"That's fine, Astrogator."

"I turned her ears off because there may be discussion in which you might not want to have to be careful to use code words... but still be able to put her ears back fast if you need them. Faster than the switch and besides the switch can be reached only from the left front seat."

Deety had a touch of nervous chattering; I understood the reasons for each step. And I understood why she was chattering.

"Well done. Thank you. Remain at the conn. Chief Pilot, Copilot, the Secondin-Command has the conn. I am going aft and do not wish to be disturbed." I lowered my voice, spoke directly to Deety. "You are free to call me. You only."

"Aye aye, Captain," Deety acknowledged quietly. "I must remind you: air for four hours only."

"If I fall asleep, call me in three hours." I kissed her quickly, floated out of my chair and started to undog the bulkhead door-got nowhere; Deety had to help me. Deety flipped a light switch for me. She closed me in and dogged one dog.

I got a blanket out of the cradle, took off my clothes, tried to wrap myself in the blanket. It kept slithering away.

No seat belts- But the web straps used to make a bedroll of Zebbie's sleeping bag were attached through loops and tucked under thingammies. Soon I had a belt across my waist and the blanket around me.

Being a runt, the only way I can fight is with words. But best for me is to walk away. Fight with Jacob? I was so angry I wanted to slap him! But I never slap anyone; a woman who takes advantage of her size and sex to slap a man is herself no gentleman. So I walked away-got out of there before I said something that would tear it-lose me my lovable, cuddly, thoughtful-and sometimes unbearable!-husband.

I wept in my pillow-no pillow and no Kleenex. After a while I slept.

"-leave bad enough alone!"

Deety:

After I helped Aunt Hilda with the bulkhead door, I got back into my seat- and said nothing. If I opened my mouth, I would say too much. I love Pop a heap, and respect him as a mathematician.

Pop is also one of the most selfish people I've ever known.

Doesn't mean he's tight with money; he isn't. Doesn't mean he wouldn't share his last crust of bread-he would. With a stranger.

But if he doesn't want to do something, he won't. When Jane died, I had tq take over money management at once. At seventeen. Because Pop ignored it. It was all I could do to get him to sign his name. -

I was bucking for my doctorate. Pop seemed to think that I should cook, clean house, shop, keep financial records, manage our businesses, cope with taxes-and earn my doctorate simultaneously.

Once I let dishes stack to see how long it would take him to notice. About two weeks later he said, "Deety, aren't you ever going to do the dishes?"

I answered, "No, sir."

"Eh? Why not?"

"I don't have time."

He looked puzzled. "Jane didn't seem to find keeping house difficult. Is something wrong, dear?"

"Pop, Mama wasn't bucking for a doctorate against a committee of dunderheads. My research subject was approved two years ago... but I've got men judging me-four out of seven-who can't tell Fortran from Serutan, hate

computers, and have dark fears that computer scientists are going to take their jobs away from them. They make me do work over because they don't understand it. And besides- Well, Mama Jane always had help, mine, and a housekeeper toward the end."

Pop is okay. He hired a housekeeper who stuck with us till I got my Ph.D. He investigated, discovered that the'head of the department had put men on my committee who knew nothing about computers-not on purpose; the department head did not know computers. I wound up with an even tougher committee but they knew computers. Fair enough.

Pop means to be good to me and he adores Aunt Hilda and means to pamper her. Pop is one of those men who sincerely believe in Women's Lib, always support it-but so deep down that they aren't aware of it, their emotions tell them that women never get over being children.

A mistake easy to make with Aunt Hilda- There are twelve-year-old girls bigger than she is and with more curves.

For a horrid time, we three said nothing. Zebadiah watched his instruments; Pop stared straight ahead.

At last my husband gave my father the chewing out that Pop would never have taken from me, "Jake. Tell me how you do it."

"You're a genius. You aren't the absent-minded sort who needs a boy to lead him around. You can hammer a nail with the best of them and can use power tools without chopping your fingers. You're good company and you managed to attract one of the three finest women I've ever known so much that she married you. Yet you have publicly insulted her twice in one day. Twice. Tell me: Do you have to study to be that stupid? Or is it a gift, like your genius for mathematics?"

Pop covered his face with his hands. Zebadiah shut up.

I could see Pop's shoulders shake. Presently his sobbing stopped. He wiped his eyes, unfastened his seat belt. When I realized he was heading for the bulkhead door, I unstrapped fast and placed myself in his way. He said, "Please move out of my way, Deety."

"Copilot, return to your seat."

"But, Daughter, you can't come between husband and wife!"

"Address me as 'Astrogator.' The Captain does not wish to be disturbed. Gay Deceiver!"

"Here, Deety!"

"Log mode. Copilot, I will not permit you to disobey the Captain's orders. Return to your seat, strap down-and stay there!"

"Or would you rather be placed in it?" Zebadiah growled. "With your arms strapped under the belts, and the buckles where you can't reach them."

"Chief Pilot, do not intervene unless I call on you. Copilot, move!"

Pop turned in the air, almost kicking me in the face and unaware of it. He was speaking through sobs. "But I must apologize to Hilda! Can't you understand that?" But he was getting back into his seat.

"Jake, you'll be a worse damn' fool if you do."

"What? Zeb, you can't mean that."

"I do mean it. You apologized once today. Hypocrisy, as Sharpie realizes. Jake, your only chance of staying married is to shut up and soldier; your word is no longer worth a fiat dollar. But if you behave yourself for four or five years, she might forget it. Correction: forgive it. She'll never forget it. Establish a long record of good behavior and she might allow you some minor faults. But don't ever hint that she is not as competent as any man. Sure, she'd be picked last for a tug-o'-war team, and she has to stand on a stool to reach a high shelf-does that affect her brain? Hell's bells, if size mattered, I would be the supergenius around here-not you. Or perhaps you think being able to grow a beard confers wisdom? Jake, leave bad enough alone! Mess with it, you'll make it worse."

Time for a diversion: Pop must not be given a chance to answer. If Pop started defending himself, he would wind up self-righteous. The ability of the male mind to rationalize its deeds-and misdeeds-cannot be measured.

(And some female minds. But we females have more wild animal in us; mostly we don't feel any need to justify ourselves. We just do it, whatever it is, because we want to. Is there ever any other reason?)

"Gentlemen," I added, close on Zebadiah's last remark before Pop could attempt rebuttal, "speaking of beards, you each have a three-day growth. If we are about to ask sanctuary, shouldn't we be neat? I'm going to comb my hair and dig the dirt out from under my nails, and-Glory be!-I've got one spandy-clean jump suit. In light green, Zebadiah; matches your pilot suits. Got a clean one, dear?"