"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 ofjudging my postulate system without long and intensive study. It's too unorthodox. Your late cousin was one-a truly brilliant mind! Uh.... 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. 1-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, 0 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.

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 Littlefieldand 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....eep!... 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 heightabove-ground and rising-thin 6ut 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.