"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 cçuld 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."