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....hich 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 'lunk Metal' spelled with an 'I.' A cupboard above and to the right contained 'Iugs & lars.' 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."