"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....r 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....ut 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 ~ ~ ~

'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!"

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 'urn, 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 gage. "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."