the floating floor level inside. Then he held the ID in place and reached down to assist Betsy. The door panel became solid as soon as he removed the ID key.
"Oops, almost forgot," John said. He ID'd outside again, put his fingers to his mouth, and made a piercing whistle. Almost immediately he heard Canute's answering bark. In moments the dog came racing into sight, greyhound lines with spots. His tongue was out, he was panting heavily, and his fur was streaked, but he seemed all right. John held the door permeable while Canute leaped through.
"Oh, no!" Betsy cried with dismay. "They'll follow that animal to us again!"
John hugged the big dog to him while Canute licked his face between tail wags. "They'd have caught us already if he hadn't led them a false chase," John said. "Good dog! You did great! I'm proud of you. Punch for a taxi, Betsy. By the time they catch up, we'll be gone. Yeah, you're my dog, Canute!"
"Second fiddle to a dog!" Betsy muttered. "If he was female, I'd know what to call him!" She poked experimentally at the house's communications console. There was a hum. "Taxi, this address, immediately."
"Your ID, please," a voice said.
"Here," John said quickly, passing over his key. Betsy touched it to the appropriate panel.
Standard communications were efficient. A sphere dropped from the sky within seconds and touched the house, tangent at the door panel. John used the ID again and passed with Canute directly into the vehicle. Betsy hastened to join them.
"It worked!" she exclaimed, gratified. "I really called a taxi!"
"You just get us to that third zoo you saw. I'll see about the dog."
"See what? He's already here, unfortunately."
"They called him a gomdog. Maybe I can find out something."
"Oh." She located the taxi's communicator, then paused. "What do I tell it? I saw that spot on the map, but I don't know how to locate it. I can't tell this buggy to fly north...."
"Um." John had supposed they would pilot the craft manually, but one glance at the control section showed him that it was nothing like anything he was acquainted with. They couldn't afford time to practice—not while the Standard pursuit was near. "Try this. 3777767256."
"What?"
"It's a coordinate. Ala gave it to me."
"Who?"
Suddenly he realized that he had never had a chance to tell her about the black girl or to inquire whether Betsy had met Humé. "Yesterday—look, it's complicated, and we're in a hurry—I met a girl.
Betsy stared at him. "You, too? I wasn't going to tell you right away, but—"
"You met a black man!"
"Black? Yellow! His name was Yao Pei, and he lived— lives in Northern China, eighth century A.D."
"Chinese! Mine was African!"
"And there's at least one other purebred there," Betsy continued. "A girl named Meilan."
"This thing is more complicated than we thought," John said soberly. "We've got to compare notes—but, Betsy, there just isn't time now! They may be on our tail already. We have to find those others quickly, or we may never have another chance."
"You're one hundred percent right, for once. Give me that number, slowly—or better, speak it into the communicator here. Maybe the taxi will take us there."
John agreed. "Taxi, take us to coordinate 3777767256, and step on the gas."
A voice replied, different from the one at the house. They both jumped, and Canute perked up his ears. "Step on the gas is not a programmed destination. Please clarify."
"Do all their radios talk back?" Betsy inquired.
"What I mean is, hurry!" John said. "To that location. The number." Would the taxi do it?
The globe sailed upward, sending John stumbling and Betsy grabbing at handholds. The first hold she found was Canute's tail, and both parties were outraged. Then the taxi shot over the landscape.
Boy, girl, and dog picked themselves up. "When it hurries, it hurries!" John exclaimed. "We must be doing two hundred miles an hour!"
"Ridiculous," Betsy said. Then she reconsidered. "At least!"
John peered out and
"Oops, almost forgot," John said. He ID'd outside again, put his fingers to his mouth, and made a piercing whistle. Almost immediately he heard Canute's answering bark. In moments the dog came racing into sight, greyhound lines with spots. His tongue was out, he was panting heavily, and his fur was streaked, but he seemed all right. John held the door permeable while Canute leaped through.
"Oh, no!" Betsy cried with dismay. "They'll follow that animal to us again!"
John hugged the big dog to him while Canute licked his face between tail wags. "They'd have caught us already if he hadn't led them a false chase," John said. "Good dog! You did great! I'm proud of you. Punch for a taxi, Betsy. By the time they catch up, we'll be gone. Yeah, you're my dog, Canute!"
"Second fiddle to a dog!" Betsy muttered. "If he was female, I'd know what to call him!" She poked experimentally at the house's communications console. There was a hum. "Taxi, this address, immediately."
"Your ID, please," a voice said.
"Here," John said quickly, passing over his key. Betsy touched it to the appropriate panel.
Standard communications were efficient. A sphere dropped from the sky within seconds and touched the house, tangent at the door panel. John used the ID again and passed with Canute directly into the vehicle. Betsy hastened to join them.
"It worked!" she exclaimed, gratified. "I really called a taxi!"
"You just get us to that third zoo you saw. I'll see about the dog."
"See what? He's already here, unfortunately."
"They called him a gomdog. Maybe I can find out something."
"Oh." She located the taxi's communicator, then paused. "What do I tell it? I saw that spot on the map, but I don't know how to locate it. I can't tell this buggy to fly north...."
"Um." John had supposed they would pilot the craft manually, but one glance at the control section showed him that it was nothing like anything he was acquainted with. They couldn't afford time to practice—not while the Standard pursuit was near. "Try this. 3777767256."
"What?"
"It's a coordinate. Ala gave it to me."
"Who?"
Suddenly he realized that he had never had a chance to tell her about the black girl or to inquire whether Betsy had met Humé. "Yesterday—look, it's complicated, and we're in a hurry—I met a girl.
Betsy stared at him. "You, too? I wasn't going to tell you right away, but—"
"You met a black man!"
"Black? Yellow! His name was Yao Pei, and he lived— lives in Northern China, eighth century A.D."
"Chinese! Mine was African!"
"And there's at least one other purebred there," Betsy continued. "A girl named Meilan."
"This thing is more complicated than we thought," John said soberly. "We've got to compare notes—but, Betsy, there just isn't time now! They may be on our tail already. We have to find those others quickly, or we may never have another chance."
"You're one hundred percent right, for once. Give me that number, slowly—or better, speak it into the communicator here. Maybe the taxi will take us there."
John agreed. "Taxi, take us to coordinate 3777767256, and step on the gas."
A voice replied, different from the one at the house. They both jumped, and Canute perked up his ears. "Step on the gas is not a programmed destination. Please clarify."
"Do all their radios talk back?" Betsy inquired.
"What I mean is, hurry!" John said. "To that location. The number." Would the taxi do it?
The globe sailed upward, sending John stumbling and Betsy grabbing at handholds. The first hold she found was Canute's tail, and both parties were outraged. Then the taxi shot over the landscape.
Boy, girl, and dog picked themselves up. "When it hurries, it hurries!" John exclaimed. "We must be doing two hundred miles an hour!"
"Ridiculous," Betsy said. Then she reconsidered. "At least!"
John peered out and
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