uld wish additional observational data
before the swing began. I am just getting my equipment lined up, in
preparation for the beginnings of the swing, and will be unable to
give you figures of any accuracy for some hours yet. Any reading I
could give you now would be accurate only to within two minutes of
arc--relatively valueless." The voice was cheerful, but very precise.

"Anything within half an hour of arc right now would be O.K." Bessie's
voice hid a grin.

"In that case, the astronomical almanac data in the computer's memory
should be more than sufficiently precise for your needs." There was a
dry chuckle. "Horoscopes again?"

* * * * *

As Bessie turned back to the control side of her console, she saw a
hand reach past her to pick up a pad of paper and pencil from the
console desk. She glanced around to find Mike leaning over her
shoulder, and grinned at him as she began extracting figures from the
computer's innards for a "plus or minus thirty seconds of arc"
accuracy.

Mike sketched rapidly as she worked, and she turned as she heard him
mutter a disgusted curse.

"These are angular readings from our present position," he said in an
annoyed tone. "Get the Cow to rework them into a solar pattern."

"Yes, sir, Chief Blackhawk, sir. What did you think I was doing?"

"You're getting them into the proper houses for a horoscope. I want a
solar pattern. Now tell that Sacred Cow that you ride herd on to give
me a polar display pattern on one of the peepholes up there," he said,
glancing at the thirty-six video screens above the console on which
the computer could display practically any information that might be
desired, including telescopic views, computational diagrams, or even
the habitats of the fish swimming in the outer rim channels.

The display appeared in seconds on the main screen, and Mike growled
as he saw it.

"Have the Cow advance that pattern two days," he said furiously. Then,
as the new pattern emerged, "I should have known it. It looks like
we're being set up for a solar flare. Right when we're getting
rolling. It might be a while, though. Plenty of time to check out a
few gee swings. But best you rehearse your slipstick jockeys in
emergency procedures."

"A flare, Mike? Are you sure?"

"Of course I'm not sure. But those planets sure make the conditions
ripe. Look." And he held his pencil across the screen as a straight
line dividing the pattern neatly t