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."