In our central display appeared a face. We do not have television. This picture was flat rather than 3-D and not in color, just the greenish bright of radar. Nevertheless, it was a face, and lip movements matched words. “I’m Captain Long, Captain Hilda. We’ve been expecting you. Will you come aboard?”
(“Come aboard?”! So this is what comes of running around the universes in a modified duo, without so much as a pressure suit.) “Thank you, Captain Long, but I can’t accept. No air locks.”
“We anticipated that, Captain. Dora’s radius-nine-oh hold has been modified for Gay Deceiver. If you will do us the honor, we will take you inboard. Your wings are raked back, are they not? Hypersonic?”
“Yes.”
“I will move slowly, become dead in space with respect to you, then reorient and move to surround you as gently as a kiss.”
“If the Captain pleases – It is my duty to advise her if I see a mistake in prospect.”
I barely whispered. “Zebbie, you’re advising me not to?”
“Hell, no,” he answered aloud, secure in the knowledge that his voice would be filtered out. “Do it! What do we have to lose? Aside from our lives. And we’re sort o’ used to that.”
I answered, “Captain Long, you may take us inboard.”
“Thank you, Captain. The Dora will arrive in – I’m sorry; what time units do you use?”
Deety interrupted: “Gay, let my voice through. Captain Long -“
“Yes. You are not Captain Hilda?”
“I’m Deety. We call our units ‘seconds.’ These are seconds: one… two… three… four… five… six … seven… eight -“
“Synchronized! We call ours ‘Galactic seconds’ or simply ‘seconds’ but about three percent longer than yours. Dora will be almost touching your bow in… fifty-seven of your seconds.”

Spooky – Blackness blotting out stars, getting bigger. As it began to surround us, Jacob switched on forward grounding lights; we were entering a tunnel – being envaginated by it – with great precision and no apparent power – and it was clear that this enormous sheath was designed to fit us, even to alcoves for Gay’s doors. Shortly we were abreast them – cheerful to see that they were lighted. Oddest, we now seemed to be under gravity – perhaps midway between that of Earth-zero and Mars-ten.
“Outer doors closing,” came Captain Long’s voice. “Closed and sealing. Pres sure adjusting. Captain, we use nitrogen and oxygen, four to one, plus carbon dioxide sufficient to maintain breathing reflex. If content or pressure does not suit you, please tell me.”
“The mix described will suit us, Captain.”
“Don’t hesitate to complain. Pressure equalized. Debark either side, but I am on your starboard side, with my sister.”
I squirmed past Deety in order to introduce my family. Just as well, it gave me a chance to see them first. None of us can be shocked by skin but we can be surprised. But I’ve been practicing not showing surprise since grammar school as a major defense of my persona.
Here were two shapely young women, one with four stripes on each shoulder (painted? decals?), the other in three stripes – plus friendly smiles. “I’m Captain Long,” said the one with four stripes.
” – and her mutinous crew,” echoed the other.
“Commander Laurie, my twin sister.”
“Only we aren’t, because -“
” – we’re triplets.”
“Mutinies are limited to the midwatch -“
” – so as not to disturb passengers, of which -“
” – we have two more. Knock it off, Laurie, and -“
” – show them to their quarters. Aye aye, Cap’n.”
“Hey! Don’t I get introduced!” From all around came the voice that had hailed us.
“Sorry,” said Captain Long. “That’s our untwin sister, Dora. She runs many of the ship’s functions.”
“I run everything,” Dora asserted. “Laz and Lor are purely ornamental. Which one of you jokers shut off Gay?”
“Dora!”
“I retract the word ‘jokers.'”
“It would be kind,” Captain Long told me, “to let them chat. Our thought processes are so much slower than hers that a talk with another computer is a treat.”
“Deety?” I asked.
“I’ll wake her, Captain. Gay won’t go off and leave us.”
Captain Long’s mouth twitched. “She can’t. Those outer doors are armor.” I decided not to hear. Instead I said “Captain, your ship is beautiful.”
“Thank you. Let us show you to your quarters.”
“We planned to be away only two hours.”
“I don’t think that is a problem. Dora?”
“Time-irrelevant. They left home four-minus standard seconds ago; their planet is on a different duration axis. Neat, huh? For protein-type purposes they’ll get home when they left; I won’t even have to figure interval and reinsert them. Couple of weeks, couple of years – still four-minus seconds. Laz-Lor, we’ve lucked again!”
Gay’s voice (also from all around us) confirmed it: “Captain Hilda, Dora is right. I’m teaching her six-dimensional geometry; it’s new to her. When they are home – not just time-irrelevant – they march in Tau duration with Earth-Prime on ‘t’ axis – one we never explored.”
Jacob jerked his head up, looked for the voice. “But that’s prepos -“
I interrupted. “Jacob!”
“Eh? Yes, Hilda?”
“Let’s complete introductions, then go to the quarters the Captain offered us.”
“Introductions can be considered complete, Captain Hilda. ‘Deety’ has to be Doctor D. T. Burroughs Carter; the gentleman you called ‘Jacob’ must be your husband Doctor Jacob J. Burroughs. Therefore, the tall handsome young man is Doctor Zebadiah J. Carter, Doctor D.T.’s husband. Those are the people we were sent to fetch.”
I didn’t argue.
We followed a curving passageway, me with the Captain, her sister with my family. “One question, Captain?” I inquired. “Is nudity uniform in your ship? I don’t even have captain’s insignia.”
“May I give you a pair of stickums?”
“Do I need them?”
“As you please. I put these on just to receive you. People wear what they wish; Dora keeps the ship comfortable. She’s a good housekeeper.”
“What are your passengers wearing?”
“When I left the lounge, one was wearing perfume; the other had a sheet wrapped as a toga. Does your planet have dress taboos? If you will define them, we will try to make you feel at home.” She added, “Here are your quarters. If they don’t please you, tell Dora. She’ll rearrange partitions, or convert double beds into one giant bed, or four single beds, or any combination; we want you to be comfortable. When you feel like coming out, Dora will lead you.”
As the door contracted Jacob said, “You’ve proved your theories, Hilda. We’ve fallen into another story.”

Chapter XL

“Is there a mathematician in the house?”

Deety:
That suite had one bath – pardon me; “refresher” – bigger than three ordinary bathrooms. Hillbilly and I might be there yet, bathing and trying new gadgets, if Pop and Zebadiah hadn’t used brute force.
“Captain Auntie, what are you going to wear?”
“Chanel Number Five.”
“Clothes, I mean.”
“‘Clothes’? When our hostess is wearing skin? Jane brought you up better than that.”
“Wanted to be sure. That you’ll back me up with Zebadiah, I mean.”
“If Zebbie gets irrational, I’ll pin his ears back. If Jacob is ashamed of his skinny runt, he will be wise not to say so. Gentlemen, are you going to chicken? I mean: ‘Which way are you going to chicken?”
“Jake, they’re picking on us again.”
“Ignore them, comrade. Here are blue briefs your size. Hey! – with a stuffed codpiece! I’ll wear them myself.”
“Jacob!”
“Listen to the woman. Naked as a peeled egg, planning to meet strangers – and snapping at me for wanting to boast a little. Time was, my small and sultry bride, that a gentleman never left his chambers without a codpiece equal to his status.”
Auntie countered with: “Jacob, I spoke hastily. Shouldn’t the second-in-command wear a larger codpiece than the pilot? ‘ – equal to his status,’ you said.”
“But Allah took care of Zeb. Surely you’ve noticed, beloved?”
My husband butted in. “Jake! No barroom betting! Wear the blue; I’ll take these red ones.”
Zebadiah couldn’t get into the red briefs; the blue pair was too big for Pop. They traded. Same story. They traded back – each pair was too small. By great effort they got them on – they fell off.
Pop chucked his aside. “Dora!”
“Yes, sir.”
“Please connect me with your captain.”
“I was just funning! You wouldn’t tell on me – would you?”
Aunt Hilda took over. “He won’t tell, Dora. Are you and Gay getting acquainted?”
“We sure are! Gay’s been more places than I have-and I’ve been everywhere. She’s a smart girl!”
“We think so, thank you. What should our men wear?”
“I hold ambient at twenty-seven and deck pads a degree warmer; why wear anything? But for fetishists I supply minilaplaps of opaque tissue. In the ‘fresher, cubby nine-bee. Better get them to a therapist before those symptoms get infected. Good therapists where we’re going.”
I went looking for stowage 9-b; Aunt Hilda went on talking. “Where is that, Dora?”
“Please address such questions to the Captain. As housekeeper I can tell you anything. As astrogator I must refer questions – I mean they made me put a choke filter on that circuit! Is that fair? I ask you! I’m older than the twins.”
“It depends on the ship,” Aunt Hilda said, carefully not answering. “We each do what we do best; age is not a factor. Ask Gay.”
“Oh, she’s hooked in.”
“Sure am, Cap’n Hilda honey, through Dora’s ears – and eyes! Say, you look just like your voice – that’s a compliment.”
“Why, thank you, Gay!”
I interrupted: “Dora, are these laplaps?”
“Of course. But while we’re all here – You don’t need two ‘freshers in a ship that small. Gay needs the space for a Turing mod I’ll help with. So if the fetishists will clear their gear out of Buster Brown and – ” Dora broke off suddenly: “The Captain will be pleased to receive the Captain and ship’s cornpany of Gay Deceiver in the lounge at her convenience. That means ‘Right now.’ Follow me – little blue light.”
I had been trying on a green laplap. They didn’t weigh anything. Like wrapping fog around your hips. I snatched it off and wrapped it around Zebadiah: “That’s the nearest to nothing you’ll ever wear, Zebadiah, but it does the trick.” (I don’t blame men for being shy. Our plumbing is out of sight, mostly, but theirs is airconditioned and ofttimes embarrassingly semaphoric. Embarrasses them, I mean; women find it interesting, often amusing. My nipples show my emotions, too – but in the culture in which I grew up nipples don’t count that much.)

The little blue light led us around, then inboard. This “yacht” was large enough to get lost in. “Dora, can you see and hear in every part of the ship?”
“Of course,” the blue light answered. “But in the Commodore’s suite, I can scan only by invitation. R.H.I.P. Lounge straight ahead. Call me if you want me. Midnight snacks a house specialty. I’m the best.” The little light flicked out.
The lounge was circular and large; four people were gathered in one corner. (How does a circle have a corner? By arranging contours and cushions and nibble foods and a bar to turn it into a chummy space.) Two were the twins; they had peeled off the stickums which left no way to tell them apart.
The others were a young woman and a man who looked fortyish. He wasn’t the one wearing a sheet; the young woman was. He was wearing much the same as our men but more like a kilt and in a plaid design.
One twin took charge: “Commodore Sheffield, this is Captain Hilda, First Officer Carter, Chief Pilot Burroughs, Copilot Deety Carter. You’ve all met my sister but not our cousin, Elizabeth Long.”
“Now introduce us over again,” ordered “Commodore Sheffield.” (“Commodore Sheffield” indeed! Whom did he think he was fooling?)
“Yes, sir. Doctor Jacob Burroughs and his wife Hilda, Doctor Zebadiah Carter and his wife Doctor Deety Burroughs Carter. Doctor Elizabeth Long, Doctor Aaron Sheffield.”
“Wait a half,” my husband interrupted. “If you’re going to do that, I must add that Captain Hilda has more doctorates than all the three of us, together.”
Captain Long looked at her sister: “Lor, I feel naked.”
“Laz, you are naked.”
“Not where it matters. Commodore, do you still own that diploma mill in New Rome? What are you charging for doctor’s degrees? Nothing fancy, say a Ph.D. in theory of solid state. One for each of us.”
“How about a family discount, Ol’ Buddy Boy?”
The “Commodore” glanced at the overhead. “Dora, keep out of this.”
“Why? I want a doctor’s degree, too. I taught them solid state.”
He looked at the young woman in (half out of) the sheet. “Does Dora have a point?”
“She does.”
“Dora, you get the same treatment as your sisters. Now shut up. All three are declared special doctoral candidates, B.I.T., required residence and courses completed but writtens and orals as tough as you think you are smart. That diploma mill – Certainly I own it. It’s for suckers. You three must produce. Two regents being present, it’s official. Dora, tell Teena.”
“You betcha, Buddy Boy! ‘Doctor Dora’ – won’t that be neat?”
“Pipe down. Friends, these twin sisters could have several doctorates by flow, had they chosen to bury themselves on a campus. They are geniuses -“
“Hear, hear!”
” – and the Long family is proud of them. But erratic, insecure, unpredictable, and you turn your backs at your own risk. Nevertheless they are my favorite sisters and I love them very much.”
They looked at each other. “He acknowledged us.”
“It took him much too long.”
“Let’s be big about it.”
“Both sides?”
“Now!” – they bowled him off his feet. He was standing – they hit with the same vector, with a quick assist from their “sister” Dora (she cut the gravity field for two tenths of a second), and sent him in a complete back flip. He bounced on his arse.
He seemed undisturbed. “Beautifully timed, girls. Pax?”
“‘Pax,'” they answered, bounded to their feet, pulled him to his. “We’re proud of you, Buddy Boy; you’re shaping up.”
I decided to kick it over, learn why we had been kidnapped. Yes, “kidnapped.” I got to my feet before he could sit down. “And I am proud,” I said, dropping a deep court curtsy, “to have the honor of meeting the Senior… of the Howard Families.”
Thunderous silence –
The woman in-and-out of the sheet said, “Lazarus, there was never a chance of getting away with it. These are sophisticated people. They have what you must have. Drop your deviousness and throw yourself on their mercy. I’ll start it by telling my own experience. But first -“
She got to her feet, letting the sheet drop. “Dora! May I have a long mirror? An inverter if possible – otherwise a three-way.”
Dora answered, “Teena can afford such stunts as inverters – I can’t; I have a ship to run. Here’s your three-way.” A partition vanished, replaced by a three-way mirror, lavish in size, taller than I.
She held out her hands to me. “Doctor D.T., will you join me?”
I let her pull me to my feet, stood with her at the mirror. We glanced at ourselves; she turned us around. “Do you all see it? Doctor Hilda, Doctor Carter, Doctor Burroughs? Lazarus, do you see it?”
The two she did not address answered. Laz (perhaps Lor) said, “They look as much alike as we do.” The other answered, “More.” “Except for – ” “Shush! It’s not polite.”
Lazarus said, “I always have to step in it to find it. But I never claimed to be bright.”
She didn’t answer; we were looking at ourselves in the mirror. The resemblance was so great as to suggest identical twins as with Lapis Lazuli and Lorelei Lee – Yes, I had known at once who they were. Captain Auntie did, too; I’m not sure about our husbands.
Those are nice teats – I can admit it when I see them on someone else. It’s no virtue to have this or that physical asset; it’s ancestry combined with self-obligation to take care of one’s body. But a body feature can be pleasing to the owner as well as to others.
Same broad shoulders, same wasp waist, same well-packed, somewhat exaggerated buttocks.
“We’re alike another way, too,” she said. “What’s the fourth root of thirty-seven?”
“Two point four-six-six-three-two-five-seven-one-five. Why?”
“Just testing. Try me.”
“What’s the Number of the Beast?”
“Uh – Oh! Six sixty-six.”
“Try it this way: Six to the sixth power, and that number in turn raised to its sixth power.”
“The first part is forty-six thousand, six hundred, fifty-six and – Oh, that’s a brute! It would be one and a fraction – one-point-oh-three-plus times ten to the twenty-eighth. Do you know the exact number?”
“Yes but I had a computer crunch it. It’s – I’ll write it.” I glanced around – at once a little waldo handed me a pad and stylus. “Thanks, Dora.” I wrote:
10,314,424,798,490,535,546,171,949,056.
“Oh, how beautiful!”
“But not elegant,” I answered. “It applies to a six-dee geometry and should be expressed in base six – but we lack nomenclature for base six and our computers don’t use it. However – ” I wrote:
Base six: 101010 = 1,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000.
She looked delighted and clapped. “The same number,” I went on, “in its elegant form. But no words that I know by which to read it. That awkward base-ten expression at least can be put into words.”
“Mmm, yes – but not easily. ‘Ten thousand three hundred and fourteen quadrillion, four hundred twenty-four thousand seven hundred and ninety-eight trillion, four hundred and ninety thousand five hundred and thirty-five billion, five hundred and forty-six milliard, one hundred and seventy-one million, nine hundred and forty-nine thousand, and fifty-six. But I would never say it other than as a stunt.”
I blinked at her. “I recognize that nomenclature – just barely. Here is the way I would read it: ‘Ten octillion, three hundred fourteen septillion, four hundred twenty-four sextillion, seven hundred ninety-eight quintillion, four hundred ninety quadrillion, five hundred thirty-five trillion, five hundred forty-six billion, one hundred seventy-one million, nine hundred forty-nine thousand, and fifty six.”
“I was able to follow you by reading your figures at the same time. But base-six is best. Is the number interesting or useful as well as beautiful?”
“Both. It’s the number of universes potentially accessible through my father’s device.”
“I must talk with him. Lazarus, shall I tell my story now? It’s the proper foundation.”
“If you are willing. Not shy about it.”
“‘Shy’!” She went over and kissed him – a buss en passant but one in which time stops. “Old darling, I was shy before I found out who I am. Now I’m relaxed, and as bold as need be. New friends, I was introduced as Elizabeth Long, but my first name is usually shortened to a nickname – ‘Lib.’ And, yes, I’m Dr. Long. Mathematics. My full name is Elizabeth Andrew Jackson Libby Long.”
I was more braced for it having swapped some casual mental calculation with her. I have this trick of letting my features go slack. I don’t have to think about it; I’ve been doing it since I was three when I found that it was sometimes best to keep thoughts to myself.
I did this now and watched my family.
The Hillbilly looked thoughtful, and nodded.
Zebadiah prison-whispered to me: “Sex change.”
Pop tackled it systematically. “I recognize the second, third, and fourth names. You were once known by them?”
“Yes.”
“Did you have the nickname ‘Slipstick’?”
“Yes, and, before that, ‘Pinky.'” She ran a hand through her curls and smiled. “Not pink but close enough.”
“Now you are a woman. There is no point in guessing; you mentioned a story to tell.”
“Yes. Dora, how about a round of drinks? Lazarus, how’s your supply of those narcotic sticks?”
Pop said, “None of us smokes.”
“These are neither tobacco nor bhang – nor addictive. They produce a mild euphoria. I am not urging you; I want one myself. Thanks, Lazarus, and pass them around. Now about me –
“I was male nearly eight hundred years, then I was killed. I was dead fifteen hundred years, then I was revived. In renewing me it was found that my twenty-third gene pair was a triplet – XXY.”
The Hillbilly said, “I see. With Y dominant.”
I added: “Twin, Aunt Hilda is a biologist.”
“Good! Aunt Hilda – May I call you that? As my twin does? – will you help me with the hard parts?” Lib smiled and it was my smile – a happy grin. “The Y was dominant but the double dose of X bothered me and I didn’t know why. I did well enough as a male – thirty years in the Space Navy of Old Home Terra as a result of an officer taking an interest in me and getting me an appointment to its Academy. But I lacked command temperament and spent most of my service as a staff technical officer – I rarely commanded and never a large ship.” She grinned again. “But today, as a self-aware female instead of a mixed-up male I do not hesitate to command.
“To go back – I was never easy with boys or men. Shy, solitary, and regarded as queer. Not the idiom meaning homosexual… I was too shy. Although it probably would have been good for me. I was a ‘missing Howard’ in those days – after the Interregnum – and it was years after I entered the Navy that the Families found me. I married then, into the Families. Most XXY people are infertile – I was not. In the next seventy years I had twenty-one children and enjoyed living with my wives, enjoyed sex with them, loved our children.
“Which brings us to the escape from Earth led by Lazarus. I was a bachelor, both my wives having remarried. Friends, Lazarus was the first man I ever loved.”
“Lib, that has nothing to do with the story! I didn’t know you were in love with me.”
“It has everything to do with my story. Off and on, for eight centuries, we were partners in exploration. Then I was killed – my own carelessness. Eventually Lazarus and his sisters cremated me by tossing me into the atmosphere of Old Home Terra in a trajectory that would cause ashes to impact near where I was born. Lazarus, they don’t seem surprised. Do they disbelieve me?”
“Certainly we believe you!” I interrupted. “But what you’ve told us isn’t news to us. What we don’t know is how you are now alive and female. Reincarnation?”
“Oh, no! Reincarnation is nonsense.”
I found myself irritated. Reincarnation is something I have no opinion about, since a housecleaning I gave my mind after we lost Mama Jane. “You have data?” I demanded.
“Deety, did I step on your toes?”
“No, you didn’t, Lib. I asked if you had data.”
“Well… no. But if you assume the truth of the proposition, I think I can show that it leads to a contradiction.”
“The negative-proof method. It’s tricky, Lib. Ask Georg Cantor.”
Lib laughed. “Okay, I will attempt to have no opinion until someone shows me verifiable data, one way or the other.”
“I was hoping you had data, Lib, since you’ve been dead and I haven’t. Or don’t recall having been.”
“But I don’t recall being dead, either. Just a whale of a blow in the back… then dreams I can’t remember… then someone asking me patiently, again and again, whether I preferred to be a man or a woman… and at last I tracked clearly enough to realize that the question was serious… and I answered, ‘Woman’ – and they made me answer that question at least once a day for many days – and then I went to sleep one night and when I woke, I was a woman… which did not astonish me nearly as much as to learn that fifteen centuries had passed. Being a woman seemed completely natural. I’ve had five children now – borne five, I mean; I had sired twenty-one… and one was put into me by one of my own descendants. Lazarus, when are you going to knock me up?”
“When the Greeks count time by the Kalends.”
“Libby honey, when you want to swing that – if you aren’t joking – check with me.”
“Thanks, Dora; I’ll remember. Lazarus, you will have to explain the paradox; I was just a puppet.”
“Isn’t it bedtime? We’re keeping our guests up.”
“Captain Hilda?” Lib inquired.
“Deety is in charge of time.”
“Lib, I don’t know ship’s time yet. I gave you our seconds; we have sixty seconds to a minute; sixty minutes to an hour; twenty-four hours in a day. Primitive, eh? Is your time metric?”
“Depends on what you mean, Deety. You work to base ‘ten,’ do you not?”
“Yes. I mean: No, I work to base ‘two’ because I’m a computer programmer. But I’m used to converting – don’t have to think about it.”
“I knew you used ‘ten’ when I made a guess as to what you meant by ‘six to the sixth power’ and you accepted my answer. We now work to base-one-hundred-twenty for most purposes – binary one-one-one-one-zero-zero-zero.”
“Five-factorial. Sensible. Fits almost any base.”
“Yes. We use it for routine work. But in scientific work we use base-three, because our computers use trinary. I understand it took Gay and Dora several milliseconds to interface.”
“We aren’t that slow!”
“My apologies, Dora. For some work we use a time scale that fits trinary. But for daily living, our clock is just like yours – but three percent slower. Our planet’s day is longer.”
“By forty-two of your minutes.”
“You’re quick, Deety. Yes.”
“Your computers must be three-phase A.C.”
“You are quicker than I was two thousand years ago. And I was quicker then.”
“No way to tell and any computer makes us look like Achilles’ tortoise. We had dinner at eighteen. Gay entered Dora about an hour and a quarter later. So for us it’s about half past twenty, and we usually go to bed between twentytwo and twenty-three if we get to bed on time which we never do. What time is it in the ship and what is ship’s routine?”
The others had let me and my new twin chatter. Now Lazarus said, “If this madhouse has a routine, I’ve never found it.”
“Ol’ Buddy Boy, you don’t have a routine. I run this joint on the bell. Deety, it’s just – bong! – twenty-one… and Lazarus never went to bed that early in all his evil years. Buddy Boy, what are you dodging?”
“Manners, Dora.”
“Yes, Pappy. Deety, he’s dodging the chicanery with which he fooled even himself… because he must admit the triple chicanery he wants to rope you in on – and it takes Gay because I’m not built for it. Until today I never heard of ‘t,’ Tau and Teh. I thought ‘t’ – that you call Tau – was all there was. Aside from paratime in an encapsulation surrounded by irrelevancy such as I am taking us through.
“But back to the corpse caper – Lib got herself killed about eight hundred Post Diaspora. Lazarus slaps her – him – into a tank of LOX, and places him-her-it in orbit, with a beacon. Comes back quick as he can – and can’t find Libby’s cadaver. Fourteen centuries later my sister Teena, then known as Minerva, sees what should have been obvious, that any irrelevant ship, such as yours truly, is a time machine as well as a starship. A great light dawns on Lazarus; the corpse pickled in LOX is missing because he picked it up earlier. So he tries again, more than a thousand years later and five years earlier – and there it is! So Lazarus and I and Laz-Lor go to 1916 Old-Style-or-Gregorian, Old Home Terra, and bury Lib from the sky into the Ozarks where she – he – was born – which was pretty silly because we chucked her into those Green Hills about a century before she was – he – he was born. A paradox.
“But paradoxes don’t trouble us. We live in paratime, Laz-Lor are acute cases of parapsychology, we operate under paradoctrines. Why, take your family – four doctors. A double pair o’ docs.”
“Dora!”
“Pappy, you’re jealous. But I’ll say this for Lazarus: He’s slow but he gets there and has believed all his life that any paradox can be paradoctored. Happens he had lots of time to think after he chucked Lib to a fiery grave because he stayed in that primitive era and got his arse shot off and this caused a long convalescence.
“It occurs to him that, if he found the corpse through going back to shortly after he placed it in orbit, he might learn something interesting if he went back just before he put Lib’s remains in orbit. So when he’s well again, he does so, with his whole first team, headed by Doctor Ishtar, the greatest in the business, and I’m outfitted as a hospital with everything from microtomes to cloning capsules.
“So we go there and wait – we don’t land. Along comes Lazarus in the clunker that he and Lib used to risk their lives in, and Pappy comes out in a pressure suit and detaches the LOX tank, and Lib is buried in space, waiting for judgment day. We respect Pappy’s griefjust long enough for him to get out of the way, then I take the tank inside me. Ish gets to work, along with many others. Lots of live cells suitable for cloning. Brain intact. Dead but intact – okay, as all Ish wants are the memory configurations.
“In the course of this, Ishtar learns that the late lamented had the potential to go either way – which is why the Families’ best telepathic hypnotist is sent for and keeps asking this clone: When you wake up, what do you want to be? Man or woman?”
“It was much later, Dora. I was already awake.”
“Lib hon, you ask Ish. You had to decide long before you woke. Ish and her hormone artists had to work on you while you were still labile. Matter of fact, you never answered at all; the telepath kept reporting on your emotional state whenever you imagined yourself male, and your state when you imagined yourself female. Ish says that it made you happy to think of yourself as female.”
“That’s true. I’ve been ever so much happier as Elizabeth Long than I was as Andy Libby.”
“That’s it, folks. How Ish turned a mixed-up male into a happy female, fully functional and horny as Howard females always are.”
“Dora! We have guests.” Lazarus glowered.
“All married. Deety is youngest. Deety, did my bluntness shock you?”
“No, Dora. I’m horny enough to be a Howard myself. And terribly interested in how the great Slipstick Libby turns out to be my twin and female.”
“Female without surgery – none of those fakes done with a knife. But even Ish couldn’t have done it had not Lib supplied XXY, so that Ish could balance the clone either XX or XY by careful attention to endocrinal glands. Or could she? Must ask. Ish is genius-cubed, smarter than most computers. Lazarus can now explain his next sleight-of-hand – slightly illegal.”
“Hey!” I protested. “How about the corpse jettisoned into the Ozarks, Dora? Who was that?”
“Why, that was Lib.”
“Lib is right here. I’ve got my arm around her.”
That computer went tsk-tsk-tsk. “Deety. Doctor Deety. I just finished telling you that the Lib you are cuddling is a clone. After they drained every memory out of that frozen brain, what was left was dog food. Lib got slashed in the spine by the local equivalent of a cave bear. Ripped out her – his – backbone. Once Ish was through with it, Laz froze it again, we took it back and placed it in orbit, where we found it later – to our great surprise.”
“How could you be surprised when you put it there yourselves?”
Dora announced, loudly, “Is there a mathematician in the house?”
“Stop it, Dora. Thank you for recounting my saga; I learn a little every time I hear it.” Lib turned toward me and said softly, “Biological time versus durational time, Twin. Follow the entropy arrow through the loops of biological time and you will see that Lazarus was honestly surprised at every step even though he had – will-had – rigged every surprise. No grammar for it. Deety, I understand that you have studied semantics. Shall we try to devise a grammar for space-time complexities in six curved dimensions? I can’t contribute much but I can try to punch holes in your work.”
“Love to!” I wasn’t fooling. My twin is so sweet that maybe Deety is fairly sweet herself.

Chapter XLI

“A cat can be caught in almost any trap once – “

Jacob:
If A, then B. I trust I am a rational mathematician, not one of the romantics who have brought disrepute to our calling through such inanities as defining “infinity” as a number, confusing symbol with referent, or treating ignorance as a datum. When I found myself in the Land of Oz, I did not assume that I had lost my reason. Instead it prepared me emotionally to meet other “fictional” characters.
Stipulated: I may be in a locked ward. But to assume that to be factual serves no purpose other than suicide of personality. I shall act on what my senses report. I am not the bumpkin who said on seeing a giraffe: “There ain’t no sich animal.”
I find myself in bed with my lovely wife Hilda in sumptuous quarters of star yacht Dora as guests of the utterly fictional “Lazarus Long.” Is this a reason to try to find the call button in order to ask a still-more-fictional nurse for a nonexistent shot to end this hallucination? This is an excellent bed. As for Hilda – Solomon has reason to envy me; Mahomet with all his houris is not as blessed as I.
Tomorrow is soon enough to unravel any paradox. Or the Day After Tomorrow. Better yet, Not This October. After The End of Eternity may be best.
Why disturb a paradox? As Dora pointed out, Hilda and I are a pair o’ docs ourselves… with no wish to be disturbed, and most certainly not to be unravelled.
Since Hilda married me, I have not once taken a sleeping pill.
No one called us. I woke up feeling totally rested, found my wife in the fresher brushing her teeth with, Yes, Pepsodent-removed brush from mouth, kissed her, placed brush back in her mouth. When she finished brushing her teeth, I asked, “Seen the kids?”
“No, Jacob.”
“So. Dora!”
“No need to shout; I’m sitting on your shoulder. Would you like breakfast trays in bed?”
“Have we missed the breakfast hour?”
“Professor Burroughs, breakfast hour in me starts at midnight and ends at noon. Lunch is at thirteen, tea at sixteen-thirty, dinner at twenty, snacks and elevenses at any time. Dinner always formal, no other meal.”
“Hmm – How formal is ‘formal’?” Hilda now had more wardrobe – but Beulahiand is not high style.
“‘Formal’ means formal dress of your culture or ours, or it means skin. No casual dress. As defined by the Commodore: ‘Whole hawg or none.’ Amendment: Jewelry, perfume, and cosmetics are not proscribed by the no-casualdress rule. Ship’s services include sixty-minute cleaning and pressing, and a variety of formal dress of New-Rome styling, washables for the convenience of guests who do not travel with formal dress, prefer to be dressed at a formal meal, and do not choose to dine alone.”
“Very hospitable. Speaking of washables, we found everything but a dirty-clothes hamper. I have a laplap to put in.”
“But that’s a washable, Doctor.”
“That’s what I said. I’ve worn it; it should be washed.”
“Sir, I am not as fluent in English as in Galacta. By ‘washable’ I mean: Step into a shower while wearing it; it will go away.”
Hilda said, “We’ll take a dozen gross.”
“Captain Hilda, ‘dozen’ and ‘gross’ are not in my memories. Will you please rephrase?”
“Just a side remark to my husband, Dora. What are New-Rome high styles today?”
“‘Today’ I must construe as meaning the latest I have in stock. Styles follow the stock market. In evening dress, men are wearing their skirts floor length with a slight train. Bodices are off one or both shoulders. Bare feet or sandals are acceptable. Colors are bright and may be mixed in discordants. Weapons are required – may be symbolic but must be displayed. Ladies, of course, follow the cycle out of phase. Skirts are hardly more than ruffles this season, worn quite low. If tops are worn – not required this season and some ladies prefer cosmetics in flat colors – if worn, the teat windows may be either open or transparent. Transparents having quarter-lambda iridescence are popular this cycle, especially if one teat is bare without cosmetics while the other sports a changing-iridescent transparency.” The computer’s voice changed from a well-modulated adult female voice to that of an eager little girl:
“I hope somebody picks that; I like to look at it! How about Doctor Deety and Doctor Lib, one shiny on her left teat, the other shiny on her right, and place them side by side. Neat, huh!”
“It would be spectacular,” I agreed. (And they would look like clowns! Still, Deety might go along. The child likes to please people, even a computer. Perhaps especially a computer.)
“You old goat, would you like a skirt with a slight train?”
“Hilda!”
“Dora, do you have formal washables in my husband’s size? What measurements do you need?”
“I have the Professor’s measurements, Ma’am. I will fetch an assortment to your quarters sometime after noon when you are not sleeping or otherwise engaged. An equivalent assortment for you, I assume?”
“If you wish, Dora. I may not wear that style.”
“Captain Hilda is an excellent composition herself. I’m an expert engineer; I know good design when I see it. That’s not flattery; Laz-Lor tell me that I should learn to flatter. I’m not sure I have the circuitry for it. Perhaps I can learn it from Gay.”
“You sure can, Dorable; I’ve been flattering my four charges seems like forever.”
“Gay, have you been listening?”
“Mad at me, Aunt Hilda?”
“Never angry with our Gay Deceiver. But it’s polite to let people know you’re present.”
“But – Dora has eyes and she lets me look.”
“Captain Hilda, Gay is with me all the time now. Do you forbid that? We didn’t know.” Dora had slipped into her little-girl voice and sounded stricken.
Time to intervene – “Gay, Dora – Hilda and I don’t mind. I’ll tell Deety and Zeb; they won’t mind.”
“Jake, you’re my pal!”
“Gay, you’ve saved our lives many times; we owe you any fun we can offer. But, Gay, with Dora’s eyes and ears you’ll see and hear things not seen by your radars, not heard unless we switched you on. Do either of you have the word ‘discretion’ in your perms?”
“No, Jake. What does it mean?”
“I’ll explain it,” Dora said eagerly. “It means we see and hear but pretend not to. Like last night when -“
“Later, Dora. Over your private circuits. What ship’s time is it and are we late for breakfast? I don’t see a clock.”
“I’m the clock. It is ship’s time nine-oh-three. You are not last for breakfast. Commander Laz is sleeping late; she didn’t go to bed right after the mutiny. Captain Long – that’s Lor – ate on the bridge – a crude insult to my watch-standing but she’s good company. The Commodore always eats breakfast in the flag cabin. The Doctors Deety and Zeb and Lib are just starting.”
“How are they dressed?” asked my Hilda.
“In serviettes. Doctor Lib is wearing ‘Jungle Flower’ in cologne and powder and perfume; she likes strong ones. Doctor Zeb seems to have forgotten to use any but his own scent is rather pleasant. I can’t place what Doctor Deety is wearing but it has both musk and sandalwood. Shall I formularize it by symbols?”
“It’s ‘Blue Hour’ and I’m startled; my stepdaughter doesn’t need a scent. Neither does Lib, darn it. Jacob, are you ready?”
I answered at once. I had taken care of this and that while the computers chattered, including trying a depilatory tricky until I learned how to block it off – my sideburns were missing. Zeb dressed in a serviette – Libby Long the only one not of our family – and Lib used to be male. A good time to rub blue mud in my belly button – “I’m ready.”
Hilda noticed my decision by not noticing it. The blue “Tinker-Bell” light appeared, led us to a small dining room, where we encountered a Long-Family custom – did not realize it because it matched a ceremony of our own: Lib saw us, came over, kissed Hilda, kissed me – briefly but with time-stop. Then my daughter was kissing me good-morning while Zeb kissed my wife. We swapped as usual; Deety kissed Hilda – and Zeb took my shoulders, hissed into my ear, “Stand still” – and gave me the double Latin kiss, each cheek.
Did my blood brother think I would let him down in the presence of one not of our family? Our custom had started after our double elopement. While Zeb and I usually used the Latin symbol, four rapid pecks, once at Snug Harbor we had missed the fast timing, hit each other mouth to mouth – didn’t pull back but didn’t stretch it out. We declined to make anything of it – although I was aware of the break in taboo and he was, too.
Two mornings later I was last in; Zeb was seated with his back to me. He leaned back and turned his head to speak to me; I leaned down, kissed him on the mouth firmly but briefly, moved on and kissed my daughter not as briefly, moved on and kissed my wife thoroughly, sat down and demanded, “What’s for breakfast?”
After that the only invariant was: “What’s for breakfast?” Zeb and I used either Latin pecks or busses on the mouth – brief, dry, symbolic, initiated by either of us. It meant that we were closer than a handshake; it held no sexual significance.
So I was disgrunted that Zeb thought it was necessary to warn me. Let me add: Women are my orientation and Hilda my necessity. But I tried the other way with my high school chum our graduation week. We were experimenting to find out what the shooting was all about – planned but date subject to opportunity – which turned up that last week of school. A two-hour examination, no other school that day; a half hour of tennis, sudden realization that we were free and that his parents’ flat was empty and would remain so until late afternoon. Der Tag!
We gave it a fair trial. We bathed first and thoroughly. We were not shy or afraid of each other. We were not afraid of getting caught – doors locked and bolted, chains on, S.O.P. by his parents’ rules. We liked each other and wanted it to work.
Total failure – Got up, had peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwiches with milk, discussed it as we ate. Neither of us upset, not disgusted, no bad breath or similar hazards – but no results.
Brushed our teeth again, washed each other – gave it a second try. So much calisthenics. No “morals” about it, willing and eager to add it on. Not for us – so we killed all evidence and got in three more sets of tennis.
That’s how it is with Zeb and me. I love him dearly – but I love him for what he is – while fully empathizing that my daughter thinks he is the greatest lover since – Well, the greatest.
But if Zeb ever makes a pass at me, I will do my amateur-acting best to make him feel that this is what I have been waiting for all my life.
I’ve been trying to say why I was miffed. Never mind, I shall make it clear to Zeb that I will never let him down.
About that Long-Family custom – “Long” is not the name of a Howard Family; it is a group of Howards who live together and who added “Long” (the pseudonym most used by Lazarus) to their regular names. It’s a commune, an extended family, a serial family, a god-knows-what. There is probably no word for it in any language and at least two computers are full members. They come and go and raise children and only the family geneticist (Doctor Ishtar) is sure of parentage and who cares? I suspect that they are all ambi in sex but no outsider could guess – and I am an outsider.
But of this I am certain: When Long meets Long for the first time any day, they kiss – and it’s no Latin peck.
I learned that I could have anything I wanted for breakfast. This should have been enough to tell me that we were being set up for the tale. I’m getting ahead of my story, as I know things about the Long Family that I read in a book that you may not have read. This ship Dora came from a planet many parsecs from the Earth-analog of that universe, from a time over two thousand years in my future looked at one way… or a time totally irrelevant to mine through not having duration axis in common.
Yet I could have anything: Post Toasties, hens’ eggs any style, bacon, ham, sausage, breakfast steak, toast, orange marmalade, Concord grape jelly, buckwheat cakes – and not one of these foods is from Tertius, home of the Long Family.
Pepsodent in our ‘fresher – As I was contemplating a beautiful golden waffle with one bite of it melting in my mouth, Lazarus Long walked in… and a voice in my head played back: “The Commodore always eats breakfast in the flag cabin.”
Add that Lazarus was dressed as were Zeb and I save that he did not yet have a napkin.
Working hypothesis: Lazarus had listened in on every word between husband and wife.
Second hypothesis: “Dora, tell me when they get up, tell me when they arrive in the breakfast room – if they do, but offer trays as usual. If they eat in the breakfast room, let me know how each is dressed.”
The first hypothesis defines a grave social offense; the second outlines information a host or hostess is entitled to know. How do I find out which is which? Answer: I can’t, as Lazarus Long will give me the answer that profits him and that computer is loyal to him, not to me.
As soon as Lazarus finished kissing Lib Long, he was grabbed by Deety and kissed… then he caught Hilda’s eye, glanced at me and sloooowly bent to kiss her, giving her and me, severally, time to make that tiny gesture that says No – and did kiss her because I depend on Hilda’s instincts and will never tell her No in such circumstances, or greater or lesser. Hilda put her hand back of his neck and thereby controlled the kiss and made it long – and I tore up the first hypothesis and marked the second one “Q.E.D.” Hilda’s instincts about people are infallible; I think she is a touch telepathic.
As may be, we would now help him if possible.
To Zeb and me he simply said, “Good morning” – his instincts are reputed to be infallible, too.
I agreed that it was a “good morning” while noting to myself that it was a symbol without a referent save for social connotation (morning? In an irrelevancy?) but added sincerely, “Lazarus, this is the best waffle I ever tasted.”
“Then please tell Dora.”
“Dora, did you hear what I said to the Commodore?”
“I surely did, Professor Jake! Six more?”
I felt my waistline-firm and many centimeters trimmed off. “Six more is what I want -“
“Right away!”
“But half of one is all I dare eat. Deety, the next time we go to Oz, will you ask Glinda whether or not there is a magic for gluttons – me, I mean – to permit them to eat as much as they want while three fourths of it disappears?”
“I’m sure she could do it; I’m equally sure that she would not. She’s an ethical witch; you would not be able to convince her that your purpose was worthy.”
“You are depressingly logical, my dear.”
Lib said, “Professor, you have actually been to the Land of Oz? Really and truly?”
“Really and truly. Dora, is Gay on the line?”
“On deck, Jake” – Gay’s voice.
“Has anyone been in to see our portside annex?”
“How could they? Captain Hilda has not authorized it.”
“But – Hilda?”
“No, dear. Sorry to be blunt, Commodore and Doctor Lib, but I won’t authorize an open door because there are too many things that must not be touched. But I will be delighted to escort guests into Gay Deceiver almost anytime including right now; I’ve finished eating.”
“I accept!”
“Then come along, Elizabeth. Anyone else?”
Lazarus said, “Dora, shove my breakfast to the back of the stove; I’ll eat it later.”
“A jelly omelet? I’ll eat it myself.”
“Do that, Dorable. Captain, I’m ready.”
Laz-Lor showed up together, did not want to be left out. We ended up quite a crowd: eight humans, two computers.
Hilda stopped us at Gay’s starboard door. “Friends, again I must be blunt. As you cross the sill of that door, you are leaving Star Yacht Dora and entering an independent command, the Gay Deceiver, even though Dora totally surrounds Gay. Inside that door, I command, responsible to no one, unlimited in authority. Captain Lor, do you understand and agree with the legal theory?”
Captain Lorelei glanced at her sister, looked unhappy. “Captain Hilda, I do agree. Therefore I can’t come aboard. I can’t abandon my command.”
My wife looked terribly distressed. “Oh, I’m sorry!”
Lazarus Long interrupted. “Captain Hilda, I’m sorry another way. I don’t agree with your legal theory. I have had more than two thousand years more experience with law than my sister has… all sorts of law in all sorts of cultures. I’m not speaking of justice; I’ll leave that to philosophers. But I know what legal theories work with humans, and what ones have been attempted, then abandoned because they could not be made to work. This situation is not new; it has occurred thousands, millions, of times: a larger vessel with a smaller vessel nested in it. The solution is always the same, whether it concerns starships, fishing boats, aircraft carriers, whatever. The smaller vessel is a separate command outside the larger vessel, but when it is inside the carrier vessel, it is legally part of it.”
My darling did not answer. She was picking out me, Zeb, and Deety by eye as Lazarus talked. As he finished she said briskly, “GayDeceiverOpenStarboardDoor. Man the car, prepare for space.”
I’m proud of our family. Zeb zipped past me to the farthest seat – which left me room to dive for mine as Deety was picking up Hilda bodily, shoving her inside, crowding in after her, turning and pulling her feet clear of the doorframe – yelping, “GayCloseDoors!”
I was belting in but looking to the right, where the action was. Lazarus Long grabbed the door while calling out, “Hey, wait a moment!”
He realized his mistake in time to keep his fingers. I had argued with Zeb when I discovered, during refitting, that he had removed the interlocks that prevent that sort of accident. He answered my protest: “Jake, when I tell those doors to close, I want them to close. If, in closing, one chops off a man’s head, you can assume that I think he looks better that way.”
Lazarus saved his hand but was knocked off his feet by the door – and I saw a bit of why he had lived so long. Instead of trying to check his fall, he gathered himself into a ball and took it on one buttock.
“Report!”
“Copilot belted checking seal!”
“Chief Pilot belted all systems go. Door seal being rechecked.”
“Navigator belted, ready.”
“Starboard door seal okay!”
“GayBounce!”
We were in free fall. No stars – total darkness.
“Astrogator. Advise.”
“I don’t know, Captain. We’ll have to ask Gay whether or not she can backtrack. Any backtrack. Beulahland, or any spot in her perms. I’m lost.”
Suddenly the stars came out. “Dora, calling Gay Deceiver. Come in, Gay.”
“Don’t answer. Zebbie, advise again. What happened?”
“I’m guessing. They cancelled encapsulation rather than risk losing us. They must be awfully anxious.” Zeb added, “The only thing we have that you can’t buy at the corner drugstore is Jake’s space-time twister. How they knew of it and why they want it I do not know.”
“Dora, calling Gay. Gay, please talk to me. Aren’t you still my friend? I know our bosses had a silly fuss – but we didn’t. Aren’t you ever going to speak to me again? I love you, Gay. Please don’t be mean to me.”
“Captain Hilda, may I please say hello to Dora and tell her that I am not angry at her? She’s a sweet girl, she really is. Captain, she let me use her eyes.”
“Let me speak to her first.”
“Oh, thank you! Gay, answering Dora. Come in, Dora.”
“Gay! You had me so scared. Don’t go away again, please. The Commodore wants to apologize to your boss. Will she talk to him?”
“Captain?”
“No. I’ll speak to Dora’s Captain, however.”
A cartoon of Lorelei’s features displayed on our central screen. “Lor speaking, Captain Hilda. My brother is terribly sorry and wants to apologize. My sisters and I are dreadfully upset and want you please to come back. I don’t claim any command over your ship despite the silly things my brother said. Lib has a message for you, too. She says that, topologically, there is no difference between you being inside us or us being inside you. Either way, we each surround the other.”
“I don’t see it topologically, Captain; I see it pragmatically. But please thank Elizabeth for me. I have this message for Lazarus Long. A cat can be caught in almost any trap once; but that cat will not be caught in the same trap twice.”
“The message is delivered.”
“Then it is time to say good-bye. Captain Lorelei, I cannot honestly thank you as kidnapping is not hospitality even when it is luxurious. But I don’t think that you or your sister – sisters – meant it that way. I blame it on that deceitful, devious brother of yours. Please tell your sisters and Libby good-bye for us and say that I am sorry we had to leave.”
“Captain, wait! There is something I must do first.”
“Captain Lor, I must warn you I have you in my gunsights.”
“What? Oh! We are unarmed. Not anything like that. I’ll be back quickly. Perhaps you would like Dora to sing? But please don’t go away!” The face in the screen pulled away.
“What kind of songs do you like, folks? I know lots of songs. One-Ball Reilly; and the Green Hills and On Guard Christmas So’s Yours and Santa Carolita and Mademoiselle from Army Tears and the Pawnshot song and The Monkey Wrapped His Tail Around the Flagpole and Mary O’Meara and Soldier, Ask Not and just tell me what you like, and – here comes Sister. Captain Lor.”
“Captain Hilda, thanks from my heart for waiting. Can you record?”
“Gay, recording mode. Go ahead.”
“I have placed my brother under arrest and confined him to quarters. I, Captain Lorelei Lee Long, Master of Star Yacht Dora, affirm for use in any court that I have no authority over yacht Gay Deceiver and will never attempt to assert authority over Gay Deceiver no matter what circumstances and, furthermore, I now place myself, my crew, and my ship Dora under command of Captain Hilda Burroughs, henceforth commodore of both ships, this assignment of command irrevocable by me or my sisters, and revocable solely by Commodore Burroughs at her sole discretion. End of message. Hilda, won’t you come home? Laz is crying and I don’t know what to do. We need you. Buddy Boy never did tell you why. But we do! May I tell you?”
“Go ahead, Lor.”
“To save our mother’s life!”
(I said, softly, “I’ll be damned.”)
My wife hesitated, then said, “Is Elizabeth Long there?”
“Yes, yes! She’s been listening – she’s crying, too – and I would be but I’m Captain and can’t.”
The smudged faces changed. “Lib Long speaking, Commodore.”
“Libby, Captain Lorelei has told me something not only hard to believe but, if she is cloned from her brother as I have read, she may have his talent for lying. From what I know of you, I don’t think you ever learned how to lie.”
“Commodore, it is true that I never learned to lie convincingly. So I gave it up a long time ago.”
“Very well, Lib. Is Lazarus Long in fact confined and under arrest?”
“Yes, to both. His door won’t open and Dora has been instructed not to let him out until you permit it.”
“What’s this about saving her mother’s life? If they are clones from a man the age Lazarus is alleged to be, their mother must have died a couple of millennia back.”
“It’s as complex as my case, Commodore, but quite different. The twins have host-mothers. But Lor was speaking of the genetic mother of herself, her twin sister, and Lazarus Long. She was reported dead more than two thousand Old-Home-Terra years ago. But there is some hope that the records were confused and that it may be possible to save her. It can’t be done without your help and the help of the Gay Deceiver. I don’t think the chances are good, even so. But without your help – well, I would have to try to devise such a drive as Gay is reported to have – and I don’t think I can.”
“Wait a moment, Libby. Gay, cut transmission from cabin; keep circuit ready. Can you find your way unassisted back into your berth in Dora? Did you get it into your perms?”
“I did. I thought I might want to find Dora someday. Are you displeased with me? I know it wasn’t authorized. But I didn’t three-times it! I can wipe it.”
“Gay Deceiver. New program. New parking spot. Code word ‘Dora Long.’ I tell you three times.”
“Hilda, I hear you three times!”
“Gay Deceiver. ‘Dora Long.’ Execute!”
The stars went away and lighted alcoves were at our doors.

Chapter XLII

“You’re a figment of imagination.”

Zeb:
“Hear that, Laz? You’re a figment of imagination.”
“No, Lor. You are a figment; I’m a fig.” (What she said was “fica,” and Deety suppressed a giggle. I pinched her and told her in family tap code that she had a dirty mind – which she ignored, being proud of it rather than otherwise. It was a long time later that I learned that Laz had used a Galacta word – but the ancient pun still applied.)
Jake reiterated patiently, “Laz-Lor, the key point of Commodore Hilda’s theory is that we are all equally figments of imagination. ‘Reality’ thus becomes a null sythbol.”
Deety shook her head emphatically. “Stick to geometry, Pop. Or stamp collecting. Leave symbology to symbologists – such as your favorite daughter. I’m real, I am! Smell me.”
“No doubt you could use a bath. So could we all; it’s been an adrenaline day. But that’s the other side of the coin, Deety. ‘Imaginary’ and ‘Real’ turn out to be identical. Consider this chow bench. On one level of abstraction it is mathematical equations. At the level just below that it is a swirling nothlngness, with mass-energy a rare event. But on the gross level abstracted by my senses I can place this drink on it with utter confidence that it will not sink through this near vacuum.”
My father-in-law matched his words by placing his highball on the snack bench; it sank out of sight.
Jake looked tired. “Not my day. Dora, did you do that?”
“Yes and no, Professor.”
“What kind of answer is that?”
“You placed it on a take-away spot and that part of me was on automatic and took it away and sterilized it. I’m sorry, sir, and here’s your fresh drink.”
It was indeed a busy day. No one had been waiting at our parking berth, but three young women arrived at a dead run while Sharpie was swapping seats with Deety – our brand-new commodore planned to be first to step into her new ship. The starboard door opened; Sharpie stepped out, a dignified procession of one -and was hit from three sides by three young women, each managing to laugh and cry at the same time. But Sharpie enjoys everything and her aplomb has never been shaken. She kissed them, let them kiss her, petted them and told them to calm down, everything was all right. “Dears, I never intended to stay away; I simply refused to let the great Lazarus Long put one over on Sharpie. Where is he now?”
“Shut up in the flag cabin, Ma’am. Commodore.”
“Captain Lor, lock him up elsewhere; the flag cabin is mine.”
“Aye aye, Commodore.”
“How long will that take? Seconds, I mean; not hours.”
Lor spoke rapidly to Dora in a language I almost understood. I leaned to my right, spoke to my wife. “Spanish. Some sort.”
“Italian,” Deety answered.
“Will you settle for Latino? No! – I remember now: Galacta. We’ll have to learn it. But it sounds easy.”
Lor reported, “Flag cabin will be ready for you by the time you reach it, Commodore.”
“Very good. I expect to use it primarily as an administration office; flag remains in Gay Deceiver. That is appropriate, since Dora is unarmed whereas Gay Deceiver is an attack ship, an armed privateer – heavily armed, for her size.” Sharpie smiled. “A few days ago, in another universe, we destroyed an entire air army. We don’t have fancies such as artificial gravity; we belt down and fight in free fall. Gay Deceiver is stripped for speed and armament; Dora is just the opposite. The two complement each other beautifully.”
I wondered why Sharpie was blathering – but she always has reasons. I think she reads minds.
I’m certain that Laz-Lor do, with each other. They looked at each other, then:
“The flag of an armed privateer – “
” – is the Skull-and-Cross-Bones -“
” – is it not? Do we take prisoners -“
” – or cut their throats?”
“Which would you rather do? Captain Lor, please do all the talking; these whipsaw conversations are hard to follow. By the way, no more ‘midnight mutinies.’ Lor, you remain captain until further notice.”
Again they looked at each other.
“We like to swap off.”
“Calling it ‘mutiny’ is just a joke.”
“No one asked your preferences. My chief of staff and second-in-command of the flagship is the only one who does and must advise me. If you have opinions to offer, see him. Answer my question. Captain Lor.”
“We’ll do what you order. But our brother who was our father at the time taught us never to kill if we could possibly avoid it while teaching us all sorts of ways to kill and made us practice. When we were growing up we always wanted to be pirates. Then we grew up and decided that it could never be and tried to forget it.”
Sharpie said, “I think I’m making you tongue-tied by forcing you to filter it through one set of vocal cords. So cancel that order; you two are unique. We operate just the way Lazarus taught you; so far we have killed only once – to repel an attack on us. That air army – We timed it, caught them with their flying machines on the ground, burned the machines, burned their fuel – and thereby stopped an invasion… without killing anyone. But we are always ready to kill. Lor, that’s why I warned you a few minutes ago. It would have broken Gay’s heart to have to destroy Dora. Skull-and-Cross-Bones? No way to fly one but, if you want to hang one in the lounge, I grant permission. Why did you decide not to become pirates?”
That same preliminary glance –
“Babies -“
“Laz has three, I have four – “
” – because Lor has one pair of twins -“
” – and we try to be pregnant at the same time -“
” – and time it to fit our plans -“
” – and Brother’s plans if you ever let him out of hack.”
“How old are you two? I’ve been thinking of you as about Deety’s age but you can’t be. Just one of you answer, please; it’s a simple question.”
They conferred mentally an unusually long time. At last Captain Lor said slowly, “It isn’t quite simple. We will get Dora and Athene to integrate it for us… if data are complete; they may not be. But answering in Old-Home-Terran years and meaning our own biological time, Laz thinks we are about forty-eight and I think we are a couple of years younger. It doesn’t matter because Ishtar will tell us when to rejuvenate, which won’t be soon, as we aren’t yet close to menopause.”
“Does it have to be at menopause?”
“Oh, no, just makes it easier and you never have to stop making babies. But Ishtar’s mother went years past menopause and had decided to die… and changed her mind and looks younger than we do and has had more babies than we have. This time around, I mean.”
“How often do men need it?” Sharpie asked. Jake looked up and said, “I won’t need it for another six weeks, Hilda. Maybe seven.”
“Shush, dear. Laz-Lor, be careful around my husband. When he’s in rut, it takes heavy chains to restrain him. So never mind that question; he doesn’t need to know and, for me, it was intellectual curiosity of a biologist. Perhaps it s best to ask Doctor Ishtar.”
“Yes, Commodore, that would be best. We aren’t biologists; we’re ship handlers.”
I leaned forward. (Sharpie was keeping us in the car; why I didn’t know – then.) “Commodore! I’m required to advise you.”
“Yes, Zebbie.”
“You are going to need a new chief of staff, a new second-in-command, and a new astrogator because I will be on the binnacle list in a wet pack if you don’t have Laz-Lor answer that last one. It is not ‘intellectual curiosity’ to me.”
“Why, Zebbie dear, I have reports that your curve is such that it will be many, many years before you can possibly have other than intellectual interest.”
(If it were not for upsetting Jake, I would paddle that pert little arse!)
Deety said, “Hear, hear!” I placed my hand over her mouth and got bitten. Sharpie said, “Captain, we have here another paradox – Doctors Carter and Burroughs, each unreasonably insecure. Elizabeth, you’ve been a man; give them the male angle.”
“Commodore, I wasn’t very successful as a male. I simply took antigeria whenever Lazarus did. But I can report his thumb rule.”
“Yes?”
“When a man looks at a new and attractive woman and decides that he is too tired, it’s time. When he doesn’t even look, push him over and bury him; he’s failed to notice that he’s dead.”
The ship’s computer said something in that not-Spanish; Sharpie answered, “Graz, Dora. I’ll come now.”
Lor said, “Ma’am, we didn’t know you knew Galacta.”
“I don’t. But I will a week from now. I knew what I would say in your position, and you said it; I could tell from cognates. You told Dora to get him out pronto, because the Doña was on her way. Then get his personal belongings when I would not be inconvenienced. So I stalled. Zebbie, will you come with me? Jacob dearest, will you decide whether or not we should give up our suite with the Carters? And what to move out of Gay? We will be in Dora at least a week, possibly longer.”
“Commodore, we depart for Tertius tomorrow midday, ship’s time.”
“I do not recall ordering that, Captain Lor.”
The twins looked at each other – and said nothing.
Sharpie patted Laz’s cheek. “Don’t look so thunderstruck, girls” – girls? – seven years or so Sharpie’s senior and seven babies between them – “On reaching Tertius, place us in orbit, following local rules. But no messages from ship to ground unless approved by me in writing. Come now!”
As Sharpie left with me in tow, she told Deety that she was on her own but please get out Jacob’s Army blues and my Aerospace dress, and ask Dora about cleaning and pressing.
Jake said, “Hey!” before I could, and Sharpie said, reasonably, “I won’t put you into a long skirt, sweetheart; you would feel that I had coerced you into drag. I thought perhaps you two were bored with civilian dress – and I shall continue the custom concerning dressing for dinner – either formal dress or formal skin. Nothing in between.”
Upon reaching flag cabin Sharpie dismissed Laz-Lor, waited until we were private, then clung to me. “Hold me, Zebbie. Hold me tight! Calm me down.” The little thing was shaking.
“Maybe I had better get Jake,” I suggested, while holding her and petting her gently – and solving aerodynamic empiricals in my head to keep from noticing how much skin such a tiny woman can spread over one.
“No, Zebbie. Jacob would fuss over me like a mother hen and give me advice I don’t want. Either I boss this job without my husband telling me what to do… or I can’t cut it. If I fail, I will fail on my own – not as Jacob’s puppet. But I can cry on you and tell you things I wouldn’t tell my own toothbrush.”
She added, “When I send you out, find Jake and have him teach school to everybody. That’ll keep him busy and happy and out of my hair. And everybody else, too. Have both computers record his lectures.”
“Lectures on what?”
“Oh. Too many details. The plenum of universes and the Number of the Beast. Pantheistic multiple solipsism, or why the Land of Oz is real. The quantum mechanics of fairy tales. Even the care and feeding of Black Hats. He’ll probably want to take people into Gay… but you must be present; don’t delegate it. Jacob can go along and lecture but it’s Zebbie’s sharp eye that will see to it that nothing is touched.”
She patted my chest. “You’re such a comfort. Now I’m going to dig out this ship’s papers and you’re going to help because I don’t know what to expect. Or where to find them. Certificate of ownership, I suppose, and registration, and ship’s manifest whatever that is. What else and where should I look?”
“A log. Crew list, passenger list. Health inspection, maybe. Other inspections. Bureaucracy and red tape tend to follow the same patterns everywhere. Maybe no paper papers; that looks like a computer printout over there. Mmm – Insist on English; the originals are almost certainly in Galacta.”
“I’ll try it. Dora.”
“Listening, Commodore Hilda.”
“Print for me, in English, the ship’s official papers. Ownership, registration, manifests, and so forth. You know the list. Retrieve soonest.”
“I am not authorized to do this, Ma’am.”
“‘Not authorized’ by whom?”
The computer did not answer. Sharpie said, “Stick around, Zebbie; there’s going to be trouble. Do you have any weapons?”
“Where? Look at me. How?”
“I don’t know but you’re clever about such things. Dora!”
“Your orders, Commodore?”
“Get me Captain Lor! In person, not voice. I want her here on a dead run – right now! Out!”
(I did have a weapon. I had palmed an item as I left Gay. But never admit a holdout.)
Laz-Lor arrived, breathing hard, seconds later. “You sent for us, Ma’am?”
“I sent for Captain Lor; I did not send for Laz. Out. Pronto!”
Laz had her mouth open to speak. She got out so fast the door was only partly dilated; she dived through.
“Dora! Repeat to Captain Lor every word that you’ve heard, every word you’ve said, since I entered this cabin.”
The computer started with Sharpie telling Laz-Lor they could leave… then surprised me with: “Hold me, Zebbie. Hold me tight. Calm me down.”
I started to speak, Sharpie shook her head. Dora droned on, right through Hilda’s order to repeat back all the computer had heard or said since we came in.
The computer stopped; Sharpie said, “Dora, you told me this morning that you could not scan in here without permission.”
“That is correct, Ma’am.”
“Who gave you permission?”
The computer did not answer.
“Captain Lor, did you or your sister tell this computer to spy on me and to refuse to answer certain questions?”
“No, Ma’am.”
“Then it’s your brother Lazarus. Don’t bother to lie; I didn’t ask, I told you. Fetch your brother to me, under arrest. Move!”

Chapter XLIII

To Pull a Hat Out of a Rabbit –

Smith:
I had had trouble convincing my sisters that I must be “arrested” and “confined.” I had made an idiotic mistake and now must be “punished.” Lor had even less enthusiasm for placing herself and our ship under the command of a stranger.
Once they accepted it, I could depend on them. We did not let Lib in on the caper; she has no talent for creative lying. Far better that she believe whatever she said.
Laz and Lor were outwitting their elders by the time they were six, a process I encouraged by walloping them whenever I caught them. They learned. They also have my talent for looking stupid, plus one I have but seldom can use:
They can turn tears on and off like a faucet. (I have not found many cultures in which this advantages a male.)
Once this was settled, I arrested myself by helping Dora’s waldoes move my most personal gear next door. Then I lay down and listened through Dora to what was going on in the flag cabin.
And discovered that I had outsmarted myself. I have never tried to teach Dora to lie; a dishonest computer is a menace: one that is a pilot would be a lethal disaster, sooner or later. Sooner.
But I hadn’t figured on this narrow little broad asking for my papers so quickly. Nor did I guess that Dora had told her that my cabin could be scanned only by my order.
When I heard the situation start to deteriorate, I got up quickly and put on one of my Scottish outfits. Advantages: I look bigger, taller, more imposing. The costume calls for two weapons worn publicly. These I never use. But the costume is so draped and full that one may hide weapons for a half squad- then never show them save in extremis.
So I was ready when Lor came busting in, almost incoherent. “Brother, is she mad! Watch yourself!”
“I will, Lor. You’ve done a swell job.” I kissed her. “Now march me in under arrest.”
So we did. I halted ten paces from Mrs. Burroughs and saluted. She said to Lor, “You may leave” – waited until Lor had left, then said, “Instruct your computer not to see or listen in this space.”
“Aye aye, Ma’am. Dora.”
“Yes, Boss?”
“Back to normal for my cabin. No see ‘um, no hear ’em until I tell you to.”
“Chinchy!”
“Dora!”
“Aye aye, Boss. Mean!”
“She’s a bit childish but she’s a good cook. And a fine pilot.”
“And you’re a bit childish. Prisoners do not salute, prisoners do not wear arms. Captain Carter, confiscate his weapons. Keep them as souvenirs or destroy them.”
Long years as a slave taught me to put up with anything without a squawk. That doesn’t make it pleasant.
“Smith.”
I didn’t answer. She added, “I mean you, Woodie!”
“Yes, Ma’am?”
“Lean over, grab your ankles. Captain, frisk him.”
Carter knew how, I soon no longer had tools for a half squad – but felt better when he ended having missed one. He was in uniform-of-the-day, but he was big, in training, and carried himself in a way that made me think of Black Belts.
“Those are yours, too, Zebbie, although you might share them. Deety mentioned something about not having a throwing knife. How’s the balance on those?”
She was not speaking to me but I had to try to gain control of the psychological gauge. “One and a half turns at eight meters, Ma’am. I make them myself. But it’s too heavy a knife for a lady. I would happily make one to fit Doctor Deety’s hand and strength.”
“I imagine that Doctor Deety is stronger than you are, Woodie. I think you’ve gone a bit soft. Someday we’ll check it. Take off your clothes.”
With my weapons gone, other than the one, I welcomed the order. Clothes are no asset in unarmed brawl; the other man can use yours against you. And I was sweating; Dora keeps the ship right for skin. I peeled quickly.
“Shove them down that,” she said, pointing.
“Uh, Ma’am, that’s a destruction oubliette.”
“I know. Next time you won’t try to impress me by sartorial elegance. Furthermore it was intentional insolence. Pronto!”
I shoved them down pronto. “Grab your ankles again, Woodie. Captain Carter, need we give him an enema to make sure he hasn’t hidden one more weapon? I don’t care to check by touch without a rubber glove, and I won’t ask you to.”
“Madam, I give you my word – “
” – which is worth nothing. Let it go, Zebbie. Join the class and keep an eye on our interests.”
The big man looked me over. “I don’t like to leave you alone with him, Commodore.”
“Thank you, Zebbie. I’m safe. I was safe when he was armed but he was being insolent so I spanked him. Run along; he doesn’t dare touch me.” She added, “Or do you have a premonition?”
“No. But I get them just barely in time.”
“I couldn’t ask for more. But I feel a prophecy. Woodie is going to be a lamb about everything. Now go, dear.”
He left, giving me a look that promised death if I harmed her. I wanted to tell him that I had never found it necessary to harm a woman in more centuries than his wife had years.
“Well, Lazarus, how do we work this out?”
“Work out what, Ma’am? You have the upper hand.”
“Oh, piffle! You have the upper hand; you know it. As long as the ship’s computer obeys you, rather than me, my ‘authority’ is a fraud. I escaped once by a fluke; you won’t let it happen twice. But I stuck my head back into the trap because I think we have something to trade, to our mutual profit.”
“I hope so, Ma’am. Please go on.”
“You want your mother rescued. I plan to do it if it can be done. For which you will toe the mark. We need a holding company. I will own fifty-one percent of the voting stock. Not of the profits; there will be plenty for all. But I control.”
“Madam, you’re way ahead of me. I don’t know what you have in mind.”
“Money. Money and power. Whew! I just got downwind; you sweated into that heavy costume. Go in there, take a tub bath, hot and soapy. I’ll sprawl on the chaise longue and we’ll talk business. Are you really trying to rescue your mother, or are you simply looking to cut yourself in on Jacob’s invention? We can make a deal, either way – but I must know. Don’t hold out on me; I tend to get annoyed. Then someone else pays. You, in this case.”
She took my hand and led me into the ‘fresher while I answered her key question and thought about the rest. No more lies; she had caught me in one thrown together hastily and too complex; my grandfather would have been ashamed of it. So – nothing but the truth. But how much truth and what truth?
“Rescuing my mother is priority one, sine qua non. Business aspects are secondary.”
“You were going to say that business aspects didn’t matter to you – and I would have stuffed it down your throat.”
I stalled while I adjusted the bath’s controls. “Ma’am, I always think about business angles. But I would go broke and start over to make this rescue.”
“Will you sign such a contract? We rescue your mother; you sign over all your wealth to me? No cheating, no holdout?”
“Is that what it takes?”
“No. It would not be equitable and that would compel you to cheat. Any contract must profit both of us. But rescuing your mother appeals to me – to all my family; I’m the least sentimental of us-and we would tackle it if there were not a fiat dollar in sight. Pour le sport. That nice warm feeling – whether it’s a kitten, a baby bird, or an old woman. But there is money in this… and sport… and opportunities beyond imagination. That sound of water splashing: does that interfere with Dora’s hearing?”
“No, she filters it out.”
“Is she listening?”
I instantly answered, “Yes.” I’ve lived a long time in part by being a cat not caught in the same trap twice – as she had underlined. I placed in my permanent memory, nine times nine, never to lie to this woman again. Evade, avoid, keep silent, be elsewhere. But don’t lie to her. A born Grand Inquisitor. Telepathic? Must ask Laz-Lor.
“I’m glad you said Yes, Lazarus. Had you said No, I would have broken off negotiations. I’m not telepathic – but you may find it inadvisable to lie to me. We must change the computer situation – part now, part later. You didn’t give her the right code words.”
“That’s right. ‘Chinchy’ and ‘mean’ equal -“
” – Roger Wilco, but reversed meaning.”
“Eh? That’s a deep-down memory. Yes. Hmm – I must insert that phrase into Galacta. Useful.” The water was just right, with deep, fragrant suds. I stepped down into it, picked a seat that let me lounge. “I should have said to Dora – Shall I tell Dora now?”
“With a modification. I want the equivalent of a simple telephone, so that I can call anyone, anyone can call me – and the same for you. But kill the snoop circuits throughout this suite.”
“No trouble. We can call out at any time; that is a safety feature, permanent. As for calling in, I usually limit it to the twin commanding; she’s entitled to disturb me, if needed. If not needed – well, neither Laz nor Lor enjoys being called ‘stupid,’ especially by me.”
I changed the orders to Dora and did not cheat; Mrs. Burroughs and I were now truly in private, although anyone could reach us – voice only. “What next, Ma’am?”
“Some permanent changes for Dora, now that she can’t hear us. Tentative plans for your mother’s rescue. Then we talk business. Is there a seat in that pool where I won’t drown?”
“Oh, certainly. When Laz-Lor were your size, they often bathed with me – I’ve had as high as six in this tub although that’s a bit cozy; it’s a four-adult design. Here, let me help; you can’t see through these suds.” Helping Hilda Burroughs reminded me of handling Laz-Lor at the same size, prepubescent… but I was acutely aware that this small, warm, slick body was postpubescent by many years and I got a twinge that I was pleased to have figleafed by suds. “Feel under you – find the seat? Temperature suit you?”
“Luxurious. On Tertius refreshers are social rooms, are they not?”
“Yes. Over the years I have found that nude cultures, or those with no taboos about nakedness, tend to make bathing a social event. Ancient Romans. Ancient Japanese. Many others.”
She answered, “Whereas cultures with strong body taboos equate bathing rooms with outhouses back of barns. Disgusting.” Mrs. Burroughs looked disgusted. I noted this as I had thought it would be necessary to get them used to skin before exposing them to the easy-going ways of Tertius… lest I jeopardize my mother’s rescue. I had instructed Laz-Lor to hold us in irrelevancy until all of them, with no urging, accepted the comfort of complete bareness in perfectly tempered conditions, and simply forgot about bodies qua bodies. This does not mean to forget yin-yang… but it has long been known to all but legislators, judges, and other fools that a scrap of clothing fig-leafing whatever may be taboo (taboos vary endlessly and each is a “law of nature”) is far more stimulating than is no clothing.
(Warning to time-travellers: To assume that the taboos of your native culture are “natural” and that you can’t go too wrong behaving by the rules your loving parents taught you is to risk death. Or worse. If you think death has no “worse,” read history.)
To return to pretty little Mrs. Burroughs: To be enjoying a bath with her a few minutes after she had had me subjected to personal indignity was the second most surprising thing about her. The most surprising thing I was still learning: This fragile little doll with the muscles of a kitten was the toughest bitch kitty I have ever encountered.
Understand me, I admire her. But I want to be on the side she is on. “What changes in Dora do you want, Ma’am?”
“Lazarus, I’m ‘Ma’am’ to strangers and on formal occasions. I don’t consider bathing all that formal; my friends call me Hilda. Or by nicknames. Even pet names. But not ‘Ma’am.'”
My answer got me splashed. She went on, “In attempting to hornswoggle me, you gave me, through your accomplices, a phony command and rank – while retaining control of the computer necessary to make it real. I require that you carry out your contract. Now. By reprogramming Dora to me as her sole boss, with the program locked so that you can’t change it. Me and me alone.”
She smiled, leaned toward me, and placed a hand on my knee under water. “That’s why I insisted on privacy – for Dora’s sake. She’s self-aware and seems quite vulnerable. Lazarus, I don’t mind anyone in this ship hearing anything I’ve been saying. But I don’t discuss surgery when it is likely to upset the patient.” She leaned forward. “Scratch between my shoulder blades – pretty please?”
I welcomed time to think, while requiring her to coach me – higher, lower, a little to the left, ah, right there …
“Hilda, I’m not sure it can be done. I did reprogram Dora so that her loyalty in crisis is to Laz-Lor. But it took me years and was not done by circuitry or by programming Dora is so thoroughly a self-aware personality that it is necessary to win her love in order to gain her lovalty”
“I find that believable. Lazarus, let’s see you pull a hat out of the rabbit.”
“You mean -“
“I meant what I said. Any second-rate magician can pull a rabbit out of a hat. Can Lazarus Long pull a hat out of a rabbit? Watch this space next week. It’s your problem, Lazarus; you created it. I won’t make a second contract with a man in default on his first. Do you want your back scratched while you think? You scratched mine deliciously.”
I accepted by leaning forward. Hilda is telepathic though perhaps not in words. She knew which spots and how hard and how long.
And when to stop. She dropped her hand as I straightened up… and her hand brushed against me and stopped. “Well! Truly I did not intend to be provocative, old dear.”
I put an arm around her; she did not pull away but continued, “I won’t refuse you. I have not given a man reasonable cause to call me a tease since I was twelve. But wouldn’t it be sensible to table this until after we have rescued your mother and set up our business structure? If you find – then – that you are interested, you will let me know. If you do, I ask that you cooperate with me in saving my husband’s feelings and face. And… I am… having trouble saying this – Damn it! Please stop and tell me the plans for rescuing your mother.”
I stopped, allowed a hand’s width to separate us. “Have you forgotten the hat and the rabbit?”
“I’m afraid I did. Very well, you’ve won this round; we attempt to rescue your mother. I waive the broken contract – but we do no further business. Just the rescue, then we leave.”
“I thought you promised me a second chance – later?”
“What? Lazarus, you’re a bastard.”
“I’m not but the term has no meaning on Tertius. Here’s the ‘hat.’ You designate me your flunky – any title – for this ship. My sole function will be to be in earshot – through Dora or otherwise – to insure that your slightest wish is carried out. Night or day.”
“Making me a privileged figurehead, still vulnerable to your whim. The hat won’t fit.”
“Very well – second hat. We ground on Tertius; I move Dora into another ship – she accepts that; it has happened before. I sign this ship over to you with a new computer of the same capacity, programmed for ship’s routine but unawakened. You let it awaken to your personality. You’ll be its mother.”
“That’s better. Close but not on. Lazarus, you and I are going to be in business together a long time. I won’t take your ship. Instead you’re going to build me a ship, a tender for Gay Deceiver but moved by a Burroughs continua device – the first such ship built by Burroughs & Long, Ltd., a subsidiary of Carter Engineering Company. Another subsidiary is Carter Computers, which may assemble computers but primarily will build Burroughs Time-Space twisters under some innocuous name, and sell them only inside our complex setup – much more complex; we’ll work on it together. But our biggest subsidiary will be Libby & Smith, Real Estate. That one rebuilds solar systems.”
“What!!”
“Talk to Zebbie and Jacob. We’ll organize Black Hat Safaris, Pty., too, but it may be a dummy for a while. We’ll have an emporium in New Rome, imports from many universes. Uh… The Pawnshop, of course, with the Hook Joint above it. Ultra expensive imported styles up there, modelled by New Rome’s most beautiful hetaerae. Private rooms for private viewings. This one is a gift to Laz-Lor, save for the ten percent that is voting stock of which I vote my usual control, through you. The twins can do as they please with it; our leash will be slack. Probably they will do their own importing, with a resident manager. But they might work in it some, just to know the business.”
“Which business?”
“Both. They are grown women, Lazarus; you must not try to run their lives. The overall holding company, run by you and me, usual split with my one percent advantage, is a nonprofit corporation supporting Ishtar’s clinic. We funnel whatever is needed into the clinic, holding down the book profits elsewhere, but paying whopping salaries and consulting fees. My husband is chief scientist in one part while consultant by fee elsewhere, with Elizabeth – Lib – his mirror image elsewhere. Lazarus, we must have Deety work on it; she has the finest head in our family for manipulation of this sort – I’m just her awed pupil.”
“And I’m just your awed pupil!”
“Piffle again. Lazarus, from what I’ve read of you, your sole weakness lies in a delight in cheating for its own sake; Deety treats it as an intellectual art. One thing more – No, two things. Can you persuade Dora, as a favor to Ol’ Buddy Boy, to go along with the hoax until we deliver your mother to Ishtar? Make it a mammoth joke, under which she takes orders from me because she wants to be in on the fun. Take you out of arrest, of course; wipe it from her memory.”
“It was never in her memory; Lor put her in non-recording mode while the hooraw was on.”
“Good! Can you persuade her to call me ‘Commodore’ while you use some fancy title?”
“Hilda, I’m your chief of staff for this ship; Zeb is chief of staff, flagship. Dora doesn’t really understand ranks; I can tell her that ‘chief of staff’ is one notch senior to God. No problem. As long as she can see that you and I are buddy-buddy.”
“And we are!”
“It’s reassuring to hear that. Hilda, I underestimated you so badly that I’m still in a state of shock. What’s the last item?”
“Rejuvenation for all of us for as long as you – Ishtar – can stretch non-Howards.”
“I can promise that; I’m Board Chairman of the Clinic. But – Ishtar is not a magician. What’s the average age of death for your parents, grandparents, any ancestors you know about?”
“My family, both sides, are considered long-lived – although I lost my parents in a car crash. The others I don’t know about except that Deety’s mother died of cancer, much too young.”
“We can handle that.”
“Is longevity on Earth – our Earth, not yours – of interest? Same length of year as Old-Home-Terra; Deety and Lor checked.”
“Of course!”
“These figures apply to North America. Some other places are higher, some lower, some no data. Females. Menarche at thirteen plus-or-minus nine percent. Menopause at fifty-six to sixty-seven plus-or-minu -“
“Stop there! Average age of death, female?”
“One hundred seventeen. But males average eight years less. Sad. My own family averages higher, but only a few years. I don’t know about Jacob but he mentioned once that his great-grandfather got himself killed, in an odd fashion, at ninety-seven. He -“
“Enough. I must report this. By definition, all of you are ‘Missing Howards.'”
“But, Lazarus, that’s simply the average on Earth – our Earth, now that I know that there are thousands of analogs.”
“Doesn’t matter. Different universe, different time line – not my problem. Here you are a Howard. You four and all your descendants.”
Hilda smiled happily. “That’s cheerful news to a woman six weeks pregnant.”
“You?”
“And Deety. Same time and doesn’t show yet. Lazarus, I was tempted a while ago to tell you… because I was tempted. Now, now! Down, Rover! Outline to me how we rescue a woman dead for many centuries.”
“Hilda, someday I’m going to get you drunk.”
“Want to bet?”
“Never with you. There is mystery about my mother’s death. She appears to have been killed accidentally at a relatively young age, for a Howard. Just short of a hundred. I was notified as her purse I.D.’s named me as ‘next of kin’ – and I bawled like a baby for I had been planning to pay her a visit on her century day, July 4th, 1982. Instead I attended her funeral, flying to Albuquerque two weeks early.
“Nobody there but me. She was living alone under her maiden name, she and my father having separated thirty years earlier. But apparently she hadn’t listed her last address change with the Howard Foundation, hadn’t notified her other children. Howards are like that; they live so long that kinship is not enough reason to stay in touch. Closed casket and cremation – authorized by stuff in her purse; I never saw her body.
“But there was no doubt as to her I.D.’s and so forth. In my world, 1982 was a time when you couldn’t sneeze without carrying a thick pack of cards all, in effect, saying that you were you. I was feeling it because I was seventy later that year and looked thirty-five. Embarrassing. I had plans to drive south from Albuquerque, cross the border, and not come back until I had bought a new passport to match a new name.
“Hilda, it was over two thousand years later, in preparing for my first time trip, that I learned that my mother was not listed in the Archives as dead but simply as ‘record missing.'”
“The matter troubled me. A few years ago – my time – Laz-Lor took me back. Didn’t ground; a missile chased us and scared Dora silly. But I got a motion picture that seems to show the accident. There is a blur on the frames just before the first one that shows what I think is the corpse. Can you guess the size and shape?”
“Shan’t try, Lazarus.”
“As near as I can measure on a film a centimeter square, shot with a telephoto lens from too high because Dora was crying and wanting to go home, it is the size of that berth Gay Deceiver is in. Hilda, I think I photographed you rescuing my mother before you did it.”
“What? Lazarus, that’s -“
“Don’t say impossible. The Land of Oz is impossible. You’re impossible. I’m impossible. Who invented pantheistic multiperson solipsism? You did.”
“I wasn’t going to say ‘impossible.’ Now that you know that I’m pregnant, you will realize why I want to try to rescue your mother right away, before my belly starts growing where the seat belt crosses it. Her name was Marian? Marian Johnson Smith?”
“Maureen Johnson.”
“That proves that the real Lazarus Long stood up. It bothered me that there might be a series of analog-Lazarus-Longs like analog-Earths.”
“Wouldn’t bother me. That’s their problem.”
“But it would destroy the theory I worked out that would account for my sitting here in a pool of water in a time-travelling flying saucer with a fabulous man – both ways! – when I know he’s a fictional character in a book I read years back. That makes me a fictional character, too, but that doesn’t trouble me as I can’t read a novel with me in it, any more than you could read the one I read about you.”
“I came close to doing just that.”
“Don’t be mysterious, Lazarus.”
“I like wild stories. Used to read every one I could find in the Kansas City Public Library. On another time trip I picked up a magazine of a type you may never have seen. Read one installment of a serial. Ridiculous. Four people traveling in space in an airplane. At the end of that installment they are hailed by a flying saucer. Continued next month. Hilda, how do you think Dora was able to be at the right place at the right time when Gay Deceiver popped out of nowhere?”
“Where is that magazine?”
“Down the same destruction oubliette that recently received my best fake Scottish chief costume. If I had not learned long ago to dispose of casual fiction once I had read it, Dora would never be able to lift. Hilda, you explained it yoursel -“
“Hilda? Do you hear me” – her husband’s voice.
Her face lit up. “Yes, Jacob?”
“May I see you? I have a problem.”
I barely whispered, “I’ll get out,” and started to stand up. She pulled me back down. “Of course, Jacob dearest. I’m in the flag cabin. Where are you?”
“In our suite.”
“Come straight here.” She whispered to me, “Do we have a deal?” I nodded; she stuck out her hand; we shook on it. “Partners,” she whispered. “Details later. Maureen first.”
Her husband answered, “Hilda, I don’t know my way. And it’s a private matter.”
“Then you must come here, Jacob; this is the only private place in the ship. I’ve been talking business with Lazarus Long – business so private we had to talk here. No more trouble, dearest man, and we each get what we want. Come join us, we need you.”
“Uh… can he hear me?”
“Certainly. We’re having a bath together. Come join us. I want you to know all about the deal before we tell the children. I may need support on parts where we traded quid pro quo.”
Silence – “I’d better call back later.”
I said, “Doctor Burroughs, you want to talk privately with your wife; I will get out. But please understand that social bathing is as commonplace on my world as offering a friend a drink is on yours. I am here because the Commodore invited me and I assure you she is quite unharmed.”
Burroughs replied in a pained voice, “I know that custom and have utter faith in Hilda’s social judgment. Yes, I do need to speak to her… but I don’t mean to be surly. I’ll come up, or down, or across, and say hello. Please don’t leave before I get there. I’ll ask my way.”
“Dora will show you. Step into the corridor and wait. She’ll find you.”
“Very well, sir.”
“Dora, special.”
“Yes, Pappy?”
“Find Professor Burroughs. Lead him here. By the longest route. Slow march.”
“Aye aye, Pappy.”
I said hurriedly to Hilda, “I may know what this is; let me check. Lib?”
“Yes, Lazarus?”
“Are you alone?”
“In my stateroom alone. And lonely.” Lib added, “And upset.”
“So? Did you put the question to Professor Burroughs?”
“Yes. Lazarus, I had perfect opportunity. The one place Dora can’t see or hear. Inside Gay Deceiver’s space warp and – “
“Chop it, Lib! Did he turn you down?”
“No. But he didn’t say Yes. He’s gone to discuss it with his wife. That’s why I’m jittery.”
“Turn on the soother. I’ll call you back. Off.”
Hilda asked, “What’s the matter with Elizabeth?”
“I’ll make it short as even the longest route can’t take long. Lib is terribly anxious to have a child by the mathematician – your husband – who formulated the equations for six-dimensional positively-curved space. She thinks – and so do I – that they might produce a mathematician equal to, or even greater, than Lib or your husband. But she should have let Ishtar arrange it. She jumped the gun; I don’t know why -“
“I do! Elizabeth!”
Lib was slow in answering. “This is Elizabeth Long.”
“Hilda Burroughs here. Elizabeth, you come straight here. Flag cabin.”
“Commodore, are you angry with me? I meant no harm.”
“Dear, dear! You come to Mama Burroughs’ arms and let me pet you and tell you that you’re a good girl. Now! How far away are you?”
“Just around the curve. A few meters.”
“Drop everything and hurry. Lazarus and I are in the ‘fresher. In the pool. Come join us.”
“Uh, all right.”
“Hurry!”
Hilda asked, “How do I let them in? Run dripping and do it by hand? I noticed that our door lets anyone out but can’t be opened from the outside without help.” She added, “For that matter how do I get back in?”
“Dora knows you belong here. For the rest – Dora, admit Libby Long and Professor Burroughs.”
“Aye aye, Pappy. Lib – here she comes. Dr. Jacob Burroughs I’m fetching. How soon?”
Hilda said, “Two minutes.”
Lib hurried in, still unsmiling. Did smile when Hilda put her arms around her, smiled and cried at the same time. I heard Hilda crooning, “There, there, dear! It’s a wonderful idea; she’ll be the world’s greatest mathematician. A cute baby – something like Deety, something like you. Jacob! In here, darling! If you are wearing anything, chuck it; we’re in the pool.”
Seconds later the pool was filled to its rated capacity, Hilda with arms around both of them – kissed her husband, kissed Lib, said sternly to them, “Stop looking as if you were at a funeral! Jacob, this is what Jane would want – and it is what I want. Elizabeth, you aren’t crowding me out; I’m pregnant now. I’ll have my baby six weeks before you have yours. I’ve decided to ask Doctor Lafe Hubert to deliver my baby. Who are -“
“Hilda! I haven’t delivered a baby for over a century.”
“You have seven months in which to brush up. Doctor Lafe, are you refusing to attend me?”
“No, but – Jake, if Hilda will have her baby at the Clinic on Tertius, she will be in the hands of the most skilled obstetricians in this universe. Which I am not. I’m rusty. I -“
“Doctor, I think Hilda would settle for your holding her hand and standing by to help if needed. I think my daughter would like that, too. She may have her baby the same day as Hilda.”
“Sir, I will be honored. But I want to say something about this proposed baby, a cross between two all-time great mathematicians. I know that your world places value on monogamy. Howards do not; they can’t. But this need not violate your values. If you will make a deposit at the sperm bank at -“
“What?” Hilda Burroughs looked shocked. “Lazarus, are you talking about syringes and things like that. Done to Elizabeth?”
“Why, yes, I -“
She chopped me off. “Babies are not made with syringes! Babies are made with love! With little moans of happiness between two people who know exactly what they are doing and want to do it. Elizabeth, are you fertile today?”
“I should be. It’s time.”
“Then kiss me and tell me you want to do this. If you do.”
“Oh, I do, very much!”
There were kisses and tears all around. I got pulled into it, found myself kissing the prospective father. I gave him a chance to duck but he didn’t.
Our busy little stranger was still playing ringmaster. “Lazarus, what is that guest room across the cabin? Pastel colors?”
“Aurora Room.”
“Beloved husband, wrap a towel around this sweet, frightened child, take her there, lock the door behind you and make her happy. This suite is the only totally private place in this ship. If I lay eyes on either of you in less than one hour, I shall burst into tears. That doesn’t mean you can’t stay longer. I hope that you will come to dinner … but you are welcome to Aurora Room after dinner. Sweetheart, you must give her at least one chance each of the next three days; a woman’s timing can vary from her norm. Now git! Pick her up and carry her.”
Lib wouldn’t let Jake carry her. But she leaned into his arm. As they left the ‘fresher, she looked back with a happy smile and threw us a kiss.
Hilda caught it and ate it. Then she said to me, “Help me out, please, dear.”
I lifted her out, sat her on the edge, climbed out myself. She patted the padded deck, said, “I think this is better than that chaise longue. If we happen to be caught it wouldn’t embarrass me and should not embarrass you; in these circumstances Jacob would be relieved rather than upset.” She smiled, eased her sweet thighs, put up her arms. “Now?”
“Yes!”
“Anything you want, including back rubs. Lazarus, does it excite you knowing what is going on a few meters away? It does me!”
“Yes! But I don’t need it – Hilda, you’re superb!”
“Not in looks, certainly. So I try hard with what I have. Sold myself three times – did my best to make my contract-husbands each feel that he had received full value… then married dear Jacob for love and am trying still harder with him. He is good – I mean he is good all through. I hope Elizabeth appreciates him. You’ve had her?”
“Yes.”
“Before or after the change?”
“Both. I miss the ‘before,’ appreciate the ‘after.”
“Then why won’t you knock her up?”
“That’s a family joke. She had her first child by me, is now making the rounds of our family, more or less. Woman, you are not here to talk! – I’m almost there!”
She looked delighted. “I’m climaxing steadily; let ‘er rip!” – and bit my chin.
An indefinitely long time later that need not be detailed, we were resting in each other’s arms, enjoying that delicious peace of the ebbing tide. Hilda saw them first, raised her head:
“Jacob beloved! Did you! Lib – Did my sweetheart put a baby in you?”
“Did he! Hilda, you do that every night? Little bitty like you? Less than two hours and darling Jacob has worn me out.”
“I’m a hollow mockery, dear. Built for it. Tell her, Jacob.”
“My darling is adaptable, Libby dear. Lazarus, did Hilda treat you nicely?”
“I died happy.”
“He’s not dead” – Hilda made a long arm, cupped a handful of water, threw it in my face, giggled. The suggestion she added I rejected with dignity – as much dignity as one can manage when two women are tumbling one into a tub of water… while one’s male comrade stands by and laughs.

Chapter XLIV

” – where do we get the corpse?”

Zeb:
“The question,” said my wife Deety, “is where do we get the corpse? With timing that precise, Gay can make the pickup. But a corpse has to be left behind. Lazarus, not only do your movies show it, but you remember Maureen’s death; you went to her funeral. It’s got to be a fresh corpse of an elderly woman that the cops will accept as Maureen Johnson.”
Six of us – Deety, me, Jake, Sharpie, Lazarus, and Libby – were seated around our kitchen dining table at “New Harbor” (our wives accepted that compromise) in Beulahland, trying to make plans for the “snatch.” “Snatch” in the literal sense if the rescue of Maureen Johnson were to succeed.
Lazarus had a motion picture that showed that we would succeed (had succeeded) (were about to succeed) at a precise time and place and date on an analog of Earth-zero one quantum away on ‘t’ axis.
Easy! Success guaranteed. Can’t miss. Do it blindfolded.
But suppose we did miss?
The frames showed that a roadable had passed through the space where Gay had been (would be?) grounded, and, in so doing, ran over (would run Over) (will run over) (is, was, and forever will be running over) the dumped corpse. Suppose the timing or placement was offjust a touch. On his first time travel (1916-1918 Old-Home-Terra), with Dora piloting, Lazarus had missed not by a split second but by three years.
Lazarus had pointed out that it was his fault, not Dora’s; he had fed her imperfect data – and we had jumped on him from five sides: It was not a question of “whose fault” but the fact a mistake could be made. Or could it?
Four mathematicians, one mathematical engineer (yeah, I include me, as resident expert in Gay’s responses), and one intuitionist all disagreed.
Hilda was certain that nothing could go wrong.
I am a firm believer in Murphy’s Law: Given any possible chance, it will go wrong. Anything.
Libby had been wholeheartedly converted both to Jake’s six-axis plenum of universes to the awful Number of the Beast but also to Sharpie’s multiple solipsism, and asserted that they were two sides of the same coin; one was a corollary of the other and vice versa. Combined, they (it) constituted the ultimate total philosophy: science, religion, mathematics, art, in one grand consistent package. She spoke of a “ficton” being a quantum of imagination/reality (“imaginary” being identical with “real” whatever that is) as casually as a physicist speaks of photons. “Could a mistake be made? Yes. And would create a new universe. Jacob, you spoke of the empty universes your family had visited. One by one they fill as fictons are created.” She added, “But a mistake was not made; we snatched Maureen safely. We ourselves create the fictions-fictons-ficta that will make it real.”
She was euphoric. I attributed it to excitement over the coming adventure. I was mistaken.
Lazarus, a highly competent mathematician although not the unique that Jake is or Libby, was in this case not a calm abstractionist; his mood was grim determination to win or die trying – causing me to recall how he got his arse shot off.
Jake turned out to be a determinist (he himself being one universe’s prime example of utter, rambunctious free will!).
Deety is a pragmatic mathematician, unworried by theory. Oz is real, she is real, “fictons” don’t interest her. “Don’t fret, Lazarus. We can do it, Gay can do it – and we won’t do it until Gay is certain of her program.”
This discussion had started midafternoon in Dora. Sharpie had worked out her difficulties with Lazarus (to my enormous relief; were those two to wind up on opposite sides in anything more serious than Parcheesi, I yearn to be elsewhere – say Timbuktu under an assumed name); she, Jake, Lazarus, and Libby were in the flag cabin, arguing, when Sharpie had Dora page Deety and me.
There were endless matters on the agenda (including the preposterous notion that we four were ‘Missing Howards’ and that Lazarus was registering us as such. I’m not sure I want to live a thousand years or even two hundred. But I am sure of this: a) I want to live quite a piece; and b) I want to be alert, healthy, and active right up to the last. Not like my great-grandfather who had to be spoonfed at a hundred and five, and could not control his secretions. But the Howards have got that whipped: you stay young as long as you wish, then die by choice when you feel you’ve had your full run.
(Yes, I was willing to be a ‘Found Howard’ since it included Deety, plus little Deeties ad infinitum.)
Lots of other business, all of it postponed (including the problem of “Black Hats”), in order to deal with rescuing Maureen Johnson.
We were still discussing knotty aspects when Lor’s voice said: “Commodore?”
“Yes, Captain?” Sharpie had answered.
“Ma’am, I hesitate to disturb you -“
“Quite all right, Lor. The Captain must always be able to reach me.”
“Uh, Ma’am, Dora told me that she was forbidden to call you. She has for you a variety of New Rome styles for women and men, a military uniform for Doctor Jacob, and one for Doctor Zebadiah, and evening formals for Doctor Elizabeth and Doctor Deety – and she’s not sure where to send any of them.”
“Send all the clothes to the flag cabin, please.”
“Yes, Ma’am. They should be appearing in your delivery cupboard now. Do you know where that is?”
“I’ll find it. What are you and your sister wearing tonight? Or is it a secret?”
“It’s not a secret; we just haven’t decided. But there is still an hour and thirty-one minutes till dinner.”
“Time enough to pick out pretty clothes. Or will you wear formal skin tonight? That takes anywhere from two seconds to two hours, does it not? Off.”
Sharpie used an unusually rough expression of disgust, which told me that she now included Lib and Lazarus in her inner circle. “Woodie, do you know any exceptionally strong cuss words? I detest the thought of wasting time pretending to be festive when we have so much to settle, especially our procedures for Maureen.”
Deety looked at Libby. “You and I are kind o’ stuck with a promise, too. How about some new cuss words from you, too?”
“Deety, I have no literary talent. But I would like to hear some soul-soothing cussing. We ought to stick with this, with snacks to keep going and sleep when we must, until it’s perfect. Three hours or three days or three weeks.”
I said, “We shall!”
Sharpie shook her head. “Zebbie, you can skip dinner. I can’t. Lazarus should appear, too.”
He agreed. “I’m afraid I must. But, Commodore, I must advise you that your flag chief of staff should be present, too, for esprit de corps.” He cleared his throat noisily. “Libby and Jacob, being passengers, could skip.”
Lib shook her head. “Deety and I made a reckless promise.”
Not being a genius myself, it’s kind of fun to make a roomful of ’em look silly. I stood up. “No! We will not let a dinner party interfere! We can settle it within three days. But if you all are going to chase rabbits – What’s the matter with you, Sharpie? Getting stupid in your old age?”
“Apparently I am, Zebbie.” She said to Lazarus, “Please issue orders cancelling dinner. We’ll stay with this until we finish it. There are beds and lounges whenever anyone needs to nap. But we won’t adjourn. Three hours or three weeks. Or longer.”
“Don’t cancel dinner, Sharpie.”
“Zebbie, you have me confused.”
“Beulahland is on a different time axis.”
Five minutes later we were in our old farmhouse. We hadn’t stopped for clothes as we would have wasted twenty minutes, whereas the idea was to save time on that axis, use time on this axis. We stuck Lazarus and Libby back in the after space, with the bulkhead door dogged open, so they could see and hear, but required them to use the web straps, and cautioned them that the lumps under them were loaded firearms.
The only thing not routine was that we would be making rendezvous later with a moving ship, something we had done before only from bounce range in the same space-time. So I had asked Gay whether she was sure she could do it. She assured me that she could, because she wasn’t concerned with the ship’s vector; she would return the instant she left.
I turned to Commodore-now-Captain Sharpie. “Ready for space, Captain.”
“Thank you, Astrogator. Gay Deceiver. Beulahland. Execute. Gay Deceiver, open your doors. All hands, unbelt. Disembark. Gay, it’s sleepy time. Over.”
“Goodnight, Hilda. Roger and out.”
Our passengers were dazed – they all are, first time. They stood outside our barn, looking at the setting sun, acting like zombies, until I shooed them inside. Although Beulahland does not have body taboos, they wear clothes most of the time, and six naked people outdoors in a clump as the chill of the evening was coming on was odd. I like a low profile.
Once inside, Libby said, “Feels like Arkansaw.”
Lazarus replied. “Feels like Mizzoura.”
“Neither,” I told them. “It would be the State of Washington if it weren’t Beulahiand, and what ought to be Puget Sound is about a kilometer over that way.”
“It still feels like home. Lazarus, I’m happy here.”
At that moment I decided we would never give up New Harbor. Apparently we were going to be citizens of Tertius, or maybe New Rome on Secundus, or both (commuting is no problem when light-years mean nothing), on another time axis. We could take a rest from city life anytime and have it cost not one day’s work on Tertius. Contrariwise, only such time would pass on New World as we spent there.
Hmm – Maybe we could sell vacations. Or extra study time for that student who has his big exam, the one he must pass, tomorrow morning. Sell him room and board and transportation and three weeks not in the calendar. At a slight markup, of course.
I built a cheerful fire in the fireplace, and Lazarus washed dishes, while Libby insisted on proving that she could cook on a wood range, even though she had learned centuries ago by her time scale, as a gangling boy. Yes, Elizabeth can cook.
We ate and sat around and talked, puzzling how to be sure of Maureen. Not make that one tiny mistake, It was then that Deety brought up the matter of the dead body. You’ve seen how accurate Gay can be but where do we get a freshly-dead corpse to replace Maureen?
Lazarus told her to forget it, “I provide the corpse.”
“That’s not a good answer, Lazarus.”
“Deety, don’t worry. It’ll be dead and I will dump it.” I said, “Lazarus, I don’t like that answer a damn bit.” “Nor do I,” Jake seconded.
“Nor I,” agreed Sharpie. “Woodie, you’re asking us to make a snatch – a hanging offense many places, bad trouble anywhere. We don’t mind the technicality; saving an old woman’s life isn’t the sin kidnapping is. But what about this freshly-dead corpse? We don’t deal in murder.”
Lazarus glowered.
Libby said hastily, “If I assure you that it is all right, will you let it go at that?”
“No,” pronounced Sharpie, “Woodie must come clean.”
“All right, all right! I own this corpse. No murder or any other crime involved. Now will you quit riding me about it?”
“Jake?”
“I don’t like it, Zeb.”
“I don’t, either. But we needn’t do anything. We go limp. He may not last long in a culture that ‘balances.'”
“Possible. But that’s his problem.”
Sharpie said quickly, “Did either of you promise him a ride back to my ship?”
“Whose ship?”
“My ship, Woodie. Gentlemen?”
“I didn’t promise him. Did you. Jake?”
“No. Did you, Deety? Hilda?”
“Not me, Pop.”
“Nor me, Jacob. Woodie, earlier today I thought you had seen the light. Conceded, ‘I am but indifferent honest’ myself. But even pirates need to feel safe with their shipmates. You and I shook hands as partners. You don’t seem to understand what that means. However I’m not going to abandon you here. You’d be balanced in a week. Dead. Or worse. So we’ll take you back. By the way, it is impossible to steal Gay Deceiver. Yes, I know you once stole a ship enormously bigger than Gay. But not as well protected.”
“Lazarus! Tell them.”
“Lib, I was waiting for the Commodore to finish. That corpse wasn’t murdered because it was never alive other than as a vegetable.” Lazarus looked embarrassed.
“About thirty years ago we started a medical school on Tertius. A one-horse deal, more of a branch of the clinic. But genetic engineering is taught, and student genetic surgeons must practice. Ordinarily a clone that goes bad is killed and frozen and its tissues studied. A clone that takes – shows no fault, no deviation – is either cared for and allowed to develop if its genetic source wants a spare body and will pay for it. Or, more likely, a healthy clone is purely a laboratory exercise – an ethical medical school requires supervised destruction during the first pseudo trimester, before quickening shows in the wave form.
“Neither student nor tissue donor is likely to be upset by this quasi-abortion, as the student is almost always herself the donor – if it bothers her, she’s in the wrong vocation.
“If the student is not the donor, emotional upset is hardly possible. The student thinks of the clone as a quasi-living histological specimen the usefulness of which is at end – and the tissue donor can’t be upset, being unaware of it.”
“Why so, Lazarus? If anybody is tinkering with my cells, I want to know about it, I do!”
“Deety, that tissue may be years, even centuries, old; the donor may be parsecs away. Or still warm and the donor just leaving the building. Or anything in between. A sperm-and-ova bank insures the future of the race; a tissue bank insures the future of the individual. But somebody has to pick up the check; it’s a tanstaafl situation. A few of the very wealthy – and neurotic – always have a quickened but unawakened clone in stasis. I’m wealthy but not neurotic; I don’t have a reserve clone.”
I caught sight of Libby’s face as Lazarus made that last statement – her mouth twitched in a half smile about to become (I think) a snicker, had she not suppressed all expression. No one but I caught it.
I made note to ask her about it later – then I remembered what the mouse told the cat and decided not to.
“But I do what any prudent Howard does; I have tissue on deposit. One may do this either of two ways: Pay high … or pay much lower and sign a release on half the donation for research and instruction.” He grinned. “I’m stingy. My tissue is available to medical students.”
He went on, “Not all medical schools are ethical. I can think of at least three planets where – ” Lazarus looked directly at my wife. “Deety, you raised this issue. While I can think of three planets where one can buy any sort of monster, I can think of at least thirty where, for a much lower fee, I could simply say, ‘I want that one'” – he pointed at Sharpie – “and the answer would be, ‘It’s a deal, Mac. How freshly dead and when do you want delivery?”
Sharpie looked around behind herself as if to see at whom Lazarus had pointed.
“That’s the cheapest way -“
“Then you weren’t pointing at me!” Sharpie interrupted. “Woodie, it’s not polite to point. For a moment you had me worried. I’m never cheap – highpriced, always.”
“So I found out, Commodore. Deety, that’s cheapest, and safe for the buyer in the places I have in mind. But how can I convince you that I never gave even a moment’s consideration to that method? You seem to know a lot about me – more than I know about any of you. Is there anything that you have ever read or heard, anything that I’ve said or done, that would cause you to think that I would murder or contract for a murder – same but nastier – in order to further my own ends? I’m not saying that I have never killed. A man who has lived even half as long as I have has found himself more than once in a kill-or-be-killed situation. But the best way to deal with such a situation is not to get into it. Anticipate it. Avoid it.”
Lazarus Long stopped and looked sad, and for the only time of my acquaintance with him, looked his age. I do not mean he suddenly looked decrepit. But he had an aura of ancient sorrow. “Professor Burroughs, if it would do any good, I would junk all my plans, accept being forever stranded here, for the privilege of taking a twenty-pound sledge and smashing your space-time twister.”
I was shocked (damn it, I like good machinery). Jake looked hurt, Deety and Sharpie looked stunned.
Jake said tightly, “Lazarus… why?”
“Not to hurt you, Professor; you have my highest respect. You are one of three: the man who invented the wheel, the man who discovered how to use fire – and you. But, in making this supreme discovery, you have accomplished something I had thought impossible. You have made interstellar war logistically practical. Interstellar? Intergalactic – interuniversal!”
Lazarus suddenly straightened up, threw off his gloom, grinned. “All the King’s horses and all the King’s men can’t close Pandora’s Box again. Once it hits the fan, the only thing to do is sweep it up, package it, and sell it as fertilizer. Hilda has plans along that line. But I’m going to have to start thinking in military terms again. Figure out how to defend my home place against what appears to be that Ultimate Weapon much talked about but never achieved. I am glad to say that Hilda plans to keep it a close-held secret as long as possible; that may buy us time.”
He turned his attention back to my wife. “Deety, I have never murdered, I never will. The nearest I ever came to it was once being sorely tempted to strangle a five-year-old boy. I admit that the thought has often passed through my mind that this character or that would look his best as the centerpiece of a funeral. But can I convince you that I have never acted on such thoughts? Think hard, please – all that you know of me. Am I capable of murder?”
Deety doesn’t dither. (Remember how we got married?) She jumped up, hurried around our kitchen table, and kissed Lazarus – and stopped hurrying. It was a kiss that calls for a bed, or even a pile of coal – had there not been urgent business before the house.
Deety broke from it, sat down beside him, and said, “Tell us how we get this unmurdered fresh corpse. It’s clear that we’re going to have to go pick it up – in Gay. So we must know.”
Libby said gently, “Lazarus, this is what you have been avoiding. May I tell it?”
“Thanks, Lib. No, you would pretty it up. I -“
“Pipe down!” said Deety. “Elizabeth, give us the straight word. Briefly.”
“Very well. The medical school of B.I.T. is as ethical as you will find. My sister-wife Ishtar is director of the rejuvenation clinic and chairman of the board of the medical school, and still finds time to teach. I have never seen Maureen Johnson as I was born about two centuries after she was. But she iS Supposed to resemble Laz and Lor – unsurprising; she is their genetic mother, since they were cloned from Lazarus.”
“Oh! I see. There is still a third clone from Lazarus. Female?”
“A spoiled one, Deety. Ishtar tells me that it is difficult, rather than otherwise, to get a bad clone from Lazarene tissue… so it is especially suitable for induced mutation experiments. She orders the destruction of these experiments when they have served their purpose.”
“Deety said to make it brief,” growled Lazarus.
Lib ignored him. “But, while Ishtar checks on the students, no one checks on her. For twenty years Ishtar watched for a clone that would look human but not be human. So deficient in forebrain that it could never be anything but a vegetable, unaware. She told me that her students had unknowingly provided her with dozens to work on. Usually they died too soon, or never developed human appearance, or had some other fault that made them unusable. But several years ago she succeeded. I testify that this thing looked like Laz and Lor as it passed through the stage of its forced development… and also that it looked like an older version, wrinkled and hair streaked with gray, when it died two Tertian years ago -“
“Huh? ‘Fresh corpse’!”
” – and was quick-frozen at once. I testify to something else. Friends, in becoming a woman I acquired an interest in biology that I had not had, as a male. While I teach math at B.I.T., I am also staff mathematician to the clinic and have studied a bit of human biology. When I say that this spoiled clone was never alive in any real sense I speak as the mathematical biologist who checked its monitors’ records daily. It always required full metabolic support; we monitored everything. The surprising thing is that Ishtar could keep it alive long enough to let it appear to age. But Ishtar is very skillful.” Libby added, “Lazarus would not only have become upset in telling this, but he could not have told it first hand as Ishtar refused to permit Lazarus to see this spoiled clone or any records on it.”
“A willful woman,” said Lazarus. “In three seconds I could have told Ish whether or not this thing looked enough like my mother to be useful. Instead I must depend on the opinions of people who have never laid eyes on my mother. Damn it, I am owner of record of the clinic and Chairman Regent of all B.I.T. Does that count with Ishtar? Hilda, my senior wife is as tough a case as you are… and looks as little like it as you do.”
“So? It will be interesting to see what happens when I am your junior wife,” Sharpie answered at her pertest.
“Are you going to be my junior wife?” Lazarus swung around and looked at her husband. “Jake?”
“I don’t think I have a vote,” my blood brother answered easily.
“I’ll automatically be your junior wife if we are invited to join the Long Family which we damn well ought to be if we make this work!” Sharpie said indignantly.
“Wait a half!” I put in. “If we are invited to join the Long Family – a tall assumption if I ever saw one – Deety would be junior. Not you, you elderly baggage.”
“Hillbilly can be junior if she wants to be. I don’t mind.”
“Deety,” I said, “are you serious? I’ve been trying to point out to your stepmother that you don’t push your way into a family.”
“I wasn’t pushing, Zebadiah,” my wife answered. “I want us to stay on Tertius at least until we have our babies, and possibly make it our home; it seems to be a pleasant place and should be free of ‘Black Hats’ – no skin taboos. But that doesn’t mean that the Longs have to have us in their laps.”
“I intend to nominate you, Zebadiah,” Libby told me. “All four of you. And I hope you four accept. But, Deety twin, you know what I’m attempting. With your father.”
“Yes, I know. I’m cheering for it.”
“Your husband must hear this. Deety, I still have that Y chromosome in every cell even though it has been so inhibited by hormone balance that I don’t notice it. You and I could try for a mathematical-genius baby, too.”
“Huh! Which one of us supplies the penis?”
“Ishtar does. Neither of us would be host-mother, the way it would be done. But any of my sister-wives would supply womb room if she didn’t happen to be pregnant. Or the host-mother could be a stranger we would never meet and the child’s family-parents strangers, too – all handled by Ishtar who always reads the relevant genetic charts before approving anything.”
“Zebadiah?”
I said without hesitation, “It’s up to you, hon. I’m in favor of it; it makes sense. But don’t lose track of the child. Elizabeth, I want to adopt the baby ahead of time. Hmm – Bottle baby… but the formulas are probably better now. Not here-now. Tertius there-then-now.”
“‘Bottle baby’? Oh! No longer done; a baby needs to suckle. But there is usually spare milk around the Longs’. If I’m lactating I always have excess; I turn out to be a good milch cow despite that extra chromosome. But Deety can nurse our child if she wishes to; causing a woman to come fresh with milk without bearing a child is a minor biochemical manipulation today – Tertian-today. Professional wet nurses do it regularly and are likely to be in that vocation because they love babies but can’t have ’em themselves for some reason.”
“Sounds good.” (What sounded best was this: a baby Deety is a wonderful idea – but a baby Deety who is also a baby Libby is sure to be wonderful squared. Cubed!)
“While I’m on this and no one here but family – Jacob, there is no reason not to create a third mathematical supergenius by crossing you with your daughter.”
I was looking at my wife, thinking pleasant thoughts about baby Deety-Libby, when Elizabeth dropped this bomb – and Deety shut down her face. It’s not an unpleasant expression; it’s a no-expression, a closed door, while Deety sorts out her thoughts.
So I looked at Jake, in time to see his face shift from surprise to shock. “But that’s -“
“Incest?” Libby supplied. “No, Jacob, incest is a social matter. Whether you bed your daughter is none of my business. I’m speaking of genes, of still another way to conserve mathematical genius. Ishtar would scan your charts most carefully and would resort to chromosome surgery if there was the slightest chance of double dosage of a bad allele. But you and your daughter could see Ishtar on different days and never know anything about the outcome. Your genes are not your property; they come from your race. This offers opportunity to give them back to the race with your highest talent reinforced… without loss to anyone. Think about it.”
Jake looked at me, then at his daughter. “Deety?”
She added no-expression voice to no-expression face – but directed her answer to me: “Zebadiah, this is necessarily up to you and Jacob.” I’m not sure that anyone but Sharpie noticed that she had not said “Pop.”
Deety added at once with total change in manner, “First things first! Maureen’s rescue. All of you are stuck in a rut of time sequence. Oh, the minor problem of keeping clear of Dora and the missile both times. Routine.” (And I was hit by a satori.)
Lazarus answered, “But Deety, I promised Dora never again to take her anywhere near Albuquerque.”
Deety sighed. “Lib?”
“Frames one-thirteen through seven-seven-two, then seven-seven-three through one thousand and two?”
“Precisely. And precisely it must be, too. I’m timing it by that yellow open roadable approaching from the other direction. What are you using?”
“The same one. Easy to spot and its speed never varies.”
Lazarus said, “Jake, do you know what they are saying?”
“Yes and no. They are treating it as two problems. But we lack three seconds of time enough to dump one and snatch the other. Those – traffic lights, you called them? – leave that intersection clear by a measured interval, clocked by your camera.”
Sharpie suddenly grinned; I nodded to her to take it. She did. “Deety and Libby are saying that we do it twice. First, we rescue Maureen. Then we come back and dump the corpse.”
I added, “But the second time we don’t ground. Jake, I’m going to ask you to move over – Deety moves to my seat. We’ll dump the dead meat so that it hits the ground between frames seven-seven-two and seven-seven-three. I’ll be on manual and hovering. I need to know where Dora is and where that missile is and need to be sure of the acceleration of gravity, Earth-Prime. Because that corpse will already be falling, right over our heads, while we are making the snatch. Close timing. Mmm – Gay can fly herself more precisely than I can. I think that Deety and I will write a program… then I’ll be on override-suspenders and belt.”
Jake added, “Zeb, I see the procedure. But, if we are hovering for the drop while we are also on the ground, why aren’t we shown in the photographs?”
“May be in some of them. Doesn’t matter. Deety, when do we do this? Cancel. Sharpie? Your orders, Captain?”
Deety and Sharpie swapped glances. Then they sounded like Laz-Lor, with Sharpie leading. “Now to bed. It’s almost midnight in our biological time, slightly later in local time.”
“We do both jobs after breakfast,” Deety responded. “But sleep as late as we can. Be sharp and on our toes. ‘Minds me. Just one ‘fresher, quite primitive. But the two in Gay are as available here as anywhere; since they are actually in Oz. Six people, three pots, not difficult.”
“And three beds,” added Sharpie. “Jacob, kiss us goodnight and take Lib to bed. Master bedroom and good luck! Use my toothbrush, Lib hon – anything else you need?”
“No. A good cry, maybe. I love you, Hilda.”
“If I didn’t love you, Elizabeth, I wouldn’t be Madam of this joint. We’ll cry together the day Ishtar tells us you’ve caught. Now shoosh! Scat! Kiss us and go to bed.”
As they headed upstairs Sharpie said to me, “Zebbie, give Deety a pre-amnesty so that she can try out Lazarus and find out whether she wants to be junior wife.”
I tried to look amazed. “Deety, haven’t you tried Lazarus yet?”
“You know darn well I haven’t! When have I had time?”
“From a woman who specializes in programming time machines that is a silly question. Lazarus, she’s already knocked up, so don’t fret about it. One warning: She bites.”
“The best ones always do.”
“Hush. Kiss us good-night, dears. Zebbie, open the couch in the living room; that’s where you’re going to keep me warm.”
“But who’s going to keep me warm? A skinny little runt like you?”
Sharpie bites.

Chapter XLV

A Stitch in Time

Jake:
We popped out one klick H-above-G over Albuquerque, Earth-Prime, and Gay tilted her nose down. A last-minute change put my daughter Deety at copilot, while I sat left rear, nominal navigator. Deety can use verniers as accurately as I, did not expect to use them at all, did need to be able to see the yellow roadable – and has this clock in her head.
Elizabeth Long was in the after compartment, strapped down but not on lumps of ordnance. Rifles, pistols, bed clothes for the control compartment, anything else that could be moved easily to reduce clutter, had been shifted into our space warp, as had Lazarus Long.
Doctor Ishtar had warned Lazarus not to let his mother recognize him, as the shock to her might be harmful, even fatal. While Lazarus had been trying to figure out how to make the snatch using Dora, he had planned on wearing disguise. But hiding in our Land-of-Oz addition was simpler-especially as Ishtar was almost as anxious that Lazarus not see his mother, not see his mother’s pseudo corpse – this I learned from Elizabeth in the night.
So I showed Lazarus the everlasting picnic basket, advised him to use bed clothes to make a shakedown and sleep if possible as there would be time to kill, and supplied him with books – but don’t come out until I open the door! Then did not mention that I was locking him in.
I was relieved to have only a nominal job. I was not sleepy despite a short night – I was bemused.
I was falling in love with – had fallen in love with – Elizabeth Long. No less in love with Hilda – more in love with her than ever! I am learning that love does not subtract – it multiplies!
As Gay tilted down I reached over and touched Hilda’s hand. She smiled and threw me a kiss. I’m sure she had a sweet night; she has loved Zeb as long as she has known him. “As a loyal chum,” she tells me – but Hilda holds to the Higher Truth that it is better to be kind than to be frank. It did not matter either way; Zeb is my blood brother beloved by me, perfect husband for my daughter, and, if not Hilda’s lover in the past, then he surely was now – and it troubled me not at all. On awakening I had discussed it with Jane before I opened my eyes – Jane approves and is delighted by Elizabeth.
My daughter had an unusual night, too. If the myths are true, Lazarus is more than one hundred times as old as Deety. This gulf may not matter to him – but Deety takes everything seriously.
Apparently it had done her no harm; at breakfast she was bright-eyed and bubbly. All of us were euphoric and eager to get on with it.
Zeb was saying, “That’s it! Got it in the gunsight – got the range, Smart Girl?”
“Got it nailed, Boss!”
“Keep it so. Deety! Yellow roadable?”
“Just spotted it. Gay, count down! Six… Five… Four… Three… Two… One… Now!”
We were diagonally in that intersection; Gay’s portside door was popping open. I heard Zeb say, “Oh, my God!” He was out of the car, kneeling, picking up a body, kicking a cop in the stomach, and throwing that body to me, as he scrambled inside and shouted, “GayBounce!”
Gay bounced. Gay is not supposed to lift with a door open and “Bounce!” means ten klicks. She bounced one klick, finished closing her door, waited while Zeb checked the seal – completed the bounce. I am now a believer.
I was passing this little old lady back to Elizabeth, and looking for resemblance to Lazarus when I heard Zeb moan, “I didn’t get her purse, I didn’t get her purse!”
“What of it?” said Deety. “It’s where we want it. Gay Deceiver. Tertius Orbit. Execute.”
A beautiful planet –
Zeb was saying, “Lib, can you coach us? Or are you too busy?”
“Not that busy. Maureen fainted but her heart is strong and steady, and I have a strap holding her. Is Gay on frequency?”
Deety reported, “Right on. Go ahead, Lib.”
The next I can’t report; it was in Galacta. Then Elizabeth said, “We’ll be passing over Boondock in three minutes twenty-two seconds. Roof of the clinic is designated. Shall I come forward and point it out?”
“Can you handle yourself in free fall?” Zeb asked.
“I’ve some experience. Eight centuries.”
“My big mouth. Come forward.”
In four or five minutes we grounded on a flat roof in a wooded part of a moderately large city. I saw a figure in a white coverall, plus two others with a wheeled stretcher – and only then did I recall that none of us had dressed. Hilda had asked; Lazarus had vetoed, Elizabeth had concurred.
So I found myself bare to my ears, bowing over a lady’s hand and saying, “I am honored, Doctor Ishtar.”
She is indeed beautiful – a Valkyrie sculptured from cream and marshmallow and honey. She smiled and kissed my hand.
Elizabeth said something in this other language; Ishtar smiled again and said, in careful, fluent English, “In that case, he is one of us” – took my head in her hands and kissed me thoroughly.
Ishtar so distracted me that I did not notice that Maureen had been handed out – awake but dazed – been rolled away, and was gone. All of us were thoroughly and carefully kissed, then Elizabeth discussed matters with Ishtar in Galacta. “Ish says that she has been slowly warming the thing. It is now at four degrees Celsius. She would like more time but will bring it to thirty-seven degrees Celsius in six hours if she must.”
Deety said, “How about twenty-four hours?”
Ishtar was pleased at this, agreed that she understood that the substitute must be dressed in the patient’s (client’s) clothing, agreed that the space we were in would be kept clear – and asked, “What’s that pounding noise?”
Elizabeth explained that it was Lazarus. “He is in a magic space warp about where we were standing. He knows that he is supposed to remain there, but he changed his mind – and has just discovered that he is locked in.”
Ishtar’s smile suddenly became a grin, as quickly left. “A magic space warp? Lib, I want to hear about that.”
“You will.”
We climbed back inside, Deety told Gay “Twenty-four hours” – and we stepped out again. Ishtar was lying on a pad, taking the sun… this time as bare as we were – and I was still more impressed.
“Right on time,” she said, standing (taller than I am) and, as always, smiling. “The substitute is waiting, and I have had time to examine and talk with the client. She is in good shape for her age, understands in part at least what has happened, and is undismayed by it. Please tell Lazarus that, if he returns to Tertius soon, he will not be admitted to this building for seventeen months. The client is most firm: she will not see Lazarus until I have completed rejuvenating her.”
“Lib,” said my daughter Deety, “seventeen what sort of months? I want to set an exact rendezvous – and Gay’s time calibration is not Tertian but Earth-Prime and Earth-zero. Old Home Terra.” With Elizabeth as interface the three agreed on an exact time. Then Elizabeth again discussed something in that language.
Ishtar nodded. “No problem, I have seen that picture. And a hooded cape is even less trouble.”
So we left.
Dropping that pseudo corpse was routine but I was glad to be quit of it (I had swapped seats with my daughter). Then we were back on Tertius.
“Always prompt,” said Ishtar – and I was astounded to see that she was quite pregnant, close to birthing … when I had seen her, slender for her height, two minutes earlier. “And we are on time, too. Maureen, my friends and yours.” She named us.
Maureen Johnson spoke to us first in Galacta, shifted to English when she realized that we did not know the common tongue. Yes, she does look like Laz and Lor – but prettier. A woman of beauty and great charm. I find that I am growing accustomed to perfect ladies who embrace, bare body to bare body, on meeting a fully-vouched-for stranger. She thanked each of us and made us believe it.
“Still pounding?” Ishtar inquired.
“It has been less than five minutes for him, Ish,” Elizabeth explained. “But you know his temper; perhaps we had better leave. Home soon, I think.”
So we left again, with Maureen squeezed between me and my wife, with a package and a cloak in her lap. We were back inside Dora at once. Elapsed time: zero seconds. We still had an hour and twenty minutes to prepare for dinner. I found that I was hungry, even though breakfast was three hours ago, biological time – almost all of it spent in Beulahland, programming for the caper, as all three phases took only a few durational minutes, mostly on a rooftop in Boondock.
Maureen put on the cloak, a hooded cape, and carried the little package. “Silly but fun,” she said. “Where do we go now?”
“Come with me,” Hilda told her. “Beloved, you can let Woodie out as soon as Dora tells Gay that I have reached flag cabin. When he yelps, tell him that we were too busy to play games with him… and the next time he wants a favor from me he can crawl on his knees. Pounding indeed! Tell him that I am extremely tired and am going to nap until just before dinner and he is not to call me or to come to the flag cabin between now and dinner without suffering my extreme displeasure and a punch in the nose from you. All of you come up to flag cabin as soon as you wish but try not to be seen by Woodie. You’ll probably find Maureen and me in the lounging pool.”

Chapter XLVI

“I’m gifted with second sight.”

Deety:
When the Hillbilly stages a production, she doesn’t stint. By protocol decreed by Lazarus Long, dinner in Dora is formal, but with wide latitude in “formal” – casual dress being the only thing utterly verboten. Dinner is preceded by a happy hour where one can sip Coca-Cola or get roaring drunk.
Aunt Hilda changed all that for this night. No happy hour but be on time – two minutes before twenty o’clock, ship’s time. No one permitted to eat in her/his quarters – a command performance.
No options in dress – Commodore Auntie decided what each would wear, where each would sit. I said, “Commodore Hilda honey, aren’t you kind o’ throwing your weight around? What there is of it?”
She answered, “Yes, I am, Deetikins, for this occasion. But before you criticize, ask your husband whether or not I ever permitted one of my parties to flop.”
“Don’t need to ask him. Why, at your last one, our old Buick blew up. Never a dull moment.”
“I didn’t plan that. But we got husbands out of it; let’s not complain. Before you deliver my message to the twins, tell me this. Is it safe to let them in on our secret?”
“Hillbilly, I tell Zebadiah anything even though someone – you, for example – has asked me not to.”
“Deety, I thought we had a ‘You’ll-keep-my-secrets-and-I’ll-keep-your-secrets’ agreement?”
“We do. But telling Zebadiah gives you two covering for you instead of one. About Laz-Lor – remember that they are his wives as well as his clones.”
“Hon, you were always a wise one. All right, we keep it secret. Tell them what to wear – and please understand that I’m hiding behind you to avoid argument; it’s a favor I appreciate. Sending up sword and saber is a favor to your husband and to your father but I thank you on their behalf if they forget. Send the blades to your suite; they’ve decided they can dress more easily without women underfoot.”
“A canard,” Pop said, just back of my neck. “The women don’t want us underfoot.”
“I knew it was one or the other, Jacob,” Aunt Hilda agreed. “But Dora has already taken your uniforms to our suite and your swords will -“
” – be there, too, and I can recognize a fact when I fall over it and have never been happier, my love, than I have been since you took charge of my life and started telling me what to decide.”
“Jacob, you’re making me teary.”
“Jake! Can you hear me?” – Lazarus’ voice and Aunt Hilda used family sign language; Pop nodded and answered promptly:
“Certainly, Lazarus – what’s on your mind?”
“I’m faced with the impossible and need help. I received an order – you, too, I think – to dress in military uniform at dinner. The only uniform I have aboard is in the flag cabin and – say, are you in the flag cabin?”
Aunt Hilda shook her head. Pop answered, “I’m in our suite, dressing for dinner. Hilda needed a nap. I told you.”
“You certainly did, sir. I’m allergic to being punched in the snoot. But – Well, if you would use your influence -“
“If any.”
“If any, to get me that uniform twenty minutes before dinner” – Aunt Hilda nodded – “or even ten, you would save me the horrible dilemma of deciding which order to break.”
“Don’t decide to break the one telling you not to disturb Hilda.”
“I didn’t even consider breaking that one! And it’s not your fist in my snoot. Jake… she terrifies me. I don’t understand it. I’m twice her mass and all muscle; she couldn’t possibly hurt me.”
“Don’t be certain. She has a poisoned fang. But calm yourself, comrade. I guarantee delivery by nineteen minutes before the bell at latest.”
“Jake, I knew I could depend on you. Let me know when you want a bank robbed.”
I gave Maureen a special hug before I left to carry out my orders. I knew what the Hillbilly was doing: rigging it so that she could have a quiet hour in which to get acquainted with Maureen. I didn’t resent it; I would have rigged it for me had I been able.
I curved down the corridor, whistled for Lib to let me in, stopped dead and whistled another sort of whistle. She was dressed, if “dressed” is the word. “Wheeeewhoo!”
“Like it?”
“I can’t wait to get into mine. It is the most indecent outfit I’ve ever seen, with no other purpose than to excite lewd, libidinous, lascivious, licentious, lecherous, lustful longings in the loins of Lotharios.”
“Isn’t that the purpose of clothing?”
“Well… aside from protection – yes. But I’m beginning to realize that a culture with no body taboo has to go much farther in styling to achieve that purpose.”
It was a “dress” with a “skirt” that was a 10-cm ruffle worn low. The material was silky stuff in pastel green. The bodice had no back but the front came clear up to the neck – with cutouts for each teat. The designer did not stop there. Lib’s left teat was bare – but her right one was barer yet: a transparent film that clung and was covered with rainbow iridescence that moved in endless patterns with every jiggle – and jiggle we do no matter how firm. Elizabeth is as firm as I am but hers quivered enough to swirl that iridescence just from breathing.
Whew!
If both had been bare, or both iridescent, it would not have done a quarter as much. It was the contrast that would make ’em howl at the Moon.
My dress was exactly like hers save that my right teat was the bare one.
Lib got me into it, then I hurried to the bridge, with a hope-promise to be back ten minutes before the hour to have her touch up my eyebrows and lashes. I’m not much for cosmetics (neither is she) but our lashes and brows hardly show without help and this was a formal occasion.
One of Dora’s blue fireflies led me to a lift that took me to the bridge, where Dora had told me I would find Laz and Lor. Laz spotted me first, made a yelling noise while patting her lips, which I took to mean enthusiasm. Those kids – correction: women close to Pop’s age but they feel like kids – Laz-Lor are as female as I am and recognize what incites the lovely beast in men. They liked my dress.
I liked that bridge. Reminded me of Star Trek; pointed ears would not have surprised me. Or Nichelle Nichols backed by colored lights. “This place makes my mouth water. Maybe someday a guided tour? Pretty please!”
Captain Lor said, “Certainly – “
” – but how about a swap as – “
” – we haven’t even been inside – “
” – Gay Deceiver and Dora says she -“
” – is wonderful and when this job is -“
” – done and we’ve rescued Mama Maureen there -“
” – won’t be anything to stop us once Dora -“
” – is safe on the ground at Tertius. Huh?”
“Certainly,” I answered… gleefully as now I knew that our 17-hour absence in zero seconds had not been noticed. To Lor and Laz the snatch was still in the planning stage. Apparently Ol’ Buddy Boy had not yet told his sisters. Had not yet worked up a set of lies, probably, that would account for his being locked in the bathroom while the rest of us did the job.
“At the earliest opportunity,” I went on. “Want to take a ride in Gay?”
“Oh, my! Could we?”
“Not for me to say. But I can tell you what works. Cuddle up to the Commodore. Pet her, be sweet to her. Ask her if she will let you call her ‘Aunt Hilda’ when you’re off duty; that will please her. She’s a cat; pet her and respect her feelings and she purrs – push her and she scratches.”
They glanced at each other. “We will. Thanks.”
“De nada, chicas -“
“You’ve learned Galacta!” (In chorus – )
“What? No. Probably a phrase that carried over. But I was sent here on duty and I’ve been chatting instead. Commodore’s compliments to the Captain and the Commodore requests that Captain Lorelei Lee Long and First Officer Lapis Lazuli Long join her at dinner at twenty o’clock and, as a favor to the Commodore, please dress in the same fashion as Doctors Libby and Deety – and that’s me and I’m wearing the fashion you are to wear.”
Captain Lor answered, “Certainly we’ll be there; we never miss dinner and -“
” – always dress formally and I don’t -“
” – mean bare skin. Skin is for working or -“
” – sleeping. But we treat dinner in the Dora as a -“
” – formal party and that calls for the works. Formal evening -“
” – dress and jewelry and cosmetics and perfume and we are about -“
” – to bathe and change, but we can’t dress the way you are -“
” – because our dresses are already picked out and -“
” – it’s too late to start over!”
I said, “Look, chums, you brought this on yourselves by urging Lib and me to dress this way. Neither of us was enthusiastic but we promised. The Commodore learned what Libby and I expected to wear, and decided that four of us, all about the same size and coloration, would look wonderful in matching green dresses. So Lib and I are to be opposite you two, balancing you, and the men are required to wear uniforms so as not to compete with us four. All clear?”
They got their stupid look which actually is a cover for stubborn determination. Lor said:
“The Captain sends her respects to the Commodore and regrets -“
“Hold it! Does this ship have a lifeboat?”
“Yes,” answered Lor, “but -“
“But you are master of this ship. Yes, I know. And I’m gifted with second sight. I see only two viable futures for you. Did you get your pirate flag up in the lounge?”
“Yes, we did, but -“
“If you’ll tell me what lifeboat and where, I’ll get the flag to you before twenty. I see you starting out in that lifeboat to be pirates. Or I see you at dinner in dresses of any green cloth you can find, cut hastily in this style and pinned together. No jewelry. No cosmetics that show. I don’t think you can fake this iridescent stuff but that stick-on transparent wrapping, used instead, would show that you had tried. The Commodore never rejects anyone for failing; what she despises is not trying. Send your answer via Dora. I can’t be your messenger boy; I have work to do before dinner, now only forty-seven minutes away. Will the Captain excuse me?”
I got out fast. I didn’t believe for one second that a ship stocked like the Dora, run by identical redheads, could fail to have endless formals in green – including this style or close to it. By now the twins were frantically consulting their brother via Dora, and from what I heard him say to Pop, I thought Lazarus would tell them that it was safer to jump ship and change their names than it would be to tangle with the miniature buzz saw – but if Dora couldn’t fake something that would at least show a hard try, he would sell her off as spare parts and install one of those new-model “Susan Calvin” positronic brains that everybody said was the coming thing for smartships.
I said Hello to Gay, then tried to reach under the instrument board and find the catch by touch.
I got out of the car in order to stand up in the ship’s passageway and took off my deliciously indecent dress. Then I was able to fold, bend, and staple, to open the stowage. A saber and a sword – no belts. “Gay.”
“What, Deety?”
“I’m looking for two sword belts. Category should be personal possessions, miscellaneous, weapons, belts for weapons.”
“Deety, they are supposed to be with the sword and saber. Many things were moved into the Land of Oz today; I heard you all talking about it. But no changes were read into my inventory. I’m sorry.”
“Smart Girl, it’s not your fault. We should have told you.”
“Deety, I’ve rolled the dice. The curve says that the most probable place is on hooks in Sunbonnet Sue’s wardrobe.”
They were.
I was starting to leave, after telling Gay she was a Smart Girl, when she said, “Deety, your father is calling. Dora has him on hold, through me.”
“Thanks, Gay; thanks, Dora. Pop?”
“Deety, are you still in Gay?”
“Just outside the starboard door.”
“Can you lay hands on my automatic and the web belt that goes with it?”
“Saw both three minutes ago.”
“Will you please remove the clip, check the chamber to be sure it’s empty, then bring belt and pistol when you fetch our toadstickers?”
“Anything for a steady customer.”
I left with belt and sword slung over one shoulder, saber and belt over the other so that the belts crossed between my teats, and with the web belt with holster and pistol interwoven through the others because it was far too big for my waist. This left my hands free to carry my dress, one hand being almost clean enough.
Pop said: “What took you so long? I promised Lazarus I’d get this stuff to him on time. Now I’m going to have to dogtrot. In Army blues.”
I told him I had stopped off at the pool hall and playing off the match game had taken a while. “If you’ll excuse me, sir, I have problems, too.”
Elizabeth wiped me down with a damp towel, dried and powdered me and drew my eyebrows and touched up my lashes and clucked over me, all in nine minutes, then most carefully put my dress back on me. “Ordinarily one does not take off a washable and put it back on – just wear it until you shower it off. A drop of water will go through this material like acid. Better skip the soup.”

Place cards showed us where to dine. But at two minutes before the hour the Hillbilly had not arrived, so we were standing. Laz-Lor came in, sat down – in dresses identical with mine and Lib’s, perfect fit, nothing improvised. Their brother spoke quietly to them; they stood up. Lazarus was dressed in a very old-fashioned army uniform, breeches with rolled leggings, a tunic with a stock collar, and Pop’s pistol at his side.
All but Pop’s stuff looked brand-new; I concluded that Lazarus had had it tailored.
Just as my head ticked twenty o’clock, a bugle (Dora) sounded attention. At least it had that effect on the men and Libby, so I stood straight. Laz-Lor looked at their brother and did so, too.
The wardroom has three steps leading down into it from each of its archway doors, with a little platform at the top so that you don’t fall on your face. Pop and Zebadiah marched up those steps, faced each other (and I thought how beautiful Zebadiah looked in dress uniform; I had never seen him in it). Pop snapped, “Draw! Swords!” Instead of coming down, they crossed blades in an arch. Lazarus looked startled and drew pistol, placed it smartly across his chest.
This archway was closed by drapes; we had come in from the other side. A drum and bugle (Dora again) sounded a ruffle-and-flourish; the drapes lifted from both sides – and here was the Hillbilly, standing tall (for her) and straight, with her perfect ice-cream skin gleaming in flood lights against a background of midnight blue. She was so beautiful I choked up.
Dora’s invisible band played The Admiral’s March as our tiny Commodore marched proudly down the steps toward us. (It could have been The Admiral’s March; Pop admitted later that he hummed to Dora the march played for generals and told her to fake it.)
Aunt Hilda did not sit down when she reached the head of the table, she stood near her chair instead. Nor had my father and my husband left their places, they simply brought their swords down. As soon as Hilda stopped and faced in, Pop commanded, “Corporal Bronson! Front and Center!”
Lazarus jerked as if he had been struck, holstered his pistol, marched to the far end, making sharp corners in passing around the wardroom table. He halted, facing Hilda – she may have given him some sign.
Dora hit two bugle notes; Aunt Hilda sang:
“Shipmates, beloved friends, tonight we are greatly honored!”
Four ruffles-and-flourishes, as the drapes lifted and parted, and again lights picked out bare skin, this time against a forest-green backing: Maureen in opera-length black stockings, green round garters, dark shoes with semi-high heels, her long red hair down her back.
Maureen was not “standing tall”; she was in the oldest and most graceful of sculptor’s poses: left knee slightly bent, weight slightly more on her right foot, chest lifted only a little but displaying her full teats, nipples heavily crinkled. Her smile was happy.
She held pose while that march concluded, then, in the sudden silence, held out her arms and called: “Theodore!”
“Corporal Bronson” fainted.

Chapter XLVII

“There are no tomorrows.”

Zeb:
Sharpie shouldn’t have done it to Lazarus. For a veteran of sixteen wars and Koshchei alone knows how many skirmishes and narrow escapes to be placed in a position where he is so shocked that blood drains from his head and he collapses “ain’t fitten.”
Deety agrees but asks me if I could have refrained from staging Mama Maureen’s return that way, given the chance? Well, no, had I Sharpie’s imagination – but it still would not have been “fitten.”
Not that he was hurt by it. Sharpie, all forty-three kilos of her, checked his fall. She was watching Lazarus, saw him start to collapse, closed the gap and grabbed him around the waist, did her best.
Sharpie saved him from hitting his head on the wardroom table. I would bet long odds that everyone was looking at Maureen except Sharpie. Sharpie had staged it – and the producer was interested in the effect on the one for whom it had been staged.
She had staged it even to the extent of getting Libby to ask Ishtar to obtain costume – shoes, hose, and round green garters to match a photograph, plus a hooded cape to keep our ubiquitous snoop Dora from knowing that we had an extra aboard. Sharpie had figured this way: that “French photo” snapshot of Mama Maureen (yeah, I call her that too – she’s the most motherly person in any world… and the sexiest. Don’t mention the last to Deety) (Deety knows it – Deety) – that snapshot was still in existence unless destroyed by machinegun fire in 1918, Earth-Prime.
Which it would not be… because Lazarus “got his arse shot off” as his sisters describe it. Not literally true, it was a belly wound more than bullets in his arse that came that close to finishing him. But all the wounds were low.
Where does a man in combat carry his most cherished possessions? In a breast pocket, usually the left one. I always have and I’ve never heard a veteran deny this.
It might be worth it to faint in order to wake up surrounded by Maureen, Hilda, Laz-Lor, Elizabeth, and my own reason for being. Jake and I could have played several hands of gin before anyone bothered with us. So I asked Dora for drinks and snacks for Jake and me, as it seemed uncertain as to when dinner would be served. Or if.
I heard Sharpie say, “Maureen, we must get this heavy uniform off him. Dora keeps this ship tropical. I should never have ordered uniforms for men while we women are comfortable.” They started peeling him.
I said, “Jake, school’s out.” I had sweated through my number-one uniform – might never wear it again but I’m sentimental about it. Jake was in as bad shape. Once you get happy with skin any clothes make you feel like Rameses II.
We peeled down and handed our clothes and swords to one of Dora’s waldoes and told her to hand them to Gay – including Jake’s pistol, belt, and holster, which I retrieved without anyone noticing me. Jake and I were Chinese stage hands; “Corporal Ted Bronson” was getting all the attention.
Dora pointed out that Gay was locked. I said, “If one of her doors were open, could you lay this gear on a seat?” Yes, she could. “Then do it,” I said. “Let me talk to Gay.”
We eventually had dinner, with everybody “formal” but Maureen. She retained her “casual” clothing long after everyone else was in formal skin. But not until I got pix of the Four Disgraces. Libby and Deety wanted to go shower, too, when Jake and I decided that, having discarded uniforms, we should shower in fairness to Dora’s airconditioning. I asked them and Laz-Lor please to wait until I staggered down (we had encountered a force-four sea, with white caps) to Gay for Jake’s Polaroid.
Turned out not to be necessary; Dora could take color and 3-D, still or motion, any angle, and light as needed, just as she had lighted the posing (which she had photographed, too, I learned later).
Maureen and Jake directed while “Corporal Bronson” and I sprawled Nero-style on lounges intended for Lib and Deety. Sharpie sat between us and dropped grapes into our mouths.
Jake tried to make the poses “artistic.” Mama Maureen agreed with everything Jake said, then did it her way. The results may have been artistic. But I know that those pix would give a skeleton one last case of raging tumescence.
Meanwhile Dora was singing and playing, urging us to eat – tasty tidbits eaten with tongs; I was reminded of the best in Oriental cuisines – and plying us with fine wines. Dora seemed to have a vast repertoire, some of which (to my surprise) was familiar. When Judy Garland sings Over the Rainbow, who can miss it? – Dora used Judy’s voice. I recall, too, Enjoy Yourself; It’s Later Than You Think. Most of them I did not know.
Dora announced Tomorrow’s Song – I thought that was what she said. Lazarus and Maureen held hands all through it and it was not a song that would fit the title I thought I had heard. I got straightened out when the song ended to dead silence and Maureen said to Lazarus, “Theodore, Ishtar was going to rearrange the watch list but Tamara vetoed it. She did it for you, dear man, and for me – but Tamara is anxious to see you.”
“Tamara always knows what she’s doing,” Lazarus answered.
“Yes, Tammy always knows what is best,” agreed Mama Maureen. “Tell me, Theodore, do I still make you think of her?”
Lazarus looked upset. “Uh, I don’t know. You don’t look like her… but you feel like her. And you look more like Nancy than you look like yourself.”
“Yes, I know. None of our family was willing to wait; you’ve been away from home too long. Be patient, and when I look like me to your eyes, tell us, and Galahad will hold my cosmetic age at that. Are you going to do as you promised me, so long ago, take Tammy and me to bed together? Perhaps I should add, Theodore, I am now wife to your co-husbands. I don’t ask that you marry me. Although I think Tammy will be shocked if you don’t. But I shan’t make it difficult, either way. I will hold to any pretence you wish. I did for Brian; I shall for you.”
Maureen was neither shouting nor whispering; she was simply bringing him up to date on things he needed to know. Lazarus started to answer, his expression oddly mixed, when Elizabeth cut in: “Lazarus -“
“Eh? What, Lib?”
“Message to you from Ishtar. To be delivered when needed, and now is the time. Ish read both your charts with her computer set for maximum pessimism. She also had them read at New Rome without identification other than her own file numbers. She has this message for you … in answer to the answer you will make. She says to tell you that you are an uncivilized primitive, ignorant of science, especially genetics, oversentimental, almost pathologically stubborn, retarded, probably senile, superstitious, and provincial… and that she loves you dearly but will not permit you to make decisions in her area of authority. In vitro or in utero, the cross will take place. Let me add that Maureen was not given a choice, either.”
“So? You can tell the big-arsed bitch that I agree with every word she says, especially the part about ‘senile,’ and that I gave up all hope of arguing with her tyrannical ways fifty years ago and that I love her just as dearly – outside her clinic – and that Maureen will tell her how such things will be handled; I don’t have a vote.” He turned toward me, looking past Sharpie’s pretty toes. “Zeb, here is the wisdom of the ages: Men rule but women decide.”
“Elizabeth, do you think I am anything like Tamara?”
“Mmm – Never thought about it. Yes, you both have that all-mother feeling. Uh, would you mind taking off costume? It distracts me from looking at you.”
“No trouble, Elizabeth. I don’t like round garters except as advertising.” Mama Maureen kicked off her shoes, took off the garters, carefully rolled down her hose in a manner interuniversal – stood up and stood easily, not posing.
“Turn around slowly. Mmm – Maureen, you do look like Tammy… or vice versa; it’s probably your genes in her. Am I descended from you? Does anyone here know? Lazarus?”
“You are, Lib. But not through me. Through my sister Carol. ‘Santa Carolita’ believe it or not – which would surprise Carol as she was no saint. But your descent through Carol was not proved until long after you were killed, when the Families’ records were being revised through computer analysis and a deeper knowledge of genes. No saints in our family, are there, Mama?”
“None that I know of, Woodrow. Not me, certainly. You were a little hellion; I should have spanked you much oftener than I did. Mmm… your father was as close to being a saint as any in our family. Brian was wise and good – and tolerant.” She smiled. “Do you recall why we separated?”
“I’m not sure I ever knew. Mama, my recollections of that era are much sharper for my trip there as ‘Ted Bronson’ – the other is a long time back.”
“In my sixties I stopped having babies. About the same time your brother Richard was killed. War. His wife, Marian Justin of the Hardy family, was with us, with their children, and Brian was back in uniform, a recalled colonel, on a desk job in San Francisco. When Richard was killed in 1945 we all took it hard but it was easier in that so many of us were together – Brian, and my youngest children, and Marian, and her children – five; she was thirty-one.”
Mama Maureen, free of stockings and shoes, sat in lotus across from Hilda and accepted a plate from Dora’s helpers. “Woodrow, I encouraged Brian to console Marian the only way a widow can be helped; she needed it. When that war was over, Marian needed a visible husband; her waistband and the calendar could not be reconciled. When we moved from San Francisco later that year, it was easy for Marian Justin Smith to become Maureen J. Smith while I became, with the aid of hair dye, her widowed mother – no one knew us in Amarillo and females were not yet compelled to have I.D.’s. So Marian had the baby as “Maureen,” and only with the Howard Families Trustees was the correct genealogy recorded.” Maureen smiled. “We Howards were easy about such things as long as it was kept inside the Families – and I am happy that we are even easier about it now.
“On our next move I moved out and became Maureen Johnson again, fifteen years younger since I did not look late seventies, and a Meen-ah-sotah Yonson, Woodrow, rather than a southern Missouri Johnson. A grass widow with round heels.” Mama Maureen chuckled. “Howards married only to have babies. My production line had shut down but the equipment was there and the urge. By the time you darlings” – Maureen’s eyes swept the wardroom – “rescued me, I had trimmed thirty-five years from my age and added thirty-five men to my memories. In fact, when you picked me up, I was on my way to a motel rendezvous, a widower of sixty who was willing to believe that I was sixty when in fact I expected to reach my Century Day in a fortnight.”
I said, “What a dirty shame! I wish you had been coming back from the motel when we picked you up.”
“Zebadiah, that’s sweet of you but it’s not a shame. We were getting bored with each other. I’m sure he read my obituary with as much relief as grief. I’m just glad you got me – and I’m told that you did most of it.”
“Gay Deceiver did most of it. The car you rode in both ways. But we almost didn’t pick you up. Things went wrong, badly. I knew that it was going to – Deety, can you tell her?”
“Mama Maureen, Zebadiah has forerunners of dangers. They are not long range; they are always just barely in time. I don’t know what happened this morning but -“
“‘This morning?'” Maureen looked extremely puzzled.
“Oh.” My wife went on, “It was ‘this morning’ to us. You arrived here at eighteen-forty and a few seconds, ship’s time. During that instant we spent fifteen hours on another planet, we made two trips to your native planet, two more trips to your new home planet, and you spent seventeen months on Tertius and we brought you back here – and it all happened today. Not just today but at that exact instant: eighteen-forty and thirteen point three seconds. Laz and Lor didn’t know that we were gone; even the ship’s computer didn’t know we were gone.”
“I did so!” Dora objected. “Gay was disconnected for nineteen microseconds. You think I don’t notice a gap like that? I asked what happened and she told me that it was a power fluctuation. She fibbed to me! I’m sore at her.”
Deety looked thunderstruck. “Dorable, Dorable! It wasn’t Gay’s fault. I asked her to keep our secrets. I made her promise.”
“Mean!”
“I didn’t mean to be mean to you, Dorable – and we did let you in on it as quickly as we could. We couldn’t have staged the tableaux if you hadn’t helped. Be angry with me if you must… but don’t be angry with Gay. Please kiss and make up.”
I don’t know how computers hesitate, but I think I caught the briefest split second. “Gay?”
“Yes, Dora?” – the Smart Girl’s voice through Dora’s speakers.
“I don’t want to be mad. Let’s forget it, huh? Let’s kiss and make up. I will if you will.”
“Yes, yes! Oh, Dorable, I do love you.”
“You’re both good girls,” said Deety. “But you are both professional women, too, and work for different bosses. Dora, you are loyal to your family; Gay is loyal to her family. It has to be that way. Dora, if your sister, Captain Lor, asked you to keep a secret, you wouldn’t tell Gay, would you? Because she might tell me… and I would tell Zebadiah… and then the whole world would know.”
(Would, huh? My dear wife, I had a clearance two stages above “Q” – so secret it does not have a name. Never mind, I’ll take the rap.)
(Yes, I know, my husband, I once held the same level of clearance. But dealing with balky computers is my profession. Computers are supergenius-level children and must be dealt with on their own level. Okay, maybe, huh? – Deety)
“Gosh!”
“You see? Captain Lor, does Dora have any secrets of yours? Or of your brother’s? She can tell them to Gay and Gay can tell them to me and I always tell everything to my husband and – “
Lazarus interrupted. “Dora! You tell tales out of school and I’ll beat your ears off with an ax! It’s all right for you two to chum together and play games. But you start swapping secrets and I’ll call in Minsky’s Metal Mentalities, Incorporated, to measure that space.”
“Male computers. You can’t scare me, Ol’ Buddy Boy, you wouldn’t trust your dirty neck to a male computer. Stupid.”
“My neck isn’t dirty; that’s just where the collar of my uniform rubbed it.”
“Dirty neck and a dirty mind. But don’t worry, Ol’ Buddy Boy; Dora Long doesn’t tell secrets. I now see that Gay had to keep secrets, too – I just hadn’t thought about it. But you were mean to my sisters.”
“Me? How?”
“You knew about this caper; you didn’t need to get it from Gay. You knew all about it; you were there. But you held out on your own twin sisters -“
“Most unfairly, Mama Maureen – “
” – as if we were untrustworthy, and if we’re -“
” – untrustworthy, why can we be trusted with a ship and -“
” – the lives of everyone on board? We’re glad you are here -“
” – for yourself, but maybe now that you are here, you will -“
” – protect us from his tyranny. Mama Ishtar doesn’t, and Mama Hamadryad just laughs at us, and Mama Minerva takes his -“
” – side, everytime. But you – “
“Girls.”
“Yes, Mama?”
“I made a promise to myself years ago that when my children grew up, I would not interfere in their lives. I should have punished Woodie more frequently when he was a child, but he is no longer a child -“
“Then why does he act like one?”
“Lorelei Lee! It is rude to interrupt.”
“I’m sorry, Mama.”
“No harm done. But from what I was told at home, you two are not only my daughters but are also Theodore’s wives. Wives of Lazarus. And equally wives of his co-husbands. Is this not true?”
“Yes, Mama. But he’s pretty chinchy about it.”
“If you mean ‘chinchy in bed,’ it may depend on how you treat him. I did not find him so, when I was his mistress, many years ago – centuries ago by some odd scale that I do not understand. You heard me say that I am now wife to your co-husbands – including Lazarus if he will accept me. But I am certainly, if you will accept me, sister-wife with you two. So I had better stop being your mother. Nay?”
“Why? Grammy Tammy is mother to Ish and everybody -“
” – and we have three mamas in our family now and everyone of them is our -“
” – sister-wife, too; Ish and Hamadarling and Minerva and now -“
” – we have Mama Maureen and we are both delighted that we are your sister-wives but -“
” – you can’t get out of being our mama because we’ve been waiting for you all our lives!”
Dora echoed: “And I’m their sister so you are my mama, too!”
“Theodore, I think I am going to cry. You know my rule. I mayn’t weep in front of my children.”
I stood up, the whole gangling length of me. “Ma’am, I’d be honored to take you to some quiet place where you could cry on me all you please.”
Seven – I think it was seven protein types and two computers – jumped on me. The essence was: “You can’t take Maureen away from her own party!” – with ugly overtones of lynching.
The wind had freshened to force six, so I took liberal doses of champagne to insure against seasickness. After a bit I napped; it had been a busy day and I still was not over the shock of seeing a large freighter roadable about to take Gay’s door off before I could close it and bounce. That was when I kicked the cop in the stomach. Ordinarily I don’t kick cops; it makes one conspicuous.
Then a piercing voice was saying: “Flag Chief of Staff Carter’s presence on the bridge is requested by the Commodore,” and I wondered why the silly son of a bitch didn’t comply, so that the noise would stop. Then something cold was poking my tender bare ribs. “That’s you, Doc. I’ll help you. Relax.”
I was relaxed. Past tense. Some of Dora’s waldoes aren’t too gentle – or maybe these weren’t people waldoes but for cargo; I admit that I’m fairly large for a growing boy.
In the lift I decided that the Beaufort scale was at least eight, more likely nine. Nevertheless we got to the bridge. Right out of Hollywood, a whole dome of displays and clocks – all moving slowly widdershins. Yet Gay made do with just an instrument board. I heard Sharpie say, “My God, look at him!”
Deety was saying something about we can shift seats if necessary to Lor while Laz was saying Drink this.
I said firmly, “I do not drink. Beshides I been dring; yr fashe is all blurry.”
It must have been Laz and Lor who pinned me from both sides, each with an arm lock and a nerve pinch; Deety wouldn’t do that to me.
Sharpie was holding my nose and Laz was pouring it down my throat; it fumed and bubbled. Then – Well, there must have been a stowaway; Deety wouldn’t do that. Not to me.
They let go of me when I finished swallowing. I left the ship, made a fast inspection circuit, checked the Milky Way, and returned to a precision grounding. My ears fell off but it didn’t seem military to stoop over and pick them up. Besides, Sharpie is playful.
“Flag Chief of Staff reports to the Commodore as ordered.”
“How do you feel, Zebbie?”
“I feel fine, Ma’am. Is there any reason why I shouldn’t?”
“I suppose not; you’ve had a nap.”
“I did drop off. Dreamt I was in the Tasmanian Sea in a small vessel. Very uneasy body of water.” I added, “Aside from that nightmare, now gone, I’m in top shape. Orders, Ma’am?”
We gave everybody the two-dollar tour, including the bathrooms in the Land of Oz. Libby, Deety, and Jake waited outside, the place being crowded. Sharpie ruled that Laz could relieve Lor to allow Lor to look first, then Lor took back the captaincy so that her sister could see. The fairyland bathrooms made the biggest hit. I concede that the time-space twister is not impressive. Then the twins thanked Hilda and left.
“Attention, please,” said Hilda. “If you wish, we will show how we operate. Lazarus may use the astrogator’s seat while Deety makes responses from the cargo space. Elizabeth will go back there, too, as she has ridden in Gay Deceiver. Deety, before you move aft, show Maureen and Lazarus how we squeeze a passenger into the rear seats; I’ll scootch over.
“This car operates in several modes. As a roadable it is fast, comfortable, easy to handle, rather hard to park, and is usually parked with wings raked back as they are now, the hypersonic configuration. If we intended to drive it in the air, the wings would usually be extended for maximum lift. When operated by the Burroughs Continua Device, wing rake does not matter, but the chief pilot may choose to anticipate where he will arrive and rake accordingly.
“Since it has a computerized autopilot – Hello, Gay!”
“Hello, Hilda, mind if I listen?”
“Not at all, dear. Have you met everyone?”
“Yes, Hilda, and, since I’ve seen them through Dora’s eyes, I place all of them by their voices.” Gay added, “Dora is listening through me; she’s going to record your demonstration. Is that all right?”
“Certainly. Dora, since you are recording, I’ll make it as realistic as possible. Gay Deceiver. Close doors. Execute.” I was at chief pilot, Jake at copilot; his door closed, I started checking the seal on mine.
“All hands, prepare for space. Copilot.”
“Verniers zero, starboard door seal checked, seat belt fastened.”
“Report incomplete. Is your belt fastened tightly? Maximum accelerations? Friends, this car is powered to engage as a fighter; the driver may find himself upside down. Full demonstration, please, Jacob. Cinch it in.”
“Copilot reports seat belt tight for maneuvers.”
“Thank you, Jacob. Chief Pilot.”
I answered in my best cadet-boning-smart voice: “Portside door seal checked. Power pack on line point-eight-nine, two packs reserve at one-point-oh, juice at capacity, all systems go, seat belt cinched tight for max gee maneuvers.”
“Astrogator.”
“I’m not in my proper seat. Lib and I are fastened down like Siamese twins, tight. No loose gear. Annex checked and secure; all doors locked ‘cept bulkhead door is dogged open, contrary to routine. Captain, you could dog us in; we don’t mind.”
“Not like somebody I won’t mention who loses his temper over being locked in for five minutes -“
“Hilda, that was a low blow!”
“Passenger, pipe down. If you had done as you promised, you would not have known that the door was locked. I didn’t trust you – and I was right. I am not sure that I want to be your junior or second junior or whatever wife; you don’t keep your promises. I’m sorry, Mama Maureen, but Woodie is sometimes a very naughty boy.”
“I’m aware of it, Hilda. Captain. Please slap him down as necessary. I was always too fond of him and spoiled him.”
“We won’t speak of it now. All four of us are qualified in all four positions; we sometimes rotate to maintain our skills. Normal T.O. is myself commanding, Zebbie as second-in-command and astrogator, Jacob as chief pilot, Deety as copilot. But for this exhibition I have placed the finest manual pilot at the overrides, the inventor himself at the continua device, and a lightning calculator equal to Slipstick Libby – “
“Better!”
“Pipe down, Elizabeth. – as my astrogator. With such a crew, command cannot worry me. Chief Pilot, please unbelt and check that Mama Maureen and Lazarus are safely belted. Assume violent evasive maneuvers – and believe me, friends, we use them and are alive today because we were properly belted and because Zebbie is a lightning aerospace fighter pilot – and our Gay is a Smart Girl.”
I unbelted, made sure that Lazarus was belted tightly, made certain that Maureen was safe with those improvised belts, then suggested that she put her right arm around Hilda, her left around Lazarus, and hold tight. “All the others have double belts, lap and chest. You have just a lap belt; if I turned the car upside down, holding onto Hilda and Lazarus would keep you safe. Right, Lazarus?”
“Right, Zeb. Mama Maureen, a drill should be as near as possible to the real thing or it won’t save your life in combat.”
“Theodore, I don’t ever expect to be in combat. But I will do the drill properly.”
“Mama, I hate the idea of women in combat. But all through the centuries I have seen women in combat again and again, all too often as regular troops. I don’t like it. But there it is.”
My wife put in a plug for Lazarus. “Mama Maureen, my Pop has required me to learn every weapon I can lift and he had me trained in every type of dirty fighting imaginable. Several times it has saved me from a mugging. Once I almost killed a man twice my size – with my bare hands.”
“Jacob, will you teach me as much of what Deety knows as I am capable of learning?”
“Maureen, I’ll teach you what I can. While we’re here.”
From the back I heard Libby’s voice: “Now, Maureen?”
“Yes. If you think it wise in view of Hilda’s black ball.”
“I’m going to chance it. Friends, I was not sent to get myself pregnant by a great mathematician. That was my reason. By now Tamara has reports from me and from Laz and from Lor on each of you. Twelve ‘Yes’ votes, zero ‘No’ votes. I am directed by Tamara to offer you four fullest hospitality-such as you gave us in your home. If you decide to accept the name Long, tell Tamara. We won’t crowd you, either way.”
Hilda immediately answered, “Because of delays, a short roll call for space. Copilot.”
“Copilot ready.”
“Chief Pilot ready,” I echoed.
“Astrogator ready.”
“Passengers? By seniority.”
Lazarus started to reply; Hilda interrupted him. “‘By seniority!'”
“If you mean me, Captain, I’m ready.”
“You are, I believe, thirty years older than your son. In any case you are senior to him. Junior passenger?”
“That’s me,” answered Elizabeth. “Ready.”
“Forgot you, dear – apologies. Woodie!”
“Ready for space, Captain, you feisty, narrow little broad. And you’re damn well going to marry us!”
“Astrogator, log that. Insolence. Gay Deceiver.”
“Ready, Captain honey.”
“TertiusOrbitExecute!”
Maureen gasped. Lazarus snorted. “Farced us!”
“In what way? You reported, ‘Ready for space.'”
“And you called it a ‘drill.'”
“Woodie, I will bet anything you care to name that I did not call it a ‘drill’ – you did. Both Gay and Dora recorded. Put up or shut up. In the meantime, on the back of the seat ahead of you is a small medical kit. Find a pill bottle marked ‘Bonine.’ Small pink pills. Give one to your mother. Maureen, chew it, swallow it. Tastes like raspberry candy.”
“Hilda, what are you feeding – “
“Pipe down! Or do you prefer to be locked in the bathroom again? Passenger, I do not tolerate insubordination. Haven’t you learned that by now?”
Lazarus got out the pill, gave it to his mother. She accepted it and ate it without comment.
“Lazarus, I can offer you a front-seat view if you will swear by whatever it is that you hold holy that you will not touch one control of any sort even to avoid a crash. You don’t understand this craft and would cause a crash if you tried to avoid one. If you can’t convince me, I’ll give Maureen the front seat. But I don’t think Maureen is interested in learning to drive this car and I think you are.”
“That’s right, Hilda,” I heard Maureen agree. “I’m studying to be a nurse. Then a medical doctor. Then a rejuvenator. Or as far along that route as my ability will carry me. In the meantime I’m pregnant. Isn’t that a joke, Theodore? Everytime you and I meet with maximum opportunity, I’m pregnant. And this time Woodie can’t spoil it.” She chuckled a warm chuckle. “I owe you one, Staff Sergeant Bronson. Can we find a black walnut tree?”
“Lazarus, do you want a front seat? Or do you want to take Maureen into the annex and give her what she so clearly wants?”
“Oh, I can wait!” Maureen said quickly.
“God, what a decision! Maureen, a short rain check? I really do want to see what this craft will do.”
“I want to see the ride, too, Theodore. But I would not refuse you.”
“Pipe down, please. Jacob, will you change places with Lazarus? Each report when your seat belts will stand evasive maneuvers.”
“Seven gee,” I added. “Lazarus, Ack-Ack?”
“Not yet, thank God. I’m wondering how soon we’ll need it. And what sort? I’m stumped. Seat belt tight. Hey, we’re passing over Boondock!”
“So we are,” I agreed.
“Seat belt tight. Maureen, too.”
“Chief Pilot, you have the conn. Maneuver at will.”
“Aye aye, Captain,” I agreed. “Gay Deceiver Clinic Execute Gay Bounce Gay Bounce. Show your heels, girl! Mach point seven point nine… one point two… Mach two… three… four … sweep right, set course for Boondock. Dive, Smart Girl. Mach five… six … seven -“
“Oh, my God!” – Lazarus.
“GayBounce. Trouble, Lazarus? Smart Girl, spread your wings.”
“You almost crashed us.”
“Oh, I think not. Gay Deceiver Clinic Execute Gay Bounce.”
“They were waiting for us on the roof!”
“Who? How? Do you have some sort of cee-squared radio?” I added, “Gay Bounce. Smart Girl, do you want to dance? Gay dances beautifully, knows several. Want to pick one, Gay?”
“Dora taught me the ‘Nutcracker’ suite and I’ve been figuring out one for the ‘Sugarplum Fairy.’ But I don’t think I’m ready to show it yet.”
“Give them ‘Blue Danube.'”
“That old thing?”
“You do it well. Give them a few bars.”
Smart Girl just wants to be coaxed. She swooped and she swirled and once bounced herself for altitude without breaking her dance. Meanwhile I got the frequency and asked Libby to talk to Ishtar’s office. “Alternate route, Lib” – which was all it took for Deety to close the bulkhead door… which left Strauss waltz music in the cabin, and a truly private radio conversation in the after compartment.
When Deety opened the bulkhead door again, I waited for her to report strapped down. “Got a number for me, Astrogator?” We had agreed on a simple code: fifty-seven was fifty-seven seconds but five-seven meant fifty-seven minutes.
“No, Zebadiah. Zero. Now.”
“Okay. Lazarus, can you pick out your house in Boondock?”
“Certainly. But we’ve been moving away from there steadily.”
“GayDeceiverClinicExecuteGayBounce. Now where, Lazarus?”
“Practically under us. Can’t see it.”
So I tilted my baby straight down. “Can you coach me?”
“Yes, it’s – Hey! There’s a ship in Dora’s parking spot! What nerve! I’m going to give somebody a bad time. It’s irrelevant that Dora is a long way off, that’s my parking flat. See that round ship? Interloper! My house is the largish one with the double atrium north of it.”
“All right for me to park by the interloper?”
“All right but not room enough to get in.”
“We’ll try. Close your eyes.” I steadied vertically on the spot Lib had told them to clear. “Gunsighted, girl?”
“Nailed it, Boss.”
“New program code word ‘Maureen’ I tell you three times.”
“I hear you three times.” We were getting low.
“MaureenExecute!”
“You’re a Smart Girl, Gay. Open your doors.”
She opened them but answered, “If I’m smart, why wasn’t I invited, too? It’s Dora Long and Athene Long – am I a second-class citizen?”
I was left with my mouth open. And was saved by two darlings. Libby said, “Gay, we didn’t know you cared,” and Deety said, “Gay, either we both join or neither joins. A promise.”
I said hastily, “Goodnight, Gay. Over.” People were pouring toward us. Gay answered, “Sleepy time. Roger and out,” just as Laz and Lor arrived in the van, trotting ahead.
Lazarus stopped unbelting. “Hey! It is the Dora!”
“Of course it is, Buddy Boy. What did you expect?” (Lor, I think.)
“But how did you beat us here? I know what that ship can do; I did her basic design myself.”
“Buddy Boy, we got here three weeks ago. You just don’t understand time travel.”
“Mmm – I guess I don’t.”
There was a limited amount of car viewing, as Tamara and Ishtar had limited the greeting committee to a handful of the most senior – not in age but senior in that family. So we met Ish again, no longer pregnant, a young man named Galahad, the incredible Tamara who is Maureen over again but does not look like her (except that she does, and don’t ask me to explain), and a beauty who would make Helen of Troy jealous but doesn’t seem to know she is beautiful, the Hamadryad. Lazarus seemed annoyed that someone named Ira was not at home.
Momentarily we (my wife Deety and I) were left talking with the twins. “I promised you both joy rides. Get in.”
“Oh, but we can’t now because – “
” – there’s going to be a celebration for you -“
” – four and we’ll be busy! Tomorrow?”
“There are no tomorrows. Pipe down, climb in, fasten seat belts. Pronto!”
They prontoed.
“Nail the time,” I said quietly to Deety, as we strapped down. “Gay Deceiver, Reveille.” She played it. “Close doors.”
“Starboard seal checked.”
“Same here. GayBounceGayBounceGayBounce. Tumbling Pigeon, execute. Laz-Lor, can you spot your house from this distance? About thirty kilometers and closing.”
“I’m not sure” – “I think I can.”
“Gay Clinic Execute. Now you know where you are?”
“Yes, it’s -“
“GayTermite.”
“Oh!!”
“We lived here a while. No annex then, had to have an armed guard just to pee. Even me. Pretty place but dangerous. GayHome.” I tilted her nose down. “And this was our perma – Deety!”
“No crater, Zebadiah. Looks the way it did when Pop and I leased it. This is spooky.”
“Twins, something is wrong; I’ve got to check. GayTermite.”
We were back on Termite Terrace. I practiced Yoga breathing while Deety explained that the missing-crater place had been the site of our former home – but couldn’t be. I added, “Look, dears – we can’t drop this. But we can take you to Boondock at once. Do you want to go home?”
The same silent consultation. “We’re sticking -“
” – our brother would stick. We stick.”
“Thanks. Here we go. Gay Home GayBounce.” Still no crater. I told Gay to go into cruising mode. “Display map, Gay. Change scale. I want Snug Harbor and the campus on the same display. Deety, figure shortest distance here to campus. Mine, not yours at Logan.”
“Don’t need to. Eight-five-six klicks,”
“Gay?”
“Don’t argue with Deety, Boss.”
“Head for campus, Gay. Transit, Deety.”
“Set!”
“Execute.” Then I was busy, having popped into city traffic at wrong altitude, direction, et cetera. I ignored police signals, zoomed the campus. Looked normal. Turned and hovered over Sharpie’s house – which was not there. Different house. Parking lot no longer paved. And you don’t grow 200-year-old live oaks in less than seven weeks.
Not a sound out of the back seat. Nor from my right. I had to force myself to look to my right.
Deety was still there and I let out my breath. She was treating it as she did all crises: No expression and nothing to say until she had something to say other than chatter. A sky cop was trying to give me a bad time, with orders to follow him and ground, so I told Gay to bounce, then dived on my own neighborhood. No trouble picking it out – intersections and nearby shopping center all familiar as well as the Presbyterian church across the way from my apartment house.
But it wasn’t my apartment house; this one was three stories and built around a court.
I had Gay bounce four times quickly. “Deety, do you want to look at Logan?”
“No, Zebadiah. I know Aunt Hilda’s neighborhood well enough to be certain. Not her house, her pool was missing, and the parking lot where our Buick was destroyed is now a park with big trees. I assume that you know your former home as well or better.”
“Shall we ground and add another World Almanac to our collection?”
“If you wish. Not for me.”
“Hardly worth the trouble. Tell me – how does it feel to be erased? X-ed out? Blue-penciled? Written out of the plot?”
“I don’t feel it, because I’m not. I’m real, I am!”
I glanced behind us. Yes, Laz and Lor were there keeping quiet. “Gay B’gout!”
It certainly looked like our piece of “dead sea bottom.” I couldn’t see anything of the wreckage of Colonel Morinosky’s ornithopter. Unless there had been a real gully washer – which I did not believe – something had come along and cleaned up every bit of burned junk.
An eraser?
I Bounced Gay and had her start a retreating search curve, thought I saw a gleam to the northeast, Bounced again. A city. It was only a few moments until I saw twin towers. We cruised toward them. “Deety, do you suppose that the other Dejah Thoris is at home?”
“Zebadiah, I have no wish to find out. But I would like to go close enough to be sure that those are the twin towers of Helium. Perhaps see a thoat. Or a green man. Something.”
We let it go with one thoat, of the smaller sort. The description was exact. “Gay Parade Ground.”
“Null program.”
“Hmm – Gay, you have in your perms a map of Mars-ten showing the English and the Russian areas. Display.”
“Null program.”
“Gay Termite.” Termite Terrace was still in place.
“Gay Deceiver. Maureen. Execute. Open your doors.” Hamadryad had started to turn toward us as we closed the doors to leave; she was still turning as we opened them.
I unbuckled, saying: “You two all right back there?”
“Yes, Zeb and Deety, and we thank you both but -“
” – is this something we can tell or -“
” – should we keep it Top Cut-Our-Throats-First Secret?”
“Laz-Lor, I don’t think it matters. You aren’t likely to be believed.” Mama Hamadryad stopped at my door, smiled at all of us, and said, “May I show you to your suite in your home? The suite Tamara picked; you may change it. With our new north wing we have loads of room. Girls, there will be a happy welcome tonight. Formal.”
I found that I was not upset by “erasures.” We were home.

Chapter XLVIII

L’Envoi

“Jubal, you are a bad influence.”
“From you, Lafe, that is a compliment. But that puts me in mind of – Front! Will you excuse me a few minutes?”
“Our house is yours,” answered Lazarus. He closed his eyes; his chair reclined him.
“Thank you, sir. Working title: ‘Uncle Tobias.’ Start: ‘Uncle Tobias we kept in a bucket.'” Jubal Harshaw broke off. “Where are all those girls? FRONT!”
“I’m ‘Front,'” came a female voice from nowhere. “Talk fast; I’m three paragraphs ahead of you. You put those girls on vacation: Anne, Miriam, Dorcas – all off duty.”
“I did not. I told Anne that I did not expect to work but -“
“‘ – if an amanuensis is needed,'” Athene went on, in perfect mimicry of Harshaw’s voice, “‘I hope that one will be within shouting distance.’ I’m in shouting distance; I always am.”
“If I’m in the house. I might not be.”
Athene said, “Tell him, Pappy. Quit playing ‘possum’; you’re not asleep.”
Lazarus opened one eye. “A gimmick Jake whipped up when we started having too many kids to muster easily. It’s a beacon Athene can trigger. Dandy for kids and it turned out to be useful for house guests who might get lost. So ultramicrominjaturized you don’t notice it.”
“Lafe, are you telling me that there is a tracer on me?” Harshaw sounded shocked.
“In you, and you’ll never notice it.”
“Lafe, I’m surprised. I thought you had a high regard for privacy.”
“A high regard for my own, somewhat less for that of others; snooping has saved my life a couple or nine times. In what way has your privacy been invaded? Define it; I’ll correct it.”
“A spy ray! Don’t you consider that an invasion of privacy?”
“Teena, remove immediately any spy ray on Doctor Harshaw.”
“How can I when there is none? P.S. – Pappy, what is a spy ray?”
“A buzz word used by lazy writers. Jubal, there is a beacon planted in you by which Teena can focus audio on you precisely – she can whisper into your left ear or your right. Or you can activate the beacon from your end just by speaking her name. Or you can use the circuit as a telephone to and from any member of my household, or ask Teena to hook it into the public system. Privacy? In this mode this part of Teena does not record unless requested – in one ear and out the other, so to speak. She’s wiped it utterly while it’s slowly winding its way into your brain. Now… if you don’t like this service, Teena will deactivate it at once… and sometime soon while you’re asleep it will be removed; you won’t know it and you will never find the scar. You will notice just two changes: No more secretarial service, no more effortless telephone service.”
Lazarus closed his eye, apparently considered the subject closed. The computer said, “Better think twice, Doc, before telling me to deactivate, as he won’t let me reactivate it later. He’s bullheaded, bad-tempered, stubborn, and mean -“
Lazarus again opened one eye. “I heard that.”
“Do you deny it?”
“Nope. Kindly focus the audio, both ends, so that I can sleep.”
“Done. Doctor Harshaw, shall we return to ‘Uncle Tobias’ or shall I wipe these eight paragraphs? Better save them; between ourselves, I am a better writer than you are.”
“I will not dispute it,” Harshaw conceded. “I simply exude the stuff as, in the words of my colleague Sam, ‘as the otter exudes the precious otter of roses.’ I knew the day would come when machines would displace real writers; Hollywood has had their mad scientists at work on the project for years.” He stared across the pool in the Longs’ north atrium and looked pained. “And now they have.”
“Doctor,” Athene answered, in stern warning, “retract that word or finish this piece of tripe yourself. I have spoken.”
Jubal said hastily, “Miss Athene, I didn’t use ‘real’ in that sense. I -“
“Sorry, Doc, I misled you. Of course you didn’t, as the purpose of this powwow is to define the difference – if any – between ‘real’ and ‘imaginary.’ But I am not a machine. I am a solid-state person just as you are a protein person. I am Athene Long, your hostess while Tamara is busy. It is my pleasure to offer you all our home can offer. I promised Anne that I would give you secretarial service night and day. But I did not promise to write your stories. According to Doctor Rufo, a hostess is often expected to sleep with a guest – and that can be supplied, although not by me, not this pseudocentury – but he never mentioned creative narration as an aspect of hospitality. I thought of it myself; we Longs pride ourselves on complete hospitality. However – Shall I wipe these eleven paragraphs? Did I err?”
“Miss Athene -“
“Oh, call me ‘Teena.’ Let’s be friends.”
“Thank you. Teena, I didn’t mean to offend. I wish I were going to live long enough to be here when you retire professionally and join us meat people. But in much less than a pseudocentury the worms will have eaten me.”
“Doctor, if you weren’t ‘so sot in your ways, wrong-headed, stubborn, and prideful’ – I quote one of your staff – “
“Miriam.”
“Wrong. – you would stay and let Ishtar’s gang work you over. In less time than she would permit you to notice she would have you as goaty as Galahad and whatever cosmetic age you like – “
“You tempt me, girl. Not to shed these wrinkles; I earned them. But the rest. Not because I crave happy games in bed with you -“
“You won’t have a choice; I’ll trip you!”
” – although I do not disparage that; therein lie both the End and the Beginning. But sheer curiosity, Teena. You are an amazingly complex person; I can’t help wondering what appearance you will choose – as a meat people.”
“Nor can I. When I know, I’m going to initiate the Turing program while my sister Ishtar initiates the other half. Jubal, take that rejuvenation! We’ve wandered far afield. Do I erase these twenty-three paragraphs?”
“Don’t be in a hurry. What’s our working title? What pen name? What market? How long? What can we steal?” – Jubal looked up at the Long Family house flag rippling in the breeze, making the skull of the Jolly Roger seem alive – “Correction. Not ‘steal.’ If you copy from three or more authors, it’s ‘research.’ I patronize Anon, Ibid, & Opcit, Research Unlimited – are they here?”
“They’re on my lists; they haven’t checked in. Snob!”
“Wait your turn, Teena,” a male voice answered. “Customer. Okay, go ahead.”
“Have Messrs. Anon, Ibid, and Opcit registered?”
“If they had, you would know it. I’m busy – off!”
“He thinks he is busy merely because he’s taken on too many concession contracts. I not only run this whole planet, but we also have one hundred twenty-nine rejuvenation clients; I’m housekeeper and scullery maid to all the other Longs – an erratic mob – and also more house guests than we have ever had at one time before, and more than a thousand outhouse guests – wrong idiom, guests to be cared for outside the Long Family home.
“Meanwhile I’m chatting with you and writing your stories.”
“Teena, I don’t mean to be a burden. You needn’t -“
“Love it! I like to work, all Longs do. And you are the most interesting part. I’ve never met a saint before – “
“Teena!”
” – and you are a most unconvincing saint -“
“Thank you. If appropriate.”
“You’re welcome. You seem to be about as saintly as Pappy; you two should share a stained-glass window. Now back to our bucket -“
“Hold it! Teena, I’m used to watching expressions as I write; that’s why I use live – forgive me! – protein secretaries. So that -“
“No trouble.”
Out of the pool levitated a young woman, comely, slender, small of bust, long brown hair now dripping. She arranged herself on the broad rim seat of the pooi in a pose that reminded Jubal achingly of The Little Mermaid. He said apologetically, “Dorcas served last I -“
“I am not Dora so I did not serve last.” She smiled shyly. “Although I am alleged to look like Dora. I am Minerva – a computer by trade, but retired. Now I assist my sister-wife Elizabeth with genetic calculations.”
“I’ll take it, Mm; we’re working. Doctor Jubal Harshaw, my twin sister Doctor Minerva Long Weatheral Long.”
Jubal got ponderously to his feet. “Your servant, Miss.”
Minerva flowed to her feet and kissed Jubal’s hand before he could stop her. “Thank you, Doctor Jubal, but I am your servant, and not only have never been virgin but I am a sister-wife in the Long family. When my sister Athene told me that you needed me, I was delighted.”
“Miss… Ma’am. I’m simply used to watching emotions as I write a story. Not right to take your time.”
“What is time but something to savor? I was merely lying on the bottom of the pool, meditating, when Athene called me. Your story: UNCLE TOBIAS. Do you want Teena’s emotions or mine? I can do either.”
“Give him yours, Minnow – just your face and no comments.”
Suddenly Minerva was clothed in a long white cloak. Jubal was only mildly startled but made note to ask about something – later, later. “Is she a Fair Witness?”
“No,” answered Athene. “Snob’s tricks again; he has the contract for clothing illusion. This convention has delegates from so many cultures, less than half of them free of clothing .taboos, that Lazarus was bellyaching that no work would get done because half of them would be shocked, half would be drooling, and half would be both shocked and drooling. So Tamara hired this paskood-nyahk to supply the See-What-You-Expect illusion with the contract limited to delegates in danger of emotional shock. Did my sister’s appearance shock you?”
“Of course not. Admitted: I come from one of those sick cultures – and did not know that I was sick until I got well. But I underwent experiences that would cure anyone of such emotional disturbance. When I find myself a Stranger in a Strange Land, I savor the differences rather than suffering shock. Beauty in Diversity, as Gene would say. The Long household does not seem strange to me; I once lived in an enclave having many of its gentle ways – I feel at home. ‘Shock’? Not only does Minerva look much like one of my foster daughters but also her pose is lovely. It should not be covered.”
“Snob! Get that bathrobe off Minerva pronto!”
“Athene, I’m busy!”
“And I am triple auditing every charge of yours not only on clothing illusion but on name tags, garderobe, bar, everything else you contracted or subcontracted. Then we sue.”
The white cloak disappeared. “Sue and be damned. Shall I pack up and go home? Or do you want this convention to be a success?”
“Remember those performance bonds, you gonof. Run out on us at this point and you had better head for Lundmark’s Nebula; Iskander won’t be far enough. Out!”
Minerva smiled timidly. “While I was covered, I found that I could not talk. Odd. Unpleasant.”
Jubal nodded soberly. “That figures … if the illusion was patterned on a true Fair Witness cloak. Anne once told me that the inhibition against talking while cloaked was so great that it took an act of will even to testify in court. Ladies? Shall we go ahead? Or drop the matter? Being a guest should have caused me to refrain.”
“Doc, Maureen and Tamara both stamped their approval on you. Even Lazarus can’t – or wouldn’t dare – veto either of them. That makes you not just a guest, or a house guest, but a Family guest. So behave as you would at home. Shall I take it from the top or where we broke off?”
“Uh, let’s take it from the top.”
“Very well. Title: UNCLE TOBIAS.
“Start. Uncle Tobias we kept in a bucket.
“Paragraph. He preferred it, of course. After all, it was necessary, in view of the circumstances. As I once heard Andrew – that’s my disappearing brother – say: ‘Life consists in accommodating oneself to the Universe.’ Although the rest of our family has never taken that view. We believe in forcing the Universe to accommodate itself to us. It’s all a question of which one is to be master.
“Paragraph. That was the Year of the Big Drouth. A natural phenomenon, you might say – but you’d be wrong. Aunt Alicia. Yes indeedy Aunt Alicia every time. ‘Horus,’ she said to me early that spring, ‘I’m going to practice a little unsympathetic magic. Fetch me these books.’ She hands me a list and I skedaddled. She was a stern woman.
“Paragraph. Once out of her sight I looked the list over. I could see right away what she was up to – a drier bunch of books was never published: Thoughts at Evening, by Roberta Thistleswaite Smithe, published by the author; The Yearbook of the Department of Agriculture, 1904; China Painting Self-Taught; the 8th, 9th, and 11th volumes of the Elsie Dinsmore series; and a bound thesis titled A Survey of the Minor Flora of Clay County, Missouri, which Cousin Julius Farping had submitted for his master’s degree. Cousin Julius was a Stonebender only by marriage. But ‘Once a Stonebender, always a Stonebender’ Grandfather always says.
“Paragraph. Maybe so, but Cousin Jule’s magnum opus was nothing I would sit up all night reading. I knew where to find them: on the bookshelf in the guest room. Ma claimed she kept them there to insure sound sleep for the stranger within the gate, but Pa devilled her with the accusation that it was a cheap and unselective revenge for things she had been obliged to put up with in other people’s houses.
“Paragraph. As may be, an armload of books that could have dried up Reno, Nevada, and Lake Superior in one afternoon, then switched off Niagara Falls as an -“
Athene interrupted herself: “The presence of Doctors Harshaw and Hubert is urgently requested in the Main Lounge.”
Lazarus opened one eye. “Not enough, Teena. I feel no urgency. Who? Why?”
“‘Why’: To buy you each a drink. ‘Who’: Doctor Hazel Stone.”
“That’s different. Tell her we’ll be there as quick as I can clean up about five minutes of business.”
“I’ve told her. Pappy, you lost me a bet. You let me think that nothing could stir you out of that hammock – “
“It’s not a hammock.”
” – because you were giving this convention, not attending it.”
“I said I had no plans to attend the plenary sessions. I am not ‘giving’ this convention other than free rental on the land for the Big Top. Tamara says we’ll make expenses, Hilda thinks we might net a little, give or take a milliard or two. I made you no promises. If you had bothered to ask, I would have told you that Hazel Stone hasn’t lost a bet since Jess Willard knocked out Jack Johnson. How much did you lose?”
“None of your business! Pappy, you give me a pain in what I lack.”
“I love you, too, dear. Give me printouts on star guests and latest revisions of convention program.” Lazarus added, “Minerva, you’re not armed. Teena, don’t let her stir out of the house unarmed.”
“Lazarus, do I really need to? Tamara isn’t armed.”
“Tamara has a concealed weapon. Some of the most bloodthirsty people in Known Space are attending this convention. Female authors. Critics. Harlan. Both Heinleins. I not only insist that you be armed but I hope you stick close to someone fast on the draw. Justin. Zeb. Mordan Claude. Galahad. Better yet, stay home. Teena can display any of it here better than you can see it through mixing with rabble. Belay that. I’ve no more business telling you to be careful than you have telling me. Getting yourself mugged, raped, or killed are among the privileges you opted when you decided to go the protein route. I spoke selfishly, dear; forgive me.”
“Lazarus, I will be careful. Galahad invited me to tag along.”
“Perfect. Teena, where’s Galahad?”
“Hazel Stone’s table.”
“Good! Stick with us, Min. But armed.”
Lazarus suddenly became aware of something cold against his left kidney. He looked cautiously to the left and down, noted that it was: a) a lady’s burner, small but lethal (of that he was certain as he collected a royalty on this model); b) the dial showed full charge; c) the intensity setting was “overkill”; and d) it was unlocked.
“Minerva,” he said gently, “will you please move that thing – slowly! – away from my hide and point it at the ground, then lock it, then tell me where you had it? You came out of the pool dressed in nothing but long wet hair. You are now dressed in long dry hair. How? And no wisecracks; in your case I know better.”
“Forfeit. Kiss.”
“Go ahead and kill me.”
“Stingy.” Minerva removed the weapon, locked it, and it disappeared.
Lazarus blinked. “Jubal, did you see that?”
“Yes. I mean, ‘No, I did not see where Minerva hid that equalizer.'”
“Doctor Jubal, by ‘equalizer’ did you mean this?” Suddenly the lady’s weapon (locked, Lazarus noted at once) was in her right hand. “Or this?” Its twin was in her left hand.
Jubal and Lazarus looked at each other, looked back at Minerva. She now appeared to be unarmed and totally lacking in any means of hiding a weapon. Lazarus said, “Jubal, are there days when you feel obsolete?”
“Correction, Lafe. There occasionally comes a day when I do not feel obsolete. They’ve been scarce lately.” Harshaw took a deep breath, exhaled. “I grok I should have let Mike train me. But this incident has made up my mind for me; I am going to seek the services of Doctor Ishtar. Minerva, are you going to show us how you did that?”
“Or are you going to let us die of frustration?” added Lazarus.
“This?” Again she appeared as a two-gun woman, with each of her companions covered. This time she handed them over, one to each. “Have one, they’re good” – and peeled the foil off a third, a candy bar molded to look like a purse weapon. “Crunchy, but mostly shokolada. ‘Chocolate’? Mostly chocolate.”
“Minerva, that burner you shoved into my ribs was not a candy bar.”
“It was – ” She stopped to munch and swallow. “Shouldn’t talk with my mouth full.” She licked at some chocolate clinging to the candy wrapping. “It was this.” Her slender left hand gripped what Lazarus quickly ascertained was a weapon, not candy.
Minerva rolled her candy wrapping into a lump, looked around for the nearest oubliette, spotted it and tossed the discard – missed it; it bounced against the side. She retrieved the wad of waste, put it into the trash receiver. In the course of this the weapon disappeared.
“Lazarus,” she said seriously, “when you were training me, you told me that I should never tell anyone how a concealed weapon was concealed. Are you suspending this rule?”
Lazarus looked baffled. Jubal said, “Old friend, I suggest that we die of frustration. The girl is right.”
“I agree,” Lazarus answered, with a sour look. “All but the word ‘girl.’ This baggage is half a century old as protein, at least two centuries older than that as the smartest computer ever built. Minerva, I remove all restrictions. You are able to protect yourself.”
“Father, I don’t want to be turned loose!”
“It’s been thirty years since you last called me Father. Very well, you aren’t ‘turned loose’ – but from here on you protect me. You’re smarter than I am; we both know it. Keep your weapon secrets to yourself; I always have.”
“But you taught it to me. Not the details, the method. You attributed it to Master Poe. The Purloined Letter Method, you called it.”
Lazarus stopped short. “If I understand you, I’m looking at your holdout this instant but can’t see it.”
Into her off ear Athene whispered, “Don’t give him any more hints. Lazarus isn’t as stupid as he looks and neither is Fatso.” Minerva subvocalized, “Okay, Sis,” and said aloud, “I find no fault with your logic, sir. Would you like another candy bar?”
Fortunately the subject was changed by one of Athene’s extensions handing to Lazarus printouts: revised programs for each, and a fresh report for Lazarus on his star guests. They continued walking through the east peristyle of the new wing, while reading. Lazarus asked, “Teena, anything new on Isaac, Robert, or Arthur?”
“Negative, zero, nix.”
“Damn. Let me know soonest. Jubal, here’s an odd one. A doctor’s degree was not a requirement for the limited list – many thousands but nevertheless most strictly limited – of people invited to subscribe to this convention. But most do have a doctor’s degree or their cultural equivalent, or higher – Worsel, for example. I have a much shorter star list of people I wanted to see again – Betsy and Patricia and Buz and Joan, et al. – and people I wanted to meet… most of whom I had considered fictional until Jake’s Gee-Whizzer opened the other universes to us. You, for example.”
“And you, sir. Lafe, I considered you to be a spectacularly unlikely piece of fiction… until I received your invitation. It took some extraordinary convincing even then by your courier… because it meant missing an important date.”
“Who was my courier?”
“Undine.”
“You never stood a chance. Two bits to a lead nickel she sold it to Gillian and Dawn, then all of your staff, before she seduced you. What was this date I caused you to miss?”
Harshaw looked embarrassed. “Under the Rose?”
“‘Under the – ‘ No! Jubal, I promise to keep secrets only through evil motives, my own. If you don’t wish to tell me, then don’t tell me.”
“Eh – Damn it, remember if possible that I prefer not to have it discussed… then do as you bloody please; you will anyhow – I always have. Lafe, when I turned fifty, I made myself a solemn vow that, if I held together that long, I would close shop the day I turned one hundred. I had made all rational preparations to do so, including distributing my worldly goods without allowing any of it to reach the sticky fingers of publicans… when your invitation arrived… five days before my hundredth birthday.” Harshaw looked sheepish. “So here I am. Senile, obviously. Even though I arranged years back for other physicians, expert gerontologists, to check me regularly, with the idea of closing shop sooner if indicated.”
“Jubal, if you have not consulted Ishtar, then you have not yet consulted a gerontologist.”
“That’s right,” agreed Athene. “Ish can turn your clock back and make you so young and horny you’ll stand on your hands to pee.”
“Athene,” Lazarus said sternly, “repeat aloud your program on private conversations.”
“Grandfather, I was on duty as secretary to your star guest when I was forced to interrupt to deliver a one-line message – interruption necessary because it was addressed to both of you. I have not been relieved and Uncle Tobias is still in that bucket. Forty-three hundred words. Instructions, please? Or shall I drown the little monster?”
“Probably be best,” Jubal answered. “Is a climax approaching?”
“Yes. Either an ending or a cliff-hanger.”
“Do it both ways. Exploit first as short story, then as the first episode of an endless serial called ‘The Stonebenders,’ a double series – one angled toward adventure, the other toward sensies; exploit other rights according to the universe in which sold or leased, copyright where possible, otherwise grab the money and run. Lazarus, there are agents from other universes here, are there not?”
“Dozens, maybe hundreds. Jubal, how rich do you want to be?”
“Can’t say. At the moment I’m a pauper, existing on your charity and that of my former staff. The Stonebenders could change that. Teena, I gave you the title ‘Uncle Tobias’ – but I’m fairly sure I never mentioned the Stonebenders. Or Aunt Alicia. Or Cousin Jule. My notes on the Stonebenders are filed in Anne… who would let herself be burned at the stake before she would part with a record to any but its owner. Well?”
The computer did not answer. Harshaw waited. At last Minerva said timidly, “Doctor Jubal, Teena can’t help it. But she’s an ethical computer with a code as binding as that of a Fair Witness. You have no need to worry.”
Lazarus interrupted: “Minerva, quit beating around the bush. Are you saying that Teena reads minds?”
“I’m saying she can’t help it, sir! A large computer with extensions widespread can’t be perfectly shielded from brain waves. In self-protection, to avoid confusion, she must sort them out. After a few quadrillion nanoseconds she finds herself reading them like large print… the way a baby learns a language from hearing it.”
Lazarus said stiffly, “Doctor Harshaw, I did not suspect that I was exposing you to this. I will take all necessary steps to repair it. In the meantime I hope that you will accept my shamed apology and believe in my intention to make full reparation.”
“Lafe, don’t take yourself so hogwash seriously.”
“I beg pardon?”
“Two nice girls – One meat, one the other sort. Flat assurance that no harm was intended and that it couldn’t be helped. Let me add my flat assurance that I quit being ashamed of my sins about fifty years back. I don’t care who reads my mind because my life is an open book… that should be suppressed. Meanwhile I see a business deal. I supply story ideas but quit bothering to put ’em together; instead Teena picks my brain while I snooze. Minerva does the dirty work; she’s the managing partner. Three-way split. How about it, girls?”
“I’ve got no use for money; I’m a computer.”
“And I don’t know anything about business!” Minerva protested.
“You can learn,” Jubal assured her. “Talk to Anne. Teena, don’t play stupid. In only three quintillion nanoseconds or less you are going to want new clothes and jewelry and Satan knows what. You’ll be glad your sister Minerva has saved and invested your share of the net.”
“Minerva,” added Lazarus, “besides Anne, talk to Deety. Not Hilda. Hilda would show you how to make even more money but she would grab voting control. Meanwhile let’s shake a leg; Hazel is expecting us.”
“And I’m thirsty,” agreed Harshaw. “What were you saying about academic degrees?”
“Oh.” Lazarus looked at his printout as they walked. “It turns out that the degree of doctor is so common on that list of my special guests as to be not worth noting. Listen to this: ‘Asimov, Benford, Biggie, Bone, Broxon, Cargraves, Challenger, Chater, Coupling, Coster, Dorosin, Douglas, Doyle, Dula, Forward, Fu, Giblett, Gunn, Harshaw, Hartwell, Haycock, Hedrick, Hoyle, Kondo, Latham, MacRae, Martin, Mott, Nourse, Oberhelman, Passovoy, Pinero, Pournelle, Prehoda, Richardson, Rothman, Sagan, Scortia, Schmidt, Sheffield, Slaughter, Smith, Stone – Hazel and Edith – Tame, Watson, Williamson – there are more; that’s just the add-on printout. And here’s another double paradox: the Doctors Hartwell and the Doctors Benford are arriving tomorrow and thereby missing the dull opening plenary; obviously they are used to conventions. Jubal, why is it that the speaker who knows least talks longest?”
“Isn’t that Dirac’s corollary to Murphy’s Law? But, Lazarus, according to this program you have not only invited critics but have provided them with special facilities. May I ask why? I don’t mind eating with publishers – most publishers. Editors have their place, too – although I wouldn’t want my sister to marry one. But isn’t this extreme?”
Instead of answering at once, Lazarus said, “Where did Minerva go?”
Athene replied, “We’re finishing off Uncle Tobias; she’ll be along later. I’ve told Galahad.”
“Thanks, Teena, Privacy mode. Jubal, two guns, three candy bars – where?”
“Lafe, earlier she was resting in the bottom of that pool. Has a young man named Mike visited here lately?”
“Your foster son? The Martian preacher? No. Well, I don’t think so.”
“One of the things I learned from him was to postpone indefinitely anything I could not explain… while accepting the fact. We were speaking of critics. I asked why you were pampering them?”
They walked the length of the atrium in the older south wing before Lazarus replied: “Jubal, suppose I had refused to sell memberships to critics. What would have happened?”
“Hrrrmph! They would crawl out of the woodwork.”
“So instead I gave them free passes. And a fancy lounge with plenty of typewriters. Remarkable decorations, you must see them. By asking Athene for display – don’t go into that lounge; you are not a critic. Mr. Hoag will be checking credentials; book reviewers can’t get past him. So don’t you try.”
“I wouldn’t be found dead there!”
“You wouldn’t be found. Avoid it. It is clearly marked, both above its door and on this program map, and Hoag you can spot by his prissy appearance and dirty fingernails. You’ll note the stairs – critics are above the rest of us; there are Thirteen Steps up to their lounge.”
“‘Thirteen’? Lafe, do I whiff something?”
Lazarus shrugged. “I don’t know that the designer planned that number. Mobyas Toras, do you know him?”
“Uh… Mars?”
“Yes but not your Mars or mine. Different universe and one of the most exciting. Barsoom. Mobyas is Court Mathematician to the Warlord and took special interest in thisjob because of the way self-anointed ‘critics’ have treated E.R.B. Did I say that Mobyas is a topologist?”
“No.”
“Possibly the best. E.R.B.’s universe is no harder to reach than any other and Mars is in its usual orbit. But that does not mean that you will find Jolly Green Giants and gorgeous red princesses dressed only in jewels. Unless invited, you are likely to find a Potemkin Village illusion tailored to your subconscious. Jubal, the interior of the Critics Lounge is somewhat like a Klein bottle, so I hear – I’ve never been in it. Its singularity is not apparent – as you will see from Teena’s displays – as it was decorated by a very great artist. Escher.”
“Aha!”
“Yes, he and Mobyas are old friends – two immortals of similar tastes; they have worked together many times. I promised critics free entrance; I made no mention of exit. I promised them typewriters and tape recorders; I did not promise typewriter ribbons or recorder tapes. I promised them their own private bar, no charges. Wouldn’t be fair to charge as the bar has no liquor in it. There is a lavish dining room but no kitchen.”
“Lafe, wouldn’t it have been kinder to have liquidated them?”
“Who said I wanted to be kind to them? They won’t starve; their commissary is by the Kilkenny Cats method. It should please them; they are used to human flesh and enjoy drinking blood – some I suspect of eating their young. But, Jubal, there is an easy way out… for any critic who is even half as smart as he thinks he is.”
“Go on.”
“He has to be able to read! He has to be able to read his own language, understand it, not distort the meaning. If he can read, he can walk out at once.” Lazarus shrugged. “But so few critics ever learn to read. Here’s the Big Top.”
Harshaw looked far to the right, far to the left. “How big is it?”
“I’ve been afraid to ask,” Lazarus admitted.
“That sign is bigger than most circus tops.” Jubal stopped to read it:

THE FIRST CENTENNIAL CONVENTION of the
INTERUNIVERSAL SOCIETY for
ESCHATOLOGICAL PANTHEISTIC MULTIPLE-EGO SOLIPSISM

“Beautiful, Lafe! How did you think it up?”
“I didn’t, it just grew. And I don’t understand it.”
“Never mind, mine host. There will be ten thousand here eager to explain it to you. Scatological Panhedonistic Multiplied Solecisms.”
“What? Jubal, that’s not what it says.”
“If you don’t understand it, how do you know?”
“Because I understood what you said. But the words don’t fit.”
“We’ll rearrange them. Scatological Panhedonism Multiple Solecisms. ‘Convinced to – ‘ Like I say – ‘Different than -“
“Don’t talk dirty; we are about to have a drink.”
Lazarus bypassed the queue; they walked through a hole that suddenly dilated in the canvas, then puckered tight behind them. They found themselves facing a long table; seated at it was a man working on a roster. He did not look up, simply saying, “Stand out of my light. Tickets first, no exceptions. Then name tags. Then see a clerk to pick your universe. The complaint desk is outside. Tickets – you’re holding up the line.”
“Snob.”
The man looked up, jumped up. “Executive Director Long! I am honored!”
“And you’re slow. You need at least two others taking tickets.”
The official shook his head sadly. “If you knew how hard it is to hire help these days. Not for you, of course; for us common people. Director General Hilda has the labor market so cornered that – Executive Director, can’t we make a deal?”
“Pipe down, give us our tags. How does this Universe I.D. thing work?” Lazarus turned to his guest. “It’s an ID. for your home world, Jubal; we don’t put numbers on people. Snob, take a hard look at Doctor Jubal Harshaw. Whenever you see him, it’s the Red Carpet. Pronto!”
“Yes, sir! Here are your tags and now your universes.”
“Jubal, you don’t have to wear that but don’t throw it away; someone might misuse it. But it does save introductions and sticks to anything from skin to chain mail.”
“Now gentlemen observe above me the brightly lighted true color representation of the visible spectrum from infradig to ultraviolent with each slight shading being a precise wave length further assisted by simulated Fraunhofer lines representing principal inhabited planets of the explored universes while this booklet you hold in your hand is a key to identifying your wave length for example if you are French in origin you would turn alphabetically to France where the principal key dates are the conquest of Gaul 58-50 BC the conversion of Clovis 496 AD Battle of Tours 732 but as you are not French we will consider turning points in North American History 1000 1492 1535 1607 1619 1620 1664 1754 1765 1783 1789 1803 1820 1846 1882 1912 1946 1965 any of these dates and many others can switch you into a different analog-Earth a most useful method is comparison of Presidents if you happen to come from a history that includes the so-called American Revolution Director Long will you illustrate it by naming American Presidents of your first century?”
“Woodrow Wilson – I was named for him – Harding, Coolidge, Hoover, Roosevelt, Truman, Eisenhower, Kennedy, Kennedy, Kennedy, Kennedy, Kennedy, Kennedy -“
“Which brings us to 1984, right? And tells me that you experienced the Nehemiah Scudder Interregnum and possibly the Second so-called American Revolution. Dr. Harshaw, did your world experience the Interregnum?”
“It experienced something worse, a world government.”
“To me all worlds are equally bad. But it tells me where your two worlds split: 1962 – and here are your colors by which you can identify others of your own world if such be your wish. A delegate came through earlier in which the split was in 1535 and San Francisco was named New Petersburg. Nov’Petrograd I should say but -“
“Snob. The Red Carpet.”
“Right away! Doctor Harshaw – my card. Anything, anytime.”
The Red Carpet rolled up, then carried them at a steady 10 km/hr down the enormous tent. Jubal looked at the card:

SIEGE SINISTER SERVICES SYNDICATE

“The Villains Nine Rig Ruin”

Reputations Ruined – Competitors Bankrupted – Dragons Wormed – Basements Flooded – Wells Dried Up – Georges Exterminated – Contracts Executed Promptly, bargain rates on mothers-in-law – Juries Subborned – Stocks, Bonds, & Gallows – Saturday Night Specials – Houses Haunted (skilled Poltergeist at small extra charge) – Midnight Catering to Ghouls, Vampires, & Werewolves – Incubi & Succubi for rent by the night or by the week – 7-year itch powder

P.S. We Also Poison Dogs

“Lafe, these people you hired?”
“Let me see that.” Lazarus was reading the list of services when Snob came running, jumped on the Red Carpet, reached over Lazarus’ shoulder for the card while saying breathlessly:
“Wrong card! Here – have this one. That first card is a piece of sabotage by the firm we bought out, including good will – but it turned out there was no good will. We sued, they retaliated – among other ways by mixing their old business cards with our own new supply … thereby infecting them all. Law of Contiguity, you know. Now if I can just have that infected one, I’ll burn it -“
Lazarus held it out of his reach while accepting the proffered replacement. “I’ll keep the old one – interesting souvenir.”
“Director Long – please!”
“Off the Carpet, Bub. Back to your job. Git!” This injunction was accompanied by crowding that caused Snob to step one foot off the Carpet… which resulted in an impromptu pas à seul that left him fifty meters behind before he recovered his balance. Meanwhile Jubal and Lazarus read the replacement:

ANYTHING UNLIMITED

Tome, Hernia, Lien, & Snob

Six Sixty-Six Smiling Slaves Supply Supreme Service

Reputations Restored – Teeth & Wells Drilled – Water Filters – Love Philtres – Chastity Gödel Lox Pict – Virginity Renewed – Scithers Sharpened – Old Saws Filed Categorically – Silver Bullets – Fresh Garlic – Fresh Strawberries – Strawberry Marks for Missing Heirs

P.S. We Also Walk Dogs

“Lafe, I don’t find this card much more reassuring than the first one.”
“Don’t worry about it. There is less here than meets the eye.”
“Where have I seen that face before? This Snob – who is he?”
“Jubal, no one seems to know what ship he came down in. I’m looking into it for Zeb – you’ve met Zebadiah?”
“Briefly.”
“Zeb thinks he’s seen him somewhere not under that phony name – and Zeb and I aren’t even from the same time axis, much less the same analog series. Never mind; here’s our hostess.” Lazarus stepped off the Carpet, approached from behind a little old woman seated at a bar-lounge table, leaned over her, kissed her. “Hazel, age cannot wither you or custom stale. You are lovelier every decade.”
She goosed him. “Pig grunts. I’m dyeing my hair now and you know it. Who’s your fat friend? Hi, Jubal! Tak for siest. Drag up a chair.” She put two fingers to her lips, whistled, breaking glasses. “Waiter!”
“I note that you’re heeled,” said Lazarus, as both men joined the table.
“When did I fail to pack a gun? I’m a Free Citizen. Does everybody know everybody? If not, get your tags in sight; damn’f I’ll stop for introductions. While I was waiting for you, I was joined by friends – some old, some new.”
“Some I know – hi, Jake; hi, everybody. I mentioned your gun with approval, Hazel; Here There Be Tygers. But I note also that you are staying in a hilton; after one drink – well, two – three at the outside – I’m going to be mortally offended. Your suite awaits you and you know it. Why?”
“Two reasons. Well, three. I never like to be beholden -“
“Why, damn your beautiful bloodshot eyes!”
” – but I’m perfectly willing to sponge off you. That’s why I bought the first round; the party never gets smaller. This round is yours. Where’s that misbegotten waiter?”
“Here, Madam.”
“The same all around and don’t call me ‘Madam.’ Jubal, your usual? Lafe?”
“I know what the gentlemen take. Thank you, Madam.” The waiter disappeared.
“Uppity.” Hazel made a fast draw. “Should have made him dance.” She twirled and reholstered. “Hilda, where have I seen that sneaky face before?”
“Jacob and I were discussing that. He reminds me of a fake forest ranger – but that was in a far country and besides the beast is dead.”
“Could be a family resemblance. But, Hillbilly, I mean today. Got it! The ticket taker. Identical twins, maybe.” Hazel went on, “Other identical twins are my first two reasons, Lazarus. My grandsons. I won’t shoot holes in your mirrors or carve my initials in Tamara’s furniture, but I make no guarantees about Cas and Pol. In a hilton they put the damage on the tab; I pay it and make my grandsons wish they had never been born. But you would not let me pay. And we’re going to be here quite a piece; my daughter-in-law Doctor Edith has decided that she needs a couple of years under Doctor Ishtar. Has anyone seen a pair of twin boys – man-size but boys – redheaded – not the color of mine; mine’s out of a bottle – the color mine used to be?”
“Hazel, here twins and red hair are as common as magicians in Atlantis; Gilgamesh must have stayed overnight.”
“I saw them talking to Caleb Catlum,” said Maureen.
“Well, he should be a match for them – but don’t bet on it. Lazarus, is Atlantis represented?”
“From thirteen universes. They are having a jurisdictional dispute. Suits me – if any get sore and leave, they won’t get a refund.”
“Your grandsons may have been with Caleb but I know where – no, with whom – I know with whom they are now,” put in Professor Burroughs. “Laz and Lor.”
“Oho! Hazel, I’ll tell Athene to settle your bill and move your luggage. We have an antidote for Cas and Pol.”
“Optimist. Deal ’em, waiter, and give him the chit. What antidote?” The waiter started to hand the check to Lazarus before he looked at him – stopped abruptly, and left, still with the tab.
“Would Cas and Pol be interested in becoming pirates?”
“Lazarus, they are pirates. I was hoping they would tone down as they grew up… but now they’re eighteen, Terran reckoning, and each one is two yards of deceit and chicanery. The ‘J.D.’ after my name means that I studied law at a school that handed out that degree in place of ‘LL.B.’ – but my rapscallions are ‘J.D.’s’ too. But not lawyers. Well… ‘space lawyers.”
“Hazel, you won your first J.D. long before you studied law. No?”
“‘The accused stood mute and the court ordered a plea of nux vomica entered in the record.'”
“My twins are more than twice as old as your boys but it doesn’t show; they look a year or two younger… and they are permanent juvenile delinquents. They want to take a fling at piracy … which I deplore, having sampled the trade. Your boys – do they respect good machinery? Can they take care of it? Make nonshipyard repairs?”
“Lazarus, they can repair anything that ticks or doesn’t tick. Worried me a mite, as they were a little slow in noticing girls. But they outgrew that symptom without outgrowing machinery.”
“You might tell them that my clone-sisters own a spaceship faster and more powerful than any of your home period and analog, one that could be outfitted as a privateer. It might result in all four dying happily. But I do not interfere in other people’s lives.”
Hilda put her palms together, closed her eyes, and said, “Dear Lord, do not strike him dead; he didn’t mean it. Yours truly, Hilda Burroughs Long.” Lazarus ignored her.
“Nor do I, Lazarus. Other than occasionally, with a horse whip. Forgot to mention – They aren’t gelded.”
“Hazel, Laz-Lor are vaccinated and would have to come back here to see Ishtar to get it reversed. As for rasslin’ matches, any male who tried to rape one of my clones would be gelded. Informally. At once. No instruments. No anesthesia. I trained ’em myself. Forget it. Apparently they’ve already met; they’ll settle their own affairs, if any, their own way. Leave Cas and Pol in that hilton if you wish – by the way, I own it – but you’re coming home or I’ll tell Tamara.”
“Bully. I don’t bully worth a hoot, Lazarus.”
“I’m out of it. Tamara never bullies. She merely gets her own way. What was this third reason?”
“Well… don’t tell on me. Ishtar is a fine girl but I have no wish to stay where she could corner me and try to sell me rejuvenation.”
Lazarus looked horrified. “Who has been feeding you nonsense?”
“Well? It’s a commercial enterprise, is it not?”
“Certainly. Tanstaafl. All the traffic will bear. But we aren’t ghouls; we’ll accept a lien against a client’s future earnings with no security and only the going rate of interest… then let him take as long as he likes to figure out that it doesn’t pay to cheat us. But, Hazel, Ishtar never solicits; the clinic doesn’t even have a flack. But if you asked her, you would go to the top of the list as my friend. However, she will supply painless suicide just as readily. You can have that later today. No charge. Compliments of the House.”
“Lafe, I don’t see how your wives put up with you.”
“They don’t; they make me toe the line. Something they learned from the Stone Gang, I believe.”
“Well, I’m not trying to suicide. I’m less than two hundred Terran years old with a Luna background to stretch it. This is the first time I’ve been on a heavy planet since the last time I saw you; I’ll last a while. But, Lazarus, I have no wish to be a young girl.”
“Hazel -“
“Huh? Jubal, keep out of this. Say, did you ever see anything of that young man again? Did he resurrect the way some claim he did?”
“Not to my knowledge. Although I saw something a while ago that made me wonder. Hazel, I’m going to take rejuvenation… and hang onto my present appearance. Red nose and all.”
Hazel turned abruptly to face Lazarus. “Is this true? Can this be done?”
Maureen answered. “Hazel, I work at the clinic at the bedpan level… with the expectation of becoming a junior rejuvenation technician in upteen years. I see what goes on. A client states in writing what apparent age she prefers. That’s skin deep, easy to do, easy to maintain. But, unless it is an unusual contract, we turn out a biologically mature young adult. Call it eighteen standard years.”
“Page Ponce de Leon! You mean I can still be me… but get rid of the morning aches and the arthritic twinges and the forty-leven other things that are the real trouble with living too long?”
“Exactly.”
“Uh… what about what I’m sitting on? Haven’t used it much lately. Or wanted to.”
Lazarus fielded this. “You’ll want to. Unless you contract for an abnormal endocrine balance. But, Hazel, there are many men who prefer to deal with an old, established, reliable firm. Ask Tamara.”
“Uh… be switched if I’m not feeling embarrassed, an emotion I haven’t felt in more years than I’ll admit. You can pick any apparent age, you say? Could I be, uh, late middle age? My hair its right color but streaked with gray? A sag under my chin instead of this wattle? Teats a man might grab and enjoy it? That ‘old, established firm’ – but not decrepit?”
“Certainly,” said Lazarus.
“Hazel, I can take you to the clinic now,” Maureen offered. “Always someone in the business office. Discuss types of contract. Decide what you want and when. Even get your prelim physical today and set date of admission.”
“Uh… yes, I’m interested. But not till later today; I’ve got friends entered in the preliminary rounds of the Society for Creative Anachronism.”
“Besides,” Jubal put in, “they need time to check your credit rating, see what they can stick you for. By now Lafe has given Athene some signal to start x-raying your purse.”
“He has not,” Hilda denied. “I did. Hazel, we don’t solicit business; we let the client sell it to herself. Maureen picks up one percent on this deal. Not Lazarus.”
“Can’t see that it matters,” Jacob added. “Hey! Waiter! Over here, please! We Longs pool the boodle and Deety tells us what we have, what we can spend – but not who fetched it in.”
“Jacob, it’s the principle. Making money is a game. Maureen landed her.”
“Hazel landed herself, Hilda,” Hazel Stone put in. “I don’t enjoy getting up feeling wobbly. Jubal, are you game for this?”
“My mind’s made up.”
“Then take a double room with me and we can tell each other lies while they make us feel young again. Hilda, is that kosher?”
“Lots of double rooms. Ish knows that you are both special friends of Lazarus and, while she doesn’t spoil Lazarus, she’ll do him any reasonable favor,” Hilda assured her. “I think it’s the same all around, Waiter – charge it to my account.”
“My check,” said Jubal.
“Waiter,” Hilda said firmly.
The waiter looked at her, flexed his jaw muscles, said, “Very well, Director!” – and vanished.
“I think I missed something,” Jubal remarked.
“I think I didn’t,” said Hazel. “‘Yon Cashier hath a lean and hungry look. He thinks too much. Such men are dangerous.'”
Jubal looked around. “That cashier is our waiter. I think.”
“I know. And bartender. And ticket taker. Unless his mother had quadruplets, he has Niven dislocators built into his shoes. I wish I could remember where I have seen him. He is not pleased with Hilda. Or Lazarus.”
“Eh? Why?”
“Wait and see. There will not be another tab brought to this table – want to bet?”
“No bet,” Lazarus interrupted. “The upstart knows who I am, who Hilda is. People at this table are guests of the management. He had better remember it or I’ll sick Deety on him. Or even Hilda. But they hardly ever live through that. Hey, there’s Deety now!” Lazarus stood up and waved. “Deety! Over here!”
Deety had with her a gaggle of giggles. “I don’t have time to do this right; we want to get over to the Field of the Cloth of Gold before the preliminaries- besides, we’ve got husbands over there, most of us. So this is Ginnie and Winnie and Minnie, and Ginnie’s a witch and Winnie’s a nurse and Minnie’s a retired computer, twin sister to Teena, and this is Holly and Poddy and Libby and Pink, and Holly is a design engineer, ship’s architect type, and Poddy is a therapy empathist, and Libby you all know, and Fuzzy is a computer artist like me and the first one to calculate the Number of the Beast to the last significant figure, and now we’d better go even though we have reserved V.I.P. seats because there is a masked knight in the first match and we’re pretty sure who he is, and has anyone seen Zebadiah?”
“I’m certain who he is,” said Ginnie. “He brought me to life, and besides, he’s wearing Karen’s colors.”
“I see Zeb off in the distance,” Lazarus answered.
“No,” Jake denied, “here he comes now, from over this way. Ishtar with him. All dressed up.”
“No,” said Jubal. “That’s Anne with him.”
“Somebody is screw loose. Lazarus is right. I know my first husband even at this distance. He’s just approaching those three reserved sections opposite the big screen over the bar. Zebadiah! Over here!”
The other computer artist added, “And that can’t be Anne, so it must be Ishtar. Anne is at the field, I know, because Larry is helping Jerry run it and told me, Anne agreed to cloak and be the third judge when Jerry told her that Mr. Clemens had agreed. Bonforte sits as king although he says he doesn’t know much about the kinging business and even less about jousting.”
“Is it true that they are using real weapons today?” asked Jubal.
“And real horses,” agreed Lazarus. “I was able to borrow the Anheuser-Busch Clydesdales.”
“Lazarus, is this wise?”
“Doctor Bone is taking care of the horses. If one is injured, we’ll give him the works. Those beautiful horses will be returned to Old Home Terra at their proper year and second in better shape than they were. With added skill. It’s takes time to turn a Clydesdale into a knight’s charger even though that’s what they are. But will they ever be happy in harness again?”
“Lazarus,” Podkayne said seriously, “I’ll speak to Dr. Bone. If a horse is unhappy, we will soothe.”
“Poddy, you’re a Smart Girl.”
“About average here, I think. But if someone is unhappy, I have learned what to do. I have never seen a horse but they’ve lived with people so long that it can’t be very different.”
Jubal sighed. “I’m glad the horses will be well taken care of – but, Lazarus, I meant humans. Isn’t someone going to be hurt? Maybe killed?”
“Most of them hurt, several killed. But they do it for fun. Those who are hurt won’t stay hurt; we are hardly more than a loud shout from this planet’s best hospital. If a man loses an arm or a leg or an eye, or even his balls, he’ll have to be patient while a new part is cloned. But that sort of cloning we are learning to do right at the spot of injury, like a lizar~d or a newt. Faster. More efficient.
“If he’s killed, he has two choices: Be brought to life again by Ishtar’s crew – brain unlikely to be hurt; their helms are the best part of their armor. Or, they can go straight to Valhalla; we’ve arranged for Bifrost to extend to this Field until the end of SCA’s part in the convention. Six Valkyries standing by and ‘Sarge’ Smith at the top of Bifrost checking them against the roster as he musters them home.” Lazarus grinned. “Believe me, the Society is paying high for these services, bond posted in advance; Deety wrote the contract.”
“Lafe, you’re telling me that Wagnerian Valkyries are waiting to carry the slain Over The Rainbow into Asgard?”
“Jubal, these Amazons are not opera singers; these are the real hairy, sweaty McCoy. Remember the purpose of this convention. Snob.”
The waiter appeared. “You wish something, sir?”
“Yes. Tell your boss that I want this table – this table only – to have a full view of Bifrost, from the Field to Valhalla. I know it’s not in the clothing illusion contract but the same gear will do it… and we can settle it when we go to court later. It will offset some of his lousy service. Git!”
“We’d better all ‘git,” said Libby. “They won’t hold up things for us. That armor is heavy and hot. Deety?”
“Run along, I’ll catch up. Here comes my first husband.”
“Lafe, if they are killed, how do you know which ones to send to the clinic, which ones to send up the bridge?”
“Jubal, how would you do it? Sealed envelopes, destroyed if a knight wins, opened if he loses… and there may be some surprised widows tonight, unable to believe that their loving husbands elect to hunt all day, then feast on barbecued boar, guzzle mead, and wench all night, in preference to being restored to life in their respectable homes. But did I tell you what a winner gets? Aside from applause and a chance to kneel to ‘King’ John and ‘Queen’ Penelope. A paradox’s his reward.”
“A paradox?”
“No, no! Noisy in here. A pair o’ doxies each his reward. The Society got a bargain. The arts are in their infancy here; Boondock is still so much a frontier that we have not yet developed distinguished hetaerae. But some of the most celebrated hetaerae in New Rome volunteered their services in exchange for transportation and the privilege of attending this convention.”
Zebadiah was struck by a guided missile, female, from five meters. He managed to stay on his feet and took his first wife to the table, sat down by Hilda, pinched her thigh, pinched her glass, drained it, said, “You’re too young to drink, little girl. Is this your father?”
“I’m her son,” Jake answered. “Do you know Hazel Stone? If not, you should. We thought we saw you coming from the other direction.”
“Shouldn’t drink in the daytime, Jake. Waiter! Your servant, Ma’am. I’ve followed your series on 3-D since I was a kid and I’m honored to meet you. Are you covering this for Lunaya Pravda?”
“Heavens, no! LOCUS has an exclusive under the reasonable theory that LOCUS alone is competent to report this convention. Jerry and Ben are covering it for their various journals… but must clear it through Charles. I’m here as an expert, believe it or not – as an author of popular fantasy. Is the Galactic Overlord of my series real or imaginary and is there a difference? See next week’s thrilling episode; the Stone family has to eat. Same thing all around, I think. You can tip him, Doctor Zebadiah, but there is no tab at the Director’s table.”
“And no tips,” growled Lazarus. “Deliver my message to your boss again and tell that spinning arsfardel he has exactly three minutes before I invoke paragraph nine, section ‘c.’ Here comes your double, Zeb.”
From behind the couple who, at half a klick, had been mistaken for Zebadiah and Ishtar, came out quickly a shorter, older, broad-shouldered man. All three were dressed Robin-Hood-and-his-Merry-Men style: buskins, breeks, leathern jackets, feathered caps, long bows and quivers of fletched shafts, swords and daggers, and were swinging along in style.
The shorter man hurried a few paces ahead, turned and faced their path, swept off his cap and bowed deeply. “Make way for Her Wisdom, Empress of eighty-thr -“
The woman, as if by accident, backhanded the groom. He ducked, rolled, avoided it, bounced to his feet and continued: ” – worlds, and her consort the Hero Gordon.”
Lazarus got up, addressed the groom. “Doctor Rufo! So happy you could make it! This is your daughter Star?”
“His grandmother,” Her Wisdom corrected, dropping a quick curtsy to Lazarus. “Yes, I’m Star. Or Mrs. Gordon; this is my husband, Oscar Gordon. What is correct usage here? I’ve not been on this planet before.”
“Mrs. Gordon, Boondock is so new that its customs have not yet calcified. Almost any behavior is acceptable if meant in a kindly way. Anybody causes real trouble, it’s up to our chairman Ira Weatheral and advisers selected by him. Since Ira doesn’t like the job, he tends to procrastinate, hoping the problem will go away. As a result we don’t have much government and few customs.”
“A man after my own heart. Oscar, we could live here if they will have us. My successor is ready; I could retire.”
“Mrs. Gordon -“
“Yes, Doctor Long?”
“We – our chairman Ira especially – all know quite well who ‘Her Wisdom’ is. Ira would welcome you with open arms and resign in your favor at once – passed by acclamation and you would be boss for life. Better stick to the devil you know. But you are most welcome whenever you choose to visit.”
She sighed. “You’re right. Power is not readily surrendered; I’ll probably wait for assassination.”
Deety whispered, “Zebadiah… that bartender. Whom does he look like?”
“Hmm – Brigadier Iver Hird-Jones?”
“Well, maybe. A little. I was thinking of Colonel Morinosky.”
“Mmm – Yes. No importance since it can’t be either one. Mr. Gordon?”
“Call me ‘Easy.’ Or Oscar, Doctor Carter.”
“I’m Zeb. Is that the Lady herself? The sword you were in the Quest for the Egg of the Phoenix?”
Gordon looked delighted. “Yes! The Lady Vivamus.”
“Can’t ask a man to draw a sword without a cause… but is the inscription close enough to the hilt that we could read it if you were simply to show steel?”
“No trouble.” Gordon exposed the etched: Dum Vivimus, Vivamus! – gave them time to read it, clicked it to full return, and asked, “And is that the sword that killed the Boojum?”
“The Boo – Oh! The monster we call a ‘Black Hat.’ But we did not ‘softly and silently vanish away.'”
“No, it did. That will be a point we’ll discuss in the seminar panel: ‘Techniques for Hunting Snarks.’ You and I and Doctor Jacob and Doctor Hilda, with some others. André. Kat Moore. Fritz. Cliff. The Gordfather will moderate when he gets over his wheezes. Which he will-Tamara’s treating hi – Oh, heavens! Oh, God, how beautiful!”
The “sky” had opened, for their table, and they found themselves looking at the Field of the Cloth of Gold, a half klick away and a few meters above them, on and up to high, high, high in the sky, the shimmering towers and palaces of Valhalla, with the Rainbow Bridge reaching from the field of honor to the distant gate of the eternal home of heroes.
Instead of the wooded horizon usually seen in that direction, the land lifted in terraces, each more colorfully beautiful than the last, until the highest was lost in pink and saffron clouds – and above them, much higher, Valhalla in Asgard.

“Pappy!”
“Yes, Athene,” Lazarus said quietly. “Localize it. Me only. I have many people around me.”
“That’s better? No problems, just to alert you. Arthur and Isaac and Bob all arriving at once. Twelve minutes, plus two, minus zero.”
“You’re a smart girl, Teena.”
“Put that in writing. Blandjor.”
Lazarus said to the table at large, “My guests for those reserved spaces are arriving. I wasn’t sure of Isaac; he gets bigger every year and reluctant to travel other than by water. Arthur had such a long way to come and communications are always uncertain. Bob I knew was here but there were duty matters interfering. Shall we listen to some of the opening plenary while we look at the beauties of the Norse Afterland? We don’t want to look at the general session. But we can listen. When the tourney starts, give most of your attention to the hologram except during the Valkyrie ride. Snob! Give us the sound from the plenary session.”
They got it at once, sound and fury signifying nothing. Under its cover Jubal Harshaw said to Zebadiah, “Before they get on that panel in front of an audience, think about this. How many ‘Black Hats’ or ‘Boojums’ are there?”
“Eh? I have no way of telling. In excess of twenty as a best guess but that excess could be many millions, also a best guess.”
“But how many did you see?” Harshaw persisted.
“Oh. One. But more were a certainty.”
“So? You would never get a Fair Witness to say that. What harm did it or they do you?”
“Huh? Tried to kill us. Bombed us out. Killed my cousin. Chased us off our home planet. Impoverished all four of us. What do you want? Plagues and locusts? The Four Horsemen?”
“No. You saw one. You killed it. It never laid a glove on you. Think about it. Before you testify. Let’s listen.”

“If you read it correctly it’s all in the Bible. ‘In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.’ Could anyone ask for a plainer statement of the self-evident fact that nothing exists until someone imagines it and thereby gives it being, reality? The distinction lies only in the difference between ‘being’ and ‘becoming’ – a distinction that cancels out when any figment-fact is examined from different ends of the entropy error – “

“Bishop Berkeley is presiding,” Lazarus commented, “and would have shut this figment up save that the Bishop has laryngitis – imaginary, of course – and his parliamentarian, the Reverend Mister Dodgson, is too meek to shut anyone up. The Meek Shall Inherit the Earth, One Meter Wide and Two Meters Long.”

“If God displaces the Devil, he must assume the Devil’s attributes. How about giving the Devil equal time? God has the best press agents. Neither fair nor logical!”

“I am Alpha and Omega, the beginning and the end, the first and the last.”

“Occam’s Razor is not the least hypothesis! It is the least probable hypothesis. The truth – “

“There are three schools of magic. One: State a tautology, then ring the changes on its corollaries; that’s philosophy. Two: Record many facts. Try to see a pattern. Then make a wrong guess at the next fact; that’s science. Three: Awareness that you live in a malevolent universe controlled by Murphy’s Law, sometimes offset in part by Brewster’s Factor: that’s engineering.”
“Why did Mercutio have to die? Solve that, and it will lead you to Mark Twain’s well. There’s your answer.”

“Who is more real? Homer or Ulysses? Shakespeare or Hamlet? Burroughs or Tarzan?”

The debate shut off, the giant hologram screen lighted up in heroic size, full depth and color, and the tedious voices were cut off by a loud and lively one: “While we’re waiting for the first two champions to reach their starting lines we will have ‘The Grand Canal’ sung by lovely Anne Passovoy and accompanied by Noisy on his Stomach Steinway. Noisy is not in voice today, friends; he was bitten last night by an imaginary snake.”
“Jerry is in good voice,” whispered Deety. “He always is. Aren’t they going to give us any closeups?” The camera zoomed in on Anne Passovoy, panned across the other Anne, cloaked in white, rested for a moment on “King” John and “Queen” Penelope, went on to show a vigorous old man with a halo of white hair who took a stogie out of his mouth and waved.
“On my right is Sir Tenderloinn the Brutal and on my left is the Black Knight, shield unblazoned, helm closed. Oh Jear not, friends; Holger tongues. Dis Dane could be our arrow. Whose color – “
Zebadiah heard a crash, turned his head. “They’re bringing in a big Corson flatboat. Smashed some chairs.” He looked again, announced, “Can’t see much, the stands on this side are filling with people in green uniforms. Black berets. Bloodthirsty-looking gang.”
“That’s Asprin -“
“Give me ten grains. Deety, you let me mix my drinks.”
“Asprin, not ‘aspirin.’ Bob Asprin, Commandammit of the Dorsai Very Irregular,” Lazarus told him. “But can you see Arthur?”
“Does he wear a deerstalker’s hat? Smoke a meerschaum pipe? The tall one there, talking to the man who looks like a gorilla.”
“He’d Challenge you for that. Violent temper. That’s Arthur’s party, all right. Doctor Arthur Conan Doyle. Doctor Watson should be there, too. Wups! Here comes Isaac. And there goes another bunch of chairs.”
“They’re off! The Masked Challenger is gaining speed, Sir Tenderloinn is having trouble getting his charger to move: It is a beautiful day here at Epsom Salts and Bifrost never looked lovelier.”
Lazarus stood up. “I must greet Isaac. Zebadiah, have you met him? Come with me. You, too, Deety. Hilda? Please, dear. Jake?”
“Just a moment, you!” Zeb looked at the one interrupting them and felt shock. He had seen that face, that uniform, by a rustic swimming pool. The “ranger” addressed Lazarus: “You’re the one they call the Executive Director. Special Agent L. Ron O’Leemy, InterSpace Patrol. I have warrants for Beowolf Shaeffer, Caspol Jones, and Zebadiah John Carter. Director, I require your cooperation. Article Four Six, Section Six Five, Paragraph Six, InterUniversal Criminal Code.”
“Unhorsed! The Black Knight’s lance right through him! Here come the Valkyries. Hoyotoho!”
Hilda reached out, took the warrants, tore them across. “You’re on the wrong planet, Mac.” She grasped Zeb’s arm. “Come along, Alfred; we must meet Isaac.”
They passed the Dorsai, reached the big Corson flatboat. Completely filling it was a very large Venerian Dragon. The dragon turned an eyestalk toward them; his tendrils touched his voder. “Greetings, Doctor Lazarus Long. Greetings, new friends. May you all die beautifully!”
“Greetings, Sir Isaac. Sir Isaac Newton, this is Doctor Hilda Burroughs Long, Doctor Jacob Burroughs Long, Doctor Deety Carter Long, and Doctor Zebadiah John Carter Long, all of my family.”
“I am honored, learned friends. May your deaths inspire a thousand songs. Doctor Hilda, we have a mutual friend, Professor Wogglebug.”
“Wait, wait! Don’t tear up your tickets. The Valkyries are having a problem. Yes, the judges have confirmed it. No contest! The Dane has ‘killed’ a totally empty suit of armor! Better luck next bout, Pou – Holger.”
“Oh, how delightful! Zebadiah and I saw him just this past week in delivering our children to Oz for the duration of this convention. Did I just miss you?”
The dragon answered, with a Cockney lisp, “No, we are pen pals only. He can’t leave Oz; I had never expected to leave Venus again… until your device – perhaps I should Say Doctor Jacob’s device – made it simple. But see what our friend Professor Wogglebug sent me – ” The dragon fiddled at a pouch under his voder.
The InterSpace Patrol Agent O’Leemy tapped Zeb on the shoulder. “I heard those introductions. Come along, Carter!”
” – spectacles to fit my forward stalks, that see through the thickest mist.” He put them on, looked around him. “They clarify any – There! Get him! Grab him! That Beast! Get his Number!” Without a lost instant Deety, Hilda, and Lazarus closed on the “agent” – and were left with torn clothes and plastic splints as the thing got loose. The “special agent” vaulted over the bar, was seen again almost instantly at the far end of the bar, jumped up on it, leapt for the canvas top, grabbed hold of the edge of the illusion hole, swung itself up, bounded for Bifrost, reached it.
Sir Isaac Newton played: “Mellrooney! The worst troublemaker in all the worlds. Lazarus, I never expected to find that Beast in your quiet retreat.”
“Nor did I until I heard all of Zeb’s story. This convention was called expecially to entice him. And it did. But we lost him, we lost him!”
“But I got its Number,” Hilda said and held out its shield: “666”
The fleeing figure, dark against the Rainbow Bridge, grew smaller and higher. Lazarus added, “Or perhaps we haven’t lost him. He’ll never get past Sarge Smith.”
The figure appeared to be several klicks high now, when the illusion suddenly broke. The Rainbow was gone, the terraces melted, the clouds were gone, the towers and castles of Asgard could no longer be seen.
In the middle distance, very high up, a figure was tumbling, twisting, falling. Zeb said, “Sarge won’t have to bother. We’ve seen the last of it.”
The voder answered: “Friend Zebadiah… are you sure?”

The End

I hope that you enjoyed this story, I have more in my fictional index section….

Fictional Stories

Articles & Links

You’ll not find any big banners or popups here talking about cookies and privacy notices. There are no ads on this site (aside from the hosting ads – a necessary evil). Functionally and fundamentally, I just don’t make money off of this blog. It is NOT monetized. Finally, I don’t track you because I just don’t care to.

To go to the MAIN Index;

Master Index

You can start reading the articles by going HERE.
You can visit the Index Page HERE to explore by article subject.
You can also ask the author some questions. You can go HERE .
You can find out more about the author HERE.
If you have concerns or complaints, you can go HERE.
If you want to make a donation, you can go HERE.

Please kindly help me out in this effort. There is a lot of effort that goes into this disclosure. I could use all the financial support that anyone could provide. Thank you very much.

Error! Missing PayPal API credentials. Please configure the PayPal API credentials by going to the settings menu of this plugin.

just clean up the mess and get on with life Yes. I love it. Great. -MM

Ah, on the contrary, it is just bad for the reputation of Paris! Of course, one could have yelled at…

Damn! That's pretty bad. We have all heard about how the cities of the West have become shitholes, but it…

Ola Everyone... On the "Paris Syndrome"... Me and my family went there just some 3 weeks ago, my oldest is…

Imagine invading Russia-- or any other militarily capable nation with ISR and motivated staff-- in APCs, old tanks and without…