“I remember,” I said slowly, “something. But it didn’t make sense. I thought you said we were going to Vega.”
“Well, I suppose the catalogs will list it as Vega Five. But they call it-” She threw back her head and vocalized; it recalled to me the cockcrow theme in Le Coq d’Or. “-but I couldn’t say that. So I told you Vega, which is close enough.”
I tried again to sit up, failed. “You mean to stand there and tell me we’re on Vega? I mean, a ‘Vegan planet’?”
“Well, you haven’t asked me to sit down.”
I ignored the Peeweeism. I looked at “sunlight” pouring through the window. “That light is from Vega?”
“That stuff? That’s artificial sunlight. If they had used real, bright, Vega light, it would look ghastly. Like a bare arc light. Vega is ‘way up the Russell diagram, you know.”
“It is?” I didn’t know the spectrum of Vega; I had never expected to need to know it.
“Oh, yes! You be careful, Kip-when you’re up, I mean. In ten seconds you can get more burn than all winter in Key West-and ten minutes would kill you.”
I seemed to have a gift for winding up in difficult climates. What star class was Vega? “A,” maybe? Probably “B.” All I knew was that it was big and bright, bigger than the Sun, and looked pretty set in Lyra.
But where was it? How in the name of Einstein did we get here? “Peewee? How far is Vega? No, I mean, ‘How far is the Sun?’ You wouldn’t happen to know?”
“Of course,” she said scornfully. “Twenty-seven light-years.”
Great Galloping Gorillas! “Peewee-get that slide rule. You know how to push one? I don’t seem to have the use of my hands.”
She looked uneasy. “Uh, what do you want it for?”
“I want to see what that comes to in miles.”
“Oh. I’ll figure it. No need for a slide rule.”
“A slipstick is faster and more accurate. Look, if you don’t know how to use one, don’t be ashamed-I didn’t, at your age. I’ll show you.”
“Of course I can use one!” she said indignantly. “You think I’m a stupe? But I’ll work it out.” Her lips moved silently. “One point five nine times ten to the fourteenth miles.”
I had done that Proxima Centauri problem recently; I remembered the miles in a light-year and did a rough check in my head-uh, call it six times twenty-five makes a hundred and fifty-and where was the decimal point? “Your answer sounds about right.” 159,000,000,000,000 weary miles! Too many zeroes for comfort.
“Of course I’m right!” she retorted. “I’m always right.”
“Goodness me! The handy-dandy pocket encyclopedia.”
She blushed. “I can’t help being a genius.”
Which left her wide open and I was about to rub her nose in it-when I saw how unhappy she looked.
I remembered hearing Dad say: “Some people insist that ‘mediocre’ is better than ‘best.’ They delight in clipping wings because they themselves can’t fly. They despise brains because they have none. Pfah!”
“I’m sorry, Peewee,” I said humbly. “I know you can’t. And I can’t help not being one . . . any more than you can help being little, or I can help being big.”
She relaxed and looked solemn. “I guess I was being a show-off again.” She twisted a button. “Or maybe I assumed that you understand me-like Daddy.”
“I feel complimented. I doubt if I do-but from now on I’ll try.” She went on worrying the button. “You’re pretty smart yourself, Kip. You know that, don’t you?”
I grinned. “If I were smart, would I be here? All thumbs and my ears rub together. Look, honey, would you mind if we checked you on the slide rule? I’m really interested.” Twenty-seven light-years-why, you wouldn’t be able to see the Sun, It isn’t any great shakes as a star.
But I had made her uneasy again. “Uh, Kip, that isn’t much of a slide rule.”
“What? Why, that’s the best that money can-”
“Kip, please! It’s part of the desk. It’s not a slide rule.”
“Huh?” I looked sheepish. “I forgot. Uh, I suppose that hall out there doesn’t go very far?”