two of us. Jason, I'm sure, is less--how
much, I don't know. The fact is that we'll be children before we
leave--that is, _if_ we leave--and we'll only be able to understand the
simple things. So it seemed essential to clarify the lifeboat
instructions; the manual would be complete nonsense to a child. Of
course, I've added some general advice as it occurred to me."

Gillian sighed. "I don't think I'll like being married to you," she
said. "You think of everything. May I switch on the recording machine?"

"Go ahead," he replied. "It will take a few seconds to warm up, though."

She kissed him lightly, then uncurled herself and went over to the
recorder. The purr of the machine gradually increased in pitch until it
passed from the range of human hearing. The silence was broken by his
own voice.

"Curtis!" it said, "Curtis! Do not touch the controls until you are sure
that Gillian and Walter and Jason are all in the cabin. Are they all
there? Good. Then pull the big lever toward you. Now--"

Jason Tarsh entered the room and switched off the machine. "You can
delete Walter," he said. He began to tape the slow, earnest delivery of
the recorder. "For he is a silly boy and fell over the edge of the
cliff." He smiled and continued in normal tones, "Very unfortunate.
Should never have left him alone, poor guy. Blind as a bat. Oh, well,
bigger breakfasts tomorrow. Good night."

* * * * *

It was noon. The whole ledge shimmered in the sun, hazy and indistinct,
as the rising currents of air dispersed the light in a jumble of
refracted motion.

On the runway, between the hangar and the house, stood a nine-year-old
boy. A small, motionless figure, with a towel around his waist and his
feet bandaged for protection against the blistering heat of the rock, he
gazed up in triumph at the launching ramp.

There, perched on the summit of the ramp, lay the squat, powerful bulk
of the lifeboat.

He turned and ran joyfully back to the house. "Jill!" he called. "Jill,
come and play! And bring Jason with you."

A little girl, her red hair unbrushed, stepped out onto the veranda.
"Don't want to bring Jason," she said, "He's mean."

"You must bring Jason," he insisted, "or you can't play."

"What we going to play?"

"'Ships,'" he said. He pointed to the top of the launching ramp.

Silently, the two children trudged across the rock-face and began to
climb the steep slope of the ramp, leaning forward