"Oh, I hope not!" I blurted.

"Squeaky, you had better listen to Captain Hilda."

"I'll do it. Ice water. Brrrrr!"

"Get on with it. But order that working party."

"Right away, sir."

"Bertie, will you follow me?" Hilda went inside. The Governor followed her, started to say something but Hilda cut him off: "Jacob, get out the items forward here while Zebbie keeps inventory as you do. Bertie, I have something for Betty before that mob gets here. Will you help me undog this door or perhaps Deety can do it easier GayDeceiverCloseDoorsGayBounceGayBounceGayBounce. Bertie, take off your clothes." She held onto a door dog with her left hand, had my little gun aimed at his face.

"Hilda!"

"Captain Hilda, please; I'm in my spacecraft under way. Take off every stitch, Bertie; I'm not as trusting as Zebbie. I assume that you have a holdout he didn't find. Gay Bounce. Hurry up, Bertie; you're going to stay in free fall with no Bonine until you are naked. Zebbie, he may require help. Or inducement."

He required both. But eleven minutes later Bertie was wearing one of Pop's coveralls and his clothes were abaft the bulkhead. Zebbie did not find a weapon but Aunt Hilda took no chances. At last we were all strapped down, with Bertie between me and the Captain.

Hilda said, "All hands, report readiness for space. Astrogator."

"Captain Auntie, we are in space."

"But quite unready. Astrogator."

"Seat belt fastened. Ready."

"Chief Pilot."

"Door seal checked. No loose gear-I stuffed Bertie's clothes in with the cabin bed clothes. Four charged power packs in reserve. Juice oh-seven-oh. All systems go. Ready."

"Copilot."

"Seat belt tight. Continua device ready. Door seal checked. I'd like a Bonine if we're going to be in free fall long. Ready for space."

"Astrogator, three antinausea pills-captain, copilot, passenger. Passenger."

"Oh! Oh, yes! Safety belt tight."

"Captain states seat belt fastened. Ready for space. Gay Termite."

It was just sunrise at our streamside "home." "Aunt Hilda, why did we run through all that rigamarole if we were coming straight here?"

"Deety, when you are captain you will know."

"Not me. I'm not the captain type."

She ignored me. "Lieutenant General Smythe-Carstairs, will you give me your unconditional parole until I return you home? On your honor as an officer and a gentleman."

"Am I going home? I had assumed that I had not long to live."

"You are going home. And I do have something for Betty. But whether or not you give parole affects other matters. Make up your mind-at once!"

It took him six seconds; Aunt Hilda let him have them. "Parole. Unconditional."

"I'm surprised, Bertie. You have a tradition against giving parole, do you not?"

"We do indeed, Captain. But I concluded that my only chance of serving my sovereign lay in giving my word. Am I right?"

"Quite right, Bertie. You now have opportunity to persuade me to support you in your crisis. Your King-Emperor is not our prince; we place no faith in princes. We have no reason to love Russians but we spanked the only one who gave us trouble. In what way is the British colony superior to the Russian one? Take your time."

Aunt Hilda turned her attention to the rest of us. "Standing orders apply:

Two at a time, one being armed. Deety and I will cut and wrap sandwiches, make coffee and prepare a snack for growing boys who can't remember a bounteous luncheon three hours ago. One guard at all times at the car. Bertie, I'm assigning you that duty. You know how to use a rifle?"

Zebadiah said, "You're arming him?"

"Chief Pilot, I assume that you are questioning my judgment. If you convince me that I am wrong, there will be a new captain even more quickly than I had planned. May I have your reason?"

"Sharpie, I didn't mean to get your feathers up."

"Not at all, Zebbie. Why are you surprised that I intend to use Bertie as guard?"

"Ten minutes ago you had me do a skin search to make sure he wasn't armed. Now you are about to hand him a gun."

"Ten minutes ago he had not given parole."

Bertie said hastily, "Zeb is right, Hilda-Captain Hilda; Zeb has no reason to trust me. I don't want to be a bone of contention!"

I'm still trying to figure out whether Aunt Hilda is more logical than other people or is a complete sophist. She gave Bertie a freeze, looking him up and down. "Smythe-Carstairs, your opinion was neither asked nor wanted."

Bertie turned pink. "Sorry, Ma'am."

"Although you were a person of some importance in your own land, you are now something between a prisoner and a nuisance. I am trying to give you the dignity of crew member pro tern. Hold your tongue. Zebbie, what were you going to say?"

"Shucks, if you aren't afraid to have him with a gun at your back, I'm not. No offense intended, Bertie."

"None taken, Zeb."

"Zebbie, please assure yourself that Bertie can handle a rifle, and that he

knows what to shoot at and when not to shoot, before you turn the guard over to him. Put the other rifle at the door for bush patrol. Bertie, watch and listen. Gay Deceiver, open your doors."

Our Smart Girl opened wide. "Gay Deceiver, close your doors." Gay complied. "Bertie," Aunt Hilda went on, "you do it."

Of course he failed-and failed again on other voice programs. The Hillbilly explained that it took me a tedious time with special equipment to cause this autopilot to respond to a particular human voice. "Bertie, go back and explain to Squeaky; make him understand that I saved his life. This car can be driven in three modes. Two Squeaky can't use at all; the third would kill him as dead as Caesar."

"Plus a fourth hazard," added my husband. "Anybody who doesn't understand the Smart Girl but tries to take her apart to see what makes her tick would find himself scattered over a couple of counties."

"Booby-trapped, Zebadiah?" I asked. "I hadn't known it."

"No. But juice is very unfriendly to anybody who doesn't understand it."

"Come and get it!" The snack Aunt Hilda offered was a much-stuffed omelet. "Bertie, place your gun near you, locked. Between bites, you can tell us why your colony is worth defending. By us, I mean. For you, it's duty."

"Captain Hilda, I've done some soul-searching. I daresay that, in the main, we and the Russians are much the same, prison colonies with military governors. Perhaps, in a hundred years, it won't matter. Although I see us as morally superior."

"How, Bertie?"

"A Russian might see this differently. Our transportees are malefactors under our laws-but once here, they are as free as other Englishmen. Oh, they must wear the Broad Arrow until discharged-but at home they would wear it in a grim prison. The Russian prisoners are, if our intelligence is correct, the people they used to send to the Siberian salt mines. Political prisoners. They are serfs but I am told that most of them were not serfs in Russia. Whether they are treated better or worse than serfs in Russia I do not know. But one thing I do know. They work their fields with men; we work ours with wogs."

"And whip them!" Suddenly I was angry.

We had an argument, Bertie maintaining that the whips were not used unnecessarily, I asserting that I had seen it with my own eyes.

I guess he won, as he told us that they had to muzzle the beasts in weed fields, or they would stuff themselves on it, pass out, wake somewhat, do it again, and starve-but the muzzles were designed to allow them to chew a blade at a time all day long, to keep them happy. "The raw weed is addictive, to wog and man. We won't allow a man to work in the fields more than three months at a time... and pull him out if he can't pass the weekly medical tests. As for wogs, Deety-yes, we exploit them. Human beings exploit horses, cattle, sheep, poultry, and other breeds. Are you vegetarian?"