"Let me see," I said. "If I understood earlier, each dimension can be swapped for any other."
"By ninety-degree rotation, yes."
"Wouldn't that be the combinations taken four at a time out of a set of six? How many is that?"
"Fifteen," Zebbie answered.
"Goodness! Fifteen whole universes? And we use only one?"
"No, no, my darling! That would be ninety-degree rotations of one Euclidean universe. But our universe, or universes, has been known to be non-Euclidean at least since 1919. Or 1886 if you prefer. I stipulate that cosmology is an imperfect discipline, nevertheless, for considerations that I cannot state in nonmathematical terms, I was forced to assume a curved space of positive radius-that is to say, a closed space. That makes the universes possibly accessible to use either by rotation or by translation this number." My husband rapidly wrote three sixes.
"Six sixty-six," I said wonderingly. "The Number of the Beast."
"Eh? Oh! The Revelation of Saint John the Divine. But I scrawled it sloppily. You took it that I wrote this: "666" But what I intended to write was this:
666 ~ Six raised to its sixth power, and the result in turn raised to its sixth power. That number is this:" 1.03144 + X 10~~ "-or written in full:" 10,314,424,798,490,535,546,171,949,056 "-or more than ten million sextillion universes in our group."
What can one say to that? Jacob went on, "Those universes are our nextdoor neighbors, one rotation or one translation away. But if one includes comb inations of rotation and translation-think of a hyperplane slicing through superhypercontinua not at the point of here-now-the total becomes indenumerable. Not infinity-infinity has no meaning. Uncountable. Not subject to manipulation by mathematics thus far invented. Accessible to continua craft but no known way to count them."
"Pop-"
"Yes, Deety?"
"Maybe Aunt Hilda hit on something. Agnostic as you are, you nevertheless keep the Bible around as history and poetry and myth."
"Who said I was agnostic, my daughter?"
"Sorry, sir. I long ago reached that conclusion because you won't talk about
it. Wrong of me. Lack of data never justifies a conclusion. But this key number-one-point-oh-three-one-four-four-plus times ten to its twenty-eighth power-perhaps that is the 'Number of the Beast."
"What do you mean, Deety?"
"That Revelation isn't history, it's not good poetry, and it's not myth. There must have been some reason for a large number of learned men to include it- while chucking out several dozen gospels. Why not make a first hypothesis with Occam's Razor and read it as what it purports to be? Prophecy."
"Hmm. The shelves under the stairs, next to Shakespeare. The King James version, never mind the other three."
Deety was back in a moment with a well-worn black book-which surprised me. I read the Bible for my own reasons but it never occurred to me that Jacob would, We always marry strangers.
"Here," said Deety. "Chapter thirteen, verse eighteen: 'Here is wisdom. Let him that hath understanding count the number of the beast: for it is the number of a man; and his number is Six hundred threescore and six."
"That can't be read as exponents, Deety."
"But this is a translation, Pop. Wasn't the original in Greek? I don't remember when exponents were invented but the Greek mathematicians of that time certainly understood powers. Suppose the original read 'Zeta, Zeta, Zeta!'-and those scholars, who weren't mathematicians, mistranslated it as six hundred and sixty-six?"
"Uh....oondrift, Daughter."
"Who taught me that the world is not only stranger than we imagine but stranger than we can imagine? Who has already taken me into two universes that are not this one... and brought me safely home?"
"Wait a half!" Zebbie said. "You and Pop have already tried the time-space machine?"
"Didn't Pop tell you? We made one minimum translation. We didn't seem to have gone anywhere and Pop thought he had failed. Until I tried to look up a number in the phone book. No 'J' in the book. No 'J' in the Britannica. No 'J' in any dictionary. So we popped back in, and Pop returned the verniers to zero, and we got out, and the alphabet was back the way it ought to be and I stopped shaking. But our rotation was even more scary and we almost died. Out in space with blazing stars-but air was leaking out and Pop just barely put it back to zero before we passed out... and came to, back here in Snug Harbor."
"Jake," Zebbie said seriously, "that gadget has got to have more fail-safes, in series with deadman switches for homing." He frowned. "I'm going to keep my eye open for both numbers, six sixty-six and the long one. I trust Deety's hunches. Deety, where is the verse with the description of the Beast? It's somewhere in the middle of the chapter."
"Here. 'And I beheld another beast coming up out of the earth; and he had two horns like a lamb, and he spake as a dragon."
"Hmm- I don't know how dragons speak. But if something comes up out of the earth and has two horns... and I see or hear either number-I'm going to assume that he has a 'Black Hat' and try to do unto him before he does unto us. Deety, I'm peaceable by policy... but two near misses is too many. Next time I shoot first."
I would as lief Zebbie hadn't mentioned "Black Hats." Hard to believe that someone was trying to kill anyone as sweet and innocent and harmless as my darling Jacob. But they were-and we knew it.
I said, "Where is this time machine? All I've seen is a claptrap."
'Caltrop,' Aunt Hilda. You're looking at the space-time machine."
"Huh? Where? Why aren't we in it and going somewhere fast? I don't want my husband killed; he's practically brand-new. I expect to get years of wear out of him."
"Sharpie, stop the chatter," Zebbie put in. "It's on that bench, across the table from you."
"All I see is a portable sewing machine."
"That's it."
"What? How do you get inside? Or do you ride it like a broom?"
"Neither. You mount it rigidly in a vehicle-one airtight and watertight by strong preference. Pop had it mounted in their car-not quite airtight and now kaputt. Pop and I are going to mount it in Gay Deceiver, which is airtight. With better fail-safes."
"Much better fail-safes, Zebbie," I agreed.
"They will be. I find that being married makes a difference. I used to worry about my own skin. Now I'm worried about Deety's. And yours. And Pop's. All four of us."
"Hear, hear!" I agreed. "All for one, and one for all!"
"Yup," Zebbie answered. "Us four, no more. Deety, when's lunch?"
"Avete, alieni, nos morituri vos spernimus!"
Deety:
While Aunt Hilda and I assembled lunch, our men disappeared. They returned just in time to sit down. Zebadiah carried an intercom unit; Pop had a wire that he plugged into a jack in the wall, then hooked to the intercom.
"Gentlemen, your timing is perfect; the work is all done," Aunt Hilda greeted them. "What is that?"
'A guest for lunch, my dearest," Pop answered. "Miss Gay Deceiver."
"Plenty for all," Aunt Hilda agreed. "I'll set another place." She did so; Zebadiah placed the intercom on the fifth plate. "Does she take coffee or tea?"
"She's not programmed for either, Hilda," Zebadiah answered, "but I thank you on her behalf. Ladies, I got itchy about news from Singapore and Sumatra. So I asked my autopilot to report. Jake came along, then pointed out that he had spare cold circuits here and there, just in case-and this was a just-incase. Gay is plugged to the garage end of that jack, and this is a voice-switched master-master intercom at this end. I can call Gay and she can call me if anything new comes in-and I increased her programming by reinstating the earlier programs, Logan and back home, for running retrieval of new data."
1')I add an outlet in the basement," agreed Pop. "But, Son, this is your home-not California."
"Well-"
"Don't fight it, Zebbie. This is my home since Jacob legalized me.. and any step-son-in-law of mine is at home here; you heard Jacob say so. Right, Deety?"
'Of course," I agreed. "Aunt Hilda is housewife and I'm scullery maid. But
Snug Harbor is my home, too, until Pop and, Aunt Hilda kick me out into the snow-and that includes my husband."
"Not into snow, Deety," Aunt Hilda corrected me. "Jacob would insist on a sunny day; he's kind and gentle. But that would not leave you with no roof over your head. My California home-mine and Jacob's-has long been your home-from-home, and Zebbie has been dropping in for years, whenever he was hungry."
"I had better put my bachelor flat into the pot."
"Zebbie, you can't put Deety on your day bed. It's lumpy, Deety. Broken springs. Bruises. Zebbie, break your lease and send your furniture back to Good Will."
"Sharpie, you're at it again. Deety, there is no day bed in my digs. An emperor-size bed big enough for three-six if they are well acquainted."
"My Captain, do you go in for orgies?" I asked.
"No. But you can't tell what may turn up in the future."
"You always look ahead, Zebadiah," I said approvingly. "Am I invited?"
"At any orgy of mine, my wife will pick the guests and send the invitations."
"Thank you, sir. I'll wait until you seem to be bored, then look over the crop and pick out choice specimens for you. Assorted flavors and colors."
"My Princess, I will not spank a pregnant woman. But I can think about it. Pop, Snug Harbor continues to impress me. Did you use an architect?"
"Hrrumph! 'Architect' is a dirty word. I studied engineering. Architects copy each other's mistakes and call it 'Art.' Even Frank Lloyd Wright never understood what the Gilbreths were doing. His houses looked great from the outside-inside they were hideously inefficient. Dust collectors. Gloomy. Psych lab rat mazes. Pfui!"
"How about Neutra?"
"If he hadn't been hamstrung by building codes and union rules and zoning laws, Neutra could have been great. But people don't want efficient machines for living; they prefer to crouch in medieval hovels, as their flea-bitten forebears did. Cold, drafty, unsanitary, poor lighting, and no need for any of it."
"I respect your opinion, sir. Pop-three fireplaces....o chimneys. How? Why?"
"Zeb, I like fireplaces-and a few cords of wood can save your life in the mountains. But I see no reason to warm the outdoors or to call attention to the fact that we are in residence or to place trust in spark arresters in forestfire country. Lighting a fire in a fireplace here automatically starts its exhaust fan. Smoke and particles are electrostatically precipitated. The precipitators are autoscrubbed when stack temperature passes twenty-five Celsius, dropping. Hot air goes through labyrinths under bathtubs and floors, then under other floors, thence into a rock heat-sink under the garage, a sink that drives the heat pump that serves the house. When flue gas finally escapes, at points distant from the house,' it is so close to ambient temperature that only the most sensitive heat-seeker could sniff it. Thermal efficiency plus the security of being inconspicuous."
"But suppose you are snowed in so long that your power packs play out?"
"Franklin stoves in storage, stove pipe to match, stops in the walls removable from inside to receive thimbles for flue pipes."
"Pop," I inquired, "is this covered by Rule One? Or was Rule One abolished last night in Elko?"
"Eh? The chair must rule that it is suspended until Hilda ratifies or cancels it. Hilda my love, years back Jane instituted Rule One-"
"I ratify it!"
"Thank you. But listen first. It applies to meals. No news broadcasts-"
"Pop," I again interrupted, "while Rule One is still in limbo-did Gay Deceiver have any news? I worry, I do!"
"Null retrievals, dear. With the amusing conclusion that you and I are still presumed to have died twice, but the news services do not appear to have noticed the discrepancy. However, Miss Gay Deceiver will interrupt if a bulletin comes in; Rule One is never invoked during emergencies. Zeb, do you want this rig in your bedroom at night?"
"I don't want it but should have it. Prompt notice might save our skins."
"We'll leave this here and parallel another into there, with gain stepped to wake you. Back to Rule One: No news broadcasts at meals, no newspapers. No shop talk, no business or financial matters, no discussion of ailments. No political discussion, no mention of taxes, or of foreign or domestic policy. Reading of fiction permitted en famille-not with guests present. Conversation limited to cheerful subjects-"
"No scandal, no gossip?" demanded Aunt Hilda.
"A matter of your judgment, dear. Cheerful gossip about friends and acquaintances, juicy scandal about people we do not like-fine! Now-do you wish to ratify, abolish, amend, or take under advisement?"
"I ratify it unchanged. Who knows some juicy scandal about someone we don't like?"
"I know an item about 'No Brain'-Doctor Neil Brain," Zebadiah offered.
"Give!"
"I got this from a reliable source but can't prove it."
"Irrelevant as long as it's juicy. Go ahead, Zebbie."
"Well, a certain zaftig coed told this on herself. She tried to give her all to 'Brainy' in exchange for a passing grade in the general math course necessary to any degree on our campus. It is rigged to permit prominent but stupid athletes to graduate. Miss Zaftig was flunking it, which takes exceptional talent.
"So she arranged an appointment with the department head-'Brainy'- and made her quid-pro-quo clear. He could give her horizontal tutoring then and there or in her apartment or his apartment or in a motel and she would pay for it or whenever and wherever he chose. But she had to pass."
"Happens on every campus, Son," Pop told him.
"I haven't reached the point. She blabbed the story-not angry but puzzled. She says that she was unable to get her intention over to him (which seems impossible, I've seen this young woman). 'Brainy' didn't accept, didn't refuse, wasn't offended, didn't seem to understand. He told her that she had better talk to her instructor about getting tutoring and a re-exam. Now Miss Zaftig is circulating the story that Prof 'No Brain' must be a eunuch or a robot. Not even a homo. Totally sexless."
"He's undoubtedly stupid," Aunt Hilda commented. "But I've never met a man I couldn't get that point across to, if I tried. Even if he was uninterested in my fair virginal carcass. I've never tried with Professor Brain because I'm not interested in his carcass. Even barbecued."
"Then, Hilda my darling, why did you invite him to your party?"
"What? Because of your note, Jacob. I don't refuse you favors."
"But, Hilda, I don't understand. When I talked to you by telephone, I asked you to invite Zeb-under the impression that he was his cousin Zebulon-and I did say that two or three others from the department of mathematics might make it less conspicuously an arranged meeting. But I didn't mention Doctor Brain. And I did not write."
"Jacob-I have your note. In California. On your University stationery with your name printed on it."
Professor Burroughs shook his head, looked sad. Zebadiah Carter said, "Sharpie-handwritten or typed?"
"Typed. But it was signed! Wait a moment, let me think. It has my name and address down in the lower left. Jacob's name was typed, too, but it was signed 'Jake.' Uh....My dear Hilda, A hasty P.S. to my phone call of yesterday-Would you be so kind as to include Doctor Neil O. Brain, chairman of mathematics? I don't know what possessed me that I forgot to mention him. Probably the pleasure of hearing your dear voice.