"Freedy," he yelled, "fire up the fathometer."

"Two hundred fathoms," Freedy reporter a moment later.

Joe slapped a hand to his forehead and went below to the chart again. He decided to head south and try to thread his way out of this cl.u.s.ter of Cycladean is- lands. Even if he had the fantastic luck to catch a fisher- man, these smaller islands changed names every twenty years. Every other one was Iraklia, Herakleon, Her- culaneum, or some such thing, all named after the omnipresent hero. Cape Malea, the southernmost tip

of the Peloponnese, couldn't be more than another fifty miles south. And if the Roman had been heading west for Athens this morning, it must be at least a hundred miles west.

They rounded the island, whatever it was, and two hours later another appeared. Joe took the BuShip's name in vain. He could be three different places in the Aegean and still see two islands this far apart on this course. d.a.m.n the navy's meaching economy with charts! If he ever got back he'd write letters and d.a.m.n the promotions.

Things were finally shipshape again. Not as ship- shape as they had been, for all her arms and many other bits of the Alice were gone forever. From now on, Joe decided, he'd keep plenty of sea room. If the wind held and if all his other guesses were right, they'd clear the pa.s.sage between Kithera and Andikithera just about daybreak. The next obstacle in their westward run would be Sicily.

The Alice galloped along on a broad reach under all plain sail. There had been disturbances and tidal waves throughout the day but it seemed to be over now. The Alice's people were tired unto stumbling. They'd had several hours less sleep than Joe during the last forty- eight. Tired as he was, he was still the freshest man aboard.

"All hands sack out," he said. "I'll take the wheel." He wanted to steer awhile-not to spare the crew so much as to be alone. When had he last had an interval of peace and quiet? He needed to think. This time travel business: there was something odd-well, it was all odd, but there was something even more than pecu- liar about it. He had thought it was the lightning and the still. Thank Mahan the Romans had brought back all the parts for the still. . . . But something else came into it.

Lightning, yes. And the copper coil inside the still's

vacuum chamber obviously had something to do with their jumps. But what else? If it were this simple every moonshiner would have ended up in the Roman army.

There had to be another factor-something which ex- isted only aboard the Alice. The standing rigging might serve as some sort of antenna. Even though not con- nected with the still, there might be some resonance between them.

a.s.suming time travel was an electromagnetic phe- nomenon-but how did he know there wasn't some entirely new form of energy involved? To dislocate an object in time must require an enormous expenditure of energy. That was where the lightning came in. What else? Radio? Freedy hadn't turned it on since they'd skipped back to an era without transmitters.

The moon rose and silhouetted the Alice. It was a clear, cloudless night and the horizon betrayed no hint of land. It would have been nice to check his reckon- ing with the fathometer and make sure they were in the deeps off northern Crete but he hadn't the heart to wake Freedy.

Fathometer ... By Mahan, that was it! Joe thought back carefully, reconstructing the events preceding each time jump. Each time the still had been set up; each time lightning had struck. But what had been the trig- gering factor? The fathometer! How, Joe wondered, could a sonic echo from its transducer heterodyne with whatever lightning was feeding through the still's coil produce the time travel effect? Whatever it was, it was beyond him. But it seemed to work. How could he reverse it?

If he set up the still and fathometer and waited for another lightning flash, according to past experience, he wouldn't be home-he'd be another thousand years backward, about the time of the Trojan war. A hundred years before Solomon would get around to building his temple. Good G.o.d, what a chance . . . Joe sighed and

pulled the Alice back on course. His first obligation was to his people and ship. If he ever got them home . . .

Gorson came on deck, yawning and stretching. "Still two-thirty degrees?" he asked.

Joe nodded. "If you spot any small islands, try to keep them astarboard."

"By the way," Gorson asked, "what became of those Roman swabbies you had aboard?"

"They died."

"All at once?"

Joe explained briefly about the looped hawser, then went below before Gorson could ask any more questions.

How had he been able to do such things? His one undergraduate adventure had been the time he'd or- ganized an anti-vivisection campaign and the biologists had landed on him like a ton of tormented tomcats. He felt his way through the darkened galley, marveling at his own bloodthirstiness, admitting to himself that it had taken no great effort of will to perform this auto da fe. He remembered the horror with which he'd watched Raquel carve her initial in the Viking woman.

Oh well. . . . He closed the door to his cubicle and turned on the light. After staring at the narrow, monastic bunk for a moment he sat on it and took off his shoes.

"What the h.e.l.l were you expecting?" he muttered, and flipped the light out.

Dawn brought one of those bright sunny days when sails draw well and seagulls sing hymns to the sun- when porpoises, filled with joie de vivre, crisscross the bow and startled anchovies waste millions of tailpower frothing Homer's wine-dark sea. Cookie fried over a hundred rye pancakes-light, fluffy ones, thanks to some yeasty miracle-and though the b.u.t.ter was long gone, he had produced a sweet syrup, vaguely reminiscent of dried apricots.

Guilbeau was steering. Joe, after a glance at a morn- ing worthy of the young King David's harp, decided

to hold his meeting on deck. He reviewed the time travel business and explained his hypothesis of the night before.

Freedy pursed his little mouth. "How do we keep from going farther back in the past?"

"A good question," Joe said. "My guess is it takes power to drive anything out of its own time and that no matter how far away, that person or thing must al- ways have an affinity for his proper position in time.

Perhaps if the same process which dislocated him in the first place were repeated, but without power. ..."

Lapham's Adam's apple bobbed several times. "You mean the lightning?"

"Right," Joe said. "It was the still and, I think, the fathometer which got us in this fix, coupled with a couple of googol watts from a lightning discharge."

Dr. Krom broke in excitedly. "Let's try it-what can we lose?"

"Nothing we haven't already lost," Schwartz said.

"No one else objected, so Joe said, "Gorson, you and Cookie set up the still. Try to get everything like it was when we tangled with those Vikings off Catalina or Iceland or wherever.

"Freedy, make sure your gear's all there. Whatever you do, don't turn anything on!

"Rose, how are the batteries?"

"Half charge," the engineman said. "If the breeze holds and the windmill doesn't give out they'll be up in another day."

"Everyone spend the day thinking over my theory.

How many things can go wrong? After you come up with your objections I'll spring mine. If that doesn't scare you to death we'll throw the switch tomorrow."

He glanced automatically at his wrist and remembered his watch had gone down with the Romans. d.a.m.n them; I might have been willing to let them live if it hadn't been for that.

Raquel appeared beside him. "You expect more trou- ble?" she asked.

"No," Joe said, "but I didn't expect to get out of television range of San Diego the day I sailed. In- cidentally, how much English do you understand nowa- days?"

Raquel shrugged. "Your language is like the Viking tongue but I think it is worse. I still know only a few words."

Villegas must have filled her in about the meeting, Joe guessed. Like every Latin gentleman, he preferred blondes and had set up bunkkeeping with one. Still, Joe felt an obscure discomfort and wished the great lover would keep away from Raquel. Not that Joe had any intentions, honorable or otherwise, but ... He couldn't make up his mind just what he was b.u.t.ting.

The day wore on and no sight of land. Where were they? He was sure he'd pa.s.sed Cape Malea by this time. How could he have managed that without sight- ing land? They'd be pa.s.sing across the Ionian Sea's low- er end soon, maybe already. He wondered how it would be for pirates, remembering that Julius Caesar had been taken and held for ransom here.

They had roast goat that afternoon. Surprisingly like venison, Joe decided. They had been horribly short of fats and the rye bread dipped in hot tallow was de- lectable. The Alice was still well fixed for rye and meat but the island had contributed little or nothing in the way of greens, thanks to the same goats they were now eating. Joe ran his tongue over his teeth and wondered if it was imagination that made them feel slightly loose. How long before someone blossomed out with a genuine case of scurvy?

The still was ready. Radio and fathometer were still complete, if only because the Romans hadn't been able to imagine the cost of a power transistor. Joe turned in and threshed about in his bunk. Chances were when

he got everything set up and threw the switch, nothing would happen. If something did there were about eigh- teen thousand things that could go wrong. The first jump had taken them from the Pacific to the Atlantic; the second had landed them in the Aegean. The re- verse should take them back home-maybe.

He flipped on the light for a look at his watch. d.a.m.n it, would he never remember it was gone? He climbed wearily into his pants and hoped there would be some burnt rye in the coffee pot. If the fire hadn't died down in the range it might even be warm.

Lights were on and all hands sat waiting in the galley.

"What time is it? Why's everybody up?"

"Homesick, sonny," Ma Trimble said. "Everybody's waiting for you to get off the pot."