"Right," Freedy grunted. The instant his hand touched the k.n.o.b Joe felt that now familiar twisting. Past, present, future? At least they were at sea. The Alice was rocking violently. He'd better get on deck and set a little canvas to steady her.

Two jumps away from her now. Did she land safely or spend her final hour treading water lonely leagues from land? I won't think- His head emerged from the scuttle and he found himself staring at a blank gray wall. He glanced up straight into horrified faces which stared down at him from the deck of a destroyer. The destroyer was at flank speed, pa.s.sing the Alice's port- side with barely four feet to spare. He glanced about and realized even this horror could be magnified.

Six destroyers had been steaming two abreast. Now they were peeling off at impossible angles as radar or

bow lookouts sighted the Alice. The last destroyer in the starboard column had apparently not gotten the word; her knifelike bow pointed unerringly at the Alice's mizzen mast. She was a length and a half away, making all of twenty-two knots!

Joe dived down the after scuttle, scattering the blondes who headed up it. Thank Neptune the bell jar was still set up. The red pilot light glowed on the fathometer. Brushing Freedy aside, he spun the range selector. All hands poured on deck to see what had spooked him.

Cringing against the crash to come, Joe spun the dial frantically. Agonizing seconds pa.s.sed before he again felt that shimmering flicker which meant they had jumped. Was he getting used to time travel or was the sensation getting weaker? Three jumps away from her.

He stuck his head out of the scuttle, wondering what new disaster would present itself. The Alice's crew stood and sat in various att.i.tudes of numbed stupefac- tion. Gorson struggled to his feet when he saw Joe.

"That tin can," he croaked. "I know those guys!" The chiefs eyes were showing too much white. "Jesus!" he muttered, and began wilting. Joe caught him and low- ered the bos'n gently. So he knows them. Had he known them a month ago or twenty years ago? The tin cans had looked fairly recent but- Abruptly Joe remem- bered the telltale bulge of a piece of super-secret elec- tronic gear. That gadget hadn't been operational six months ago.

The sun had an early morning look and, after a glance at the compa.s.s, he decided they were still in the north- ern hemisphere. Freedy still mumbled and counted his fingers. Joe gave him a despairing glance and went below. After turning off the fathometer and letting air in the bell jar he turned on the radio. Is she alive some- where?

This time the air was full-not just short and long

wave, but all the UHF and VHF channels which had not existed twenty years ago. Down in one corner some- one was single sidebanding. These return jumps were apparently a logarithmic progression. Or was that it?

Each one, at any rate, grew shorter as they approached their own time. He wondered if he were days or weeks away. Chances were that lessened twisting sensation meant this last jump away from the destroyer had only covered a week or two.

He found a news broadcast and began swinging the direction finder. Mellifluous, pear-shaped tones revealed territorial encroachments on five continents. Fine Ital- ian hands penned notes in Cyrillic to the Secretary- General.

Joe decided he was either due east or west of the transmitter. When would that mealy-mouthed commen- tator shut up long enough for station identification?

He glanced absently at his wrist. d.a.m.n those Romans!

Abe Rose came down the after scuttle. "I see we're home," he grunted.

"How do you know?"

Rose gave a humorless hah. "I'd know that prevaricat- ing son of an unnatural union between Barry Goldwater and Daddy Warbucks if I heard him in Katmandu. And considering the wattage on which he defiles us Demo- crats, I'd say we aren't a hundred miles from San Diego."

Howard McGrath came below, looking pale and un- happy. He was followed by Dr. Krom, who helped Ma Trimble down the scuttle. Tears shimmered in her eyes.

"All gone but Ruthie," she sniffled. "We'll be next."

Ruthie-that was the blonde who'd shared Villegas'

bunk. Again Joe was reminded of Raquel.

"-and so we come to the end of KLOD's political powwow for this day, March 2, 1965-"

March 2-why, tomorrow was the day-Command- er Cutlott's crowd would be holding inspection. And

oh G.o.d, what a mess the Alice was in! Foul-bottomed, topside paint peeling, spear, axe and catapult scars in her deck, half her gear missing and the other half rotten-

"All hands turn to," he yelled. "We've got to get this bucket shipshape."

He'd have to go over the yawl from stem to stern and get rid of anything the blondes had left. Things were going to be hard enough to explain without get- ting into that right off! He'd start with the lazarette, which was just about as far as he could get from the chain locker. I won't think of her.

The lazarette was empty. Joe stared. The last time he'd looked it'd been full of sacked rye. Then he real- ized what happened. With each jump the Alice's hold on these extratemporal articles had become more tenu- ous. Finally, they had gone the way of the girls, the way of- He climbed down into the compartment to see if a dress or sandal had been left behind.

The lazarette was empty, save for Gorson's and Cook- ie's immense foot lockers. Why they needed these emp- ty trunksized boxes aboard ship he would never know unless- No, he'd looked several times and they'd al- ways been empty.

Well, they were nearly back to normal. All the Alice's original people were aboard. There remained only Ma Trimble and one blond to explain away. Villegas could sneak them ash.o.r.e before inspection time.

Howard McGrath was looking down into the lazarette.

"Mr. Rate," he complained, "I can't hardly pee at all!"

"I'm fresh out of aspirin. Have you tried prayer?"

Joe climbed out of the lazarette and hesitated as he saw how utterly crushed the young G.o.d shouter was.

"Oh, keep your shirt on," he growled. "You'll be in a na- val hospital in twelve hours. When you get out I'll see if I can't get you a medal." He glared into the mist. When could Point Loma loom up through the coastal fog?

Why'm I poking around like this? he wondered. Gor- son had enough sense to get anything incriminating out of sight before inspection. He went into his cubicle and opened the "want book" and inventory sheets. How would he ever make them come out? I won't think of her.

He buried his head in his hands. He should, he sup- posed, be thankful it had ended this way. After all, how could she have fitted into faculty life in a college town? Like it or not, he was a professor. Subconscious- ly, he had always known he would never make a career of the navy. He had had his little fling; now he would tuck his tail between his legs and scuttle back quietly into Dr. Battlement's History Department. He'd be a year behind his contemporary bright young men so far as seniority and tenure went, but... I won't think of her.

The Alice's motion had changed. He stripped the makeshift curtain (something else to replace before in- spection) from his tiny porthole and saw a tug drift slowly past the Alice. There was a gentle b.u.mp as some- one fended off. He was ready to go on deck when some instinct made him hesitate. What was Gorson up to? Why hadn't the bos'n warned him they were sight- ing someone?

Straining his head against the bulkhead, he caught a walleyed glimpse of a scow piled high with unsmelt- able bits of antique aircraft, electronics gear too ob- solete to be useful but too secret to be surplused to the unsuspecting public who paid for it. The after part of the scow was nearly awash with cases of sh.e.l.ls and small arms ammo. While Joe watched, a small crane lifted two foot lockers from the Alice and strained two identical but much heavier boxes back aboard the yawl.

"Oh fine!" Joe muttered. He'd finally found out what Commander Cutlott wanted to know. His future was a.s.sured if he wanted it. What was in the two foot lockers? Something the navy was quite willing to heave

overboard but which could land the bos'n and Cook in Mare Island for turning a fast buck at less cost to Uncle than some retired admiral's perfectly legal lobby- ing.

How did they intend to get the loot ash.o.r.e? Didn't they realize the kind of going-over this poor old bucket would get tomorrow? Commander Cutlott had been awfully nice about finding a boot ensign a job, but Joe didn't see how he could throw Gorson and Cookie to the wolves after all they'd been through together. He'd have to warn them to jettison the stuff before they reached San Diego.

It was nearly dawn before the coast came into sight.

In spite of the foghorn's twin-toned blat and the light- house's glimmer they crisscrossed the entrance several times before picking up the last buoy. The Alice began her slow way up the channel.

When they finally docked at 0900 a schooner twice as large as the Alice was crowded into the slip op- posite. Joe gave her a look of fleeting envy. The Baleen had been built specifically for oceanographic work, with a fibergla.s.s hull impervious to rocks, rot or worms. She was furnished with everything to keep forty men in fresh-water showered comfort for six months at a stretch.

Why couldn't he have had something like that? Joe wondered. He sighed, consoling himself that she was twice as c.u.mbersome and no faster than the weddy- bottomed Alice.

He trotted down the dock to the guard shack and telephoned for a corpsman to haul the G.o.d shouter and his gonococci off to the Naval Hospital. Then he stopped at Ship's Service long enough to buy soap and razor blades for all hands. By the time he got back, he hoped Villegas would have the two women out of the way.

There was still a faint wine-pink tint to the water in spite of the hose from dockside which was now topping up their tanks. A faint hum of blower told him the

galley stove was again operating on oil. He guessed Rose had promoted enough hose to make that connec- tion too.

There was still an hour before Commander Cutlott's inspection party was due. They'd all at least be shaved by then. Coming out of the shower, he twitched his nose unbelievingly. Could that be real coffee? He went to the urn and drew a cup. Wonders of wonders, it was! "Where'd you get stores already?" he asked.

Cookie glanced furtively at the mountain of supplies waiting to be stowed aboard the larger ship. Joe grinned.

The Baleen would never miss a couple of pounds. He hurried into his cubicle and struggled into a dress uni- form. It hung sacklike and he realized how much weight he'd lost-how much they'd all lost, come to think of it.

He went on deck and saw Commander Cutlott at the end of the dock. The commander, his adjutant and yeoman were accompanied by a captain and a rear admiral.

Villegas hissed from the lazarette hatch. "Cover it up, sir," he said.

"You'll suffocate," Joe whispered.

"Please sir, cover us up!"

"Oh no!" Joe groaned.